Happy 60th, Muhammad

The champ's birthday brings back a fond memory

It might have been the best afternoon I have spent as a sportswriter. I was in Muhammad Ali's dressing room the day before his fight in Richfield, Ohio, in 1975 with Mr. Chuck Wepner, the fabled Bayonne Bleeder.

For some reason, there was not the usual media crowd, just a few of us, standing in a corner. Ali was lying on a trainer's table. He was a king, receiving visitors. The visitors were comedian Redd Foxx and singers Billy Eckstine and James Brown. I simply listened.

"Tell a joke," Ali would command.

Foxx would respond with some elaborate, absolutely foul, totally blue, dirtiest of dirty jokes. Everyone laughed so hard that bellies hurt, tears came from eyes. Ali would ask for another joke. Foxx would respond, dirtier and funnier. Ali would ask again and again and again.

I remember wishing the afternoon would last forever. Would Ali next ask Billy Eckstine to sing That Old Black Magic right there in the room? Would James Brown sing Papa's Got a Brand New Bag? Would the door open and some other talented, soul-filled star appear? Hey, it's Stevie Wonder? Hey, it's Smokey Robinson. Hey, it's Richard Pryor. Who would arrive next to perform in this court of the great black man? A spaceship could have landed and the Grambling University marching band and Howard Cosell could have come out and it all would have been normal. Absolutely normal.

Happy birthday, Muhammad. Sixty, huh? Hope all is well.

Thanks for the ride.

Leigh Montville's commentaries appear regularly on CNN/Sports Illustrated. The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer.

 

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