Watching The Man In The Mirror

A pleading chorus rose from those around the room, concerned that Ali's main intention was to get rid of the offending foul belt. Ali skinned off the trunks. Dundee opened up Rahaman's suitcase, rummaged through it and produced a pair of white trunks with a black stripe down the side. Ali reached for them, put them on over the protector and turned slowly in front of the mirrors. Everybody stared at him.

"This is better," he said after a while. A quick chorus of approbation came from around the room.

"Right on, man."

"That's real trim."

"It brings your butt down just right."

Everyone was sweating.

"How much time?" someone asked.

"Ten minutes."

Ali began to shadowbox in earnest, throwing quick long jabs, flurries of combinations and big hooks that seemed to shudder the air in that tiny room. The onlookers flattened themselves back against the wall to give him room.

He stopped to tape his shoelaces against the top of his shoes so they wouldn't flop. "Too loose," he said. "In late rounds they can get soggy and, man, I want to dance."