When The Greatest Goes

Special people tend to alway be taken for granted when they grace our times and lives. Suddenly, one day they are gone and the world seems a little more bleak and less hopeful. Judging from several recent appearances, Muhammad Ali seems to have entered into the twilight of his accomplished and honored life. First his whispers could speak volumes, now only his presence is left in it's wake. Lonnie, his wife, is left to speak for him at gatherings and on the more infrequent trips which Ali has always filled his time with.
Many writers, journalists and fans have looked upon his later life as a tragedy brought about by his fighting way past his prime. Ali has never expressed regrets publicly and usually, I think, neither should we. He has lived a multitude of incarnations in that sixty odd years of life. The patriotic gold medalist, the lippy youngster, the defiant Muslim, the redeemed champion and finally, beloved statesman.
Ali was my childhood hero, the reason I wanted to be a fighter. I have followed him since the cradle practically and I've measured both his maturity and my own during that time. I've learned to temper admiration with realization that men are fallible and imperfect. I've learned to consider the truly exceptional and accept the all to human. All in all, my opinion is that when we lose The Greatest we will have lost the last great American heavyweight. Our heavyweight champion used to represent and mirror it's citizenry whether it was the wild, barnstorming Dempsey, the humble Louis or the tanklike Marciano. They were of the folk and had the makings of folk heroes. The opinion here is that after Ali, no American heavyweight could ever fill that role. European heavyweights now dominate the division. When Ali goes, so does the last vestige of and era will go with him.