Tag Archives: The Greatest

Part 2: Little Man and ‘The Greatest’

by Woody

As shared here last week, Ken Burns’ newest documentary film “Muhammad Ali” rekindled some of my own memories with “The Greatest” during my many years as a sports columnist.

Before concluding my tale, let me recap briefly. Exactly 25 years ago, I attended the National Sports Collectors Convention and brought along my six-year-old son. On our two-hour drive to the Anaheim Convention Center I told Greg that Ali was nicknamed “The Greatest” and shared a few stories.

My press pass gained me easy access behind the velvet ropes, but a security guard with the disposition of a junkyard dog insisted Greg could not accompany me without a ticket. Admission was pricey so I told my son to patiently wait just outside the ropes where I could see him – and he in turn could see Ali from afar – and I would be back as soon as possible.

Muhammad Ali lighting the torch at the 1996 Summer Olympic Games.

Barely had I settled into a folding chair right beside The Champ when my son silently sidled up to me. When the junkyard dog had turned to growl at someone else, Greg sneaked in and for the next half hour we hung out with Muhammad Ali as he signed autographs and posed for pictures.

Finally, I told my son it was time to leave.

“Not yet,” he whispered, and loudly. “I’ve gotta say ‘Hi.’ ”

Ali heard the little boy’s protests and swiveled toward Greg, who instinctively stepped forward and extended his right hand. Ali gently shook the tiny offering in his big paw and for the very first time all afternoon the man who used to “float like a butterfly” broke out of his cocoon of total silence.

“Hi, Little Man,” Ali whispered, hoarsely, spreading his arms wide open.

A second later, The Little Man was wrapped in a bear hug. Goodness it was cool. But an even more magical moment was yet to come.

After a standing eight-count, or maybe even the full ten seconds for a knockout, Ali eventually released the Little Man and then held out his giant hand, shaking slightly from Parkinson’s Syndrome, palm up in the universal “give me five” position.

The boy, who at that age would enthusiastically smack palms hard enough to “sting like a bee,” this time slapped ever so gently before in turn holding out his own tiny palm for The Champ to return the gesture.

Ali took a swipe . . .

. . . and missed!

Because at the very last instant, the Little Man, as he loved to do, pulled his hand away like a matador’s red cape teasing a bull.

“Too slow,” the Little Man said, his two missing front teeth causing the words to lisp slightly. Like, “Tooooth looowww.” Like Ali’s own soft voice that by then, at age 54 going on 94, lisped slightly.

And like two six-year-olds they laughed together at the prank.

While still roaring with delight, Ali once again opened his wingspan fully and my son once again stepped into his open arms, except this time the shy boy squeezed back, and tightly. Ali’s eyes caught mine and I swear to this day they twinkled.

It was an end-of-a-movie fadeout and roll-the-credits hug. A full thirty-second hug. A worth-the-two-hour-drive-in-Southern-California-gridlocked-freeway-traffic hug.

A hug from “The Greatest” that the Little Man, now a six-foot-three-tall man, still remembers warmly and surely will until he is an old man.

As we walked away hand-in-hand after saying goodbye to Ali, my son stopped short and looked up at me with a Christmas-morning smile, sans two missing front teeth, and said: “You were right, Dad—he really is The Bestest.”

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

Recalling A ‘Greatest’ Memory

by Woody

Filmmaker Ken Burns’ newest documentary “Muhammad Ali” debuted on PBS this past week and the four remarkable episodes rekindled my own memories with “The Greatest” during my many years as a sports columnist.

The most golden encounter occurred shortly before Ali lit the flame at the opening ceremonies of the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta and has not faded in the ensuing quarter century.

At an autograph show in the cavernous Anaheim Convention Center the living legend shuffled to his assigned table, his feet sliding forward slowly and carefully in the unsteady gait of an elderly man missing his cane. Ali was only 54 years old that day. Fifty-four going on 94 it seemed for Parkinson’s Syndrome had transformed the “Ali Shuffle.”

When the doors for the National Sports Collectors Convention opened, the longest line by far, 300 fans at least, formed to meet The Champ. Even when he took an occasional break from signing endless autographs, Ali’s right hand never took a rest, never stopped moving. Tragically, both of his hands shook so uncontrollably it looked like he was constantly shuffling an invisible deck of cards.

And yet once he began signing the cursive “M” until he had dotted the lower-case “i”, the earthquake-like tremors magically calmed. Indeed, his signature was smooth and true. Perhaps after signing his name a million times, his neurons and synapses were programmed with a computer-like save-get keystroke.

But Ali was no robotic signing machine. He smiled each and every time an autograph seeker – tickets cost $90 to have a flat item signed and a whopping $120 on a boxing glove – called him “Champ” or said “It’s an honor to meet you.” A steep price for a squiggle of ink? Not at all when you consider one man in line had called it “a religious experience.”

And every time a camera was raised, Ali, his face still “pretty” and his body still muscular and almost in fighting trim beneath a tan golf shirt, would rise out of his chair, slowly but with grace and without assistance, to pose with a playful snarl and a clenched fist held beneath the fan’s chin.

When I had learned Ali would be in town, I made plans to take my then-six-year-old son to meet him, just as my grandfather once took my dad to see the larger-than-life Babe Ruth in a hotel lobby. On the drive there, I schooled Greg all about “The Greatest.”

My column angle was to chronicle the interactions between Ali and his fans. Thus, my son and I sat right beside The Champ as he signed glossy pictures and signed magazine covers and signed boxing gloves. Finally, I told Greg it was time to leave.

“Not yet,” he whispered, a tad loudly. “I’ve gotta say ‘Hi.’ ”

Ali heard the little boy’s protests and slowly swiveled our way. Instinctively, the little boy stepped forward and extended his right hand. Ali, who had been shaking adult hands almost femininely with just his manicured fingertips, took the small hand gently into his big paw and this time it did not look awkward or frail.

And, for the very first time in an hour, the poetic boxer who used to “float like a butterfly” broke out of his cocoon of total silence.

“Hi, Little Man,” Ali whispered, hoarsely, spreading his arms wide.

The six-year-old Little Man, who back then was quite shy, sprang forward without hesitation and was engulfed in a bear-hug clinch. My goodness it was magical.

But the greatest moment was yet to come, which I will share next week.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com