need that stuff. You're not black, you're not white, you're a giant." Boom,
boom, like a jab, I had him going. Foreman would say later.
"No, man, for
300 years the white man has been putting that junk on us. I gotta go now to the
mosque and pray. You come with me now and I'll come to your church
"I don't want
you to come to my church. I want you to join God first. Tell me you love Jesus,
Muhammad." Even if I was imposing, I had to get that punch off. You only
get one opening—it's just like boxing.
wanna know about Jeeezus. I wanna know about God."
He's not dead. He wants you. Don't fight it."
peace. The translation of Islam's peace. Come pray with me. I pray five times a
"But no one
answers you," Foreman said. "You've been knocking at the wrong door,
champ. There's no one behind your door. Come knock on mine. My god answers
me." I had him there. I got my lick in. He was shaken.
"Man, are you
for real?" Ali asked. He put his hand near Foreman's ear to perform one of
his magic tricks, rubbing two fingers to create a sound like that created by
static electricity. Then he did the same trick he does every time he has an
audience, making a red scarf disappear.
"I'm late, I
gotta go," Ali said abruptly. He walked swiftly outside with his Moroccan
aide, Abdel, got in his gray Stutz Blackhawk, waved goodby to Foreman and
cried Abdel, gesturing wildly. "You've forgotten me!"