How Can America Be Great Without The Greatest?

I wont attempt to share some personal claim of inspiration from the great Muhammad Ali. We were all inspired in one way or another. In fact, his life and death inspire me even now as I reflect on why did he die now and not sooner-or later, and what can we learn from his passing?

The unexplained success of Donald Trump with his odd way with women proves that misogyny has not yet grown as detestable as it should have been way back when Ali was courting multiple women and having children by a few. Our slow evolving morays gave Ali societal support as he became our honest gigolo hero with the temerity to share his entire life with us. As a result, we know of his various women and offspring, and can fill in the blanks on the lifestyle that might have produced many more if our minds need to imagine all of that.

The fact that a balanced biography inspires us so much upon the death of our stars is probably because hidden, sordid details of our own lives are the primary benefit of being unknown.  It's like a soul bearing measure of self defense that allows most of us to forgive ourselves of hidden hell as we chew and digest the sordid side of stars.

With Ali, he knew what we all came to understand;that his life was not some hidden treasure, but an American treasure to be admired throughout the world-good, bad or ugly- and to be used  accordingly until he died.

If you are 50 and under, it's important to remember what we did and didn't get to see from Ali.  The best of his skill was seen by those older than 50, while the just under 50 folks got the return to the ring version that was more about the cause than the craft.

Until he could no longer speak, he reminded us how strong and quick footed and fast and pretty he was, but when he first said it, he also added the words"I must be the greatest", as if he was deducing something that he would entertain the counter arguments if you had one.

Before long, no one ever argued anymore.

Ali didn't ask to be the greatest.  he assumed a face and personality and a skill set so perfect for the times that he must have been meant to sacrifice himself- and his brain eventually- to inspire change.

Was Ali the greatest boxer ever?  Every great champion who isn't named Joe Frazier seems to think so. After three epic bouts with Frazier, Ali lived and died okay with Joe having the voice to say he was better while he had the rest of us to say maybe not.

People over 50 started the debate over his greatness. Just under 50's were the small children like me that cried when Joe won that first fight and when Foreman crushed his ribs before the rope-a-dope brought us to tears of jubilant joy. Many people over 50 cried too, but some digested Clay like chalk dust, unwilling to even acknowledge his religious conversion or name change for years after he no longer answered to Cassius.

They also argued Joe Louis and Rocky Marciano as true GOATS until one day the arguing just stopped happening so much. Eventually, we all had to analyze him on a weighted scale after he told us who he was before being stripped down to ground zero, only to rise up again and again. Good, Bad or Ugly, he told no lies.

I didn't cry for my hero until I reminded myself of that Joe Frazier fight, and even then, only in memory of the tears I shed as a very young kid watching an aging hero do exactly what heroes do.

Get back up and press on.

I had no sorrow because Ali died as Ali lived. The man that inspired us in the ring passed on moons ago from brain trauma and the debilitating impact of his Parkinson encased shell.  Yet even then, he understood the power of his persona and milked it towards every moment of worldwide influence that he could muster showing us all how to give everything you have until you have no more to give, and then give that too.

He fought Parkinson's and stayed in our midst because we needed him, but also because he needed to hear from the legions of influences that his life created.  The death of his physical prowess and speech gave us a fortunate and unique opportunity to talk to a man the way we usually only do when they are dead and gone. His mass appeal is much greater, but similar to that of Prince when you think about it. Both remained intensely true to themselves until the time that we came around to understand and love them for the genuine genius they offered without wavering.

These death's and this odd year had me thinking.

Is it just a coincidence that we lose Prince and Ali in the year of Trump?  Given the fact that there is only one native, might this wall really uncover our stifled greatness- and that American judge from Indiana whose family came from Mexico really is mad about the wall- or might there be a chance that America's greatness does not come from our ill begotten soil or current territory lines, but from the unbelievable people WE the people produce of every national origin?  Isn't our greatness the triumph of the immigrant and the unified demand that all nations tear down walls instead of build them up?

If there is a need for a return to greatness, it would be great if we fully appreciate those who pursue and achieve greatness, by modeling their sacrifice to society before their lives become nothing but a memory.

 Where have all the heroes gone?