There is, in my opinion, a strange feeling that I notice when a celebrity passes. I, like many, offer my condolences to the loved one of the person who passed, as if he or she were somebody I knew. 100 percent of the time, this was truly not the case, but that person's work did have some place in my life, even if it was for my simple entertainment.
Then there are the few whose deaths, despite my having a truly external view of their lives, struck me down to my core, driving tears when people whom I've actually known could not. Robin Williams was one, as his work provided for countless moments of laughter while his suicide reminded me of my own paralyzing bout with depression.
Tonight, another joins the ranks.
I've been a martial artist all my life. Although I'm proud to say I haven't been very passive, I'd like to say I've been serious, but let's face it, I'd be lying. Whatever skill I have could truly be better.
My martial arts experience was grounded in the art of karate. As a young boy with excellent flexibility and having hit my growth spurt early, I originally favored the use of my legs; after all, long legs meant that shorter arms could never reach me.
As I grew older, however, boxing was something I came to respect and enjoy in my teens. The sweet science, as they like to call it, limited a fighter to his or her hands, a skill I lacked for quite some time. My father used to tell me that boxing was like Christmas -- when it was done right, it was far better to give than to receive.
When one thinks of boxing, one thinks of the great Muhammad Ali, both in the powerful rants he used to promote his fights (due to the influence of the legendary pro wrestler Gorgeous George) and in the skill with which he picked apart his opponents. It was the latter that I always looked up to.
"Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee." Perhaps the most often quoted statement by the former heavyweight champ, it referred to the former Cassius Clay's ability to stay out of his opponent's reach while returning fire with strikes like a high caliber bullet.
My favorite, however, was, "The fight is won or lost far away from the witnesses, behind the lines, in the gym and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights."
There was a work ethic necessary to develop the reflexes needed to avoid the punches of a man weighing 175+ pounds with no weight limit. Simple physics dictates that the heavier the fighter, the harder he hits. Ali's skill always said, "Challenge accepted."
It started when he was young, and would wake his brother, Rahman Ali, early in the morning and make the younger Ali throw rocks at him. By Rahman's account, his brother just simply couldn't be hit.
The drive and determination to be great carried the late, great Muhammad Ali to two Golden Gloves championships, a gold medal at the 1960 Olympics, and three heavyweight title reigns. He inspired countless fighters, and without his inspiration, I arguably would not be writing for The Odyssey. Ali was far from a perfect person, nor was he a perfect fighter, but he always bounced back both in the ring and in life.
Goodbye, champ. You may be gone, but your legend lives forever.
