by Muhammad Ali
I love boxing and it did a lot for me. But sometimes it made me think how savage human beings could be to each other. That wasn’t the kind of boxer I wanted to be. My strategy was to be as scientific as I could when I fought. I didn’t want to be seriously hurt, and I didn’t want to do that to anybody else either.
My plan was to dance, stay out of my opponent’s reach, and use my wits as much as my fists. I tried to get into the mind of my opponent and psyche him out. I studied my opponents to learn their strengths and weaknesses, and to the best of my ability I tried to be completely honest about my own. That was pretty much how I won the championship fight with Sonny Liston, and how I won the title back in my match with George Foreman.
Muslims aren’t supposed to trick people, and I try not to do that. I love magic, and at one time I was a member of a magicians’ union. But because Muslims aren’t supposed to deceive anyone, I would always reveal how a trick was done after I amazed everyone with my “magic powers.” After I did this on a British television show, however, the magicians’ union kicked me out.
Just as when doing magic tricks, boxing requires practice and dedication. Showmanship is a large part of both boxing and magic as well. I called my opponents names and boasted of my abilities and beauty, and often predicted the round of my victory to infuriate them so they would make mistakes. Some may call this a trick, I just hoped it gave me an edge.
True success is reaching our potential without compromising our values.
TRUE SUCCESS
SUCCESS IS NOT achieved by winning all the time. Real success comes when we rise after we fall. I am grateful for all my victories, but I am especially grateful for my losses, because they only made me work harder.
No one starts out on top. You have to work your way up. Some mountains are higher than others, some roads steeper than the next. There are hardships and setbacks, but you can’t let them stop you. Even on the steepest road, you must not turn back. You must keep going up. In order to reach the top of the mountain, you have to climb every rock.
determination
THE POWER OF THE WILL
Whatever the challenge was, however unattainable the goal may have seemed.
I never let anyone talk me out of believing in myself.
A LOT OF people have disagreed with some of the decisions I have made in my life. Sometimes it has been pretty hard to go against the advice and criticism of others, especially when it came from those I admired and respected. My parents did not want me to become a Muslim or change my name. They knew that most people were afraid of the Nation of Islam and would feel confused by my joining them. They knew it would definitely make my life more difficult.
Everyone who cared about me—my friends, family, and fans—tried to convince me to accept the draft with assurances I would not have to fight or kill anyone, that I probably would just do exhibition bouts here in the United States. They said that if I didn’t accept induction, my boxing career might well be over. And a lot of people thought I should quit boxing long before I did. If I had listened to them, I would have never won my title back from Foreman, let alone regained it a third time.
a newfound FRIEND
IT WAS A hot day in May. I was at Fighters’ Heaven, my training camp in Deer Lake, Pennsylvania, getting ready for my fight against George Foreman. After a long and hard workout I’d gone back to my dressing room with Gene Kilroy, who helped run the camp.
We were sitting there when there was a knock on my cabin door. Gene went to see who it was. A young boy with health problems wanted to meet me. I told Gene to send him in, and seconds later the boy appeared with his father. The boy wore a heavy sweater and a wool cap. I asked him why he was wearing that hot sweater and cap.
The boy told me that he had leukemia and that he was wearing the cap because all of his hair had fallen out, due to the chemotherapy that he had undergone.
A wave of sadness passed over me, and at the same time I realized how lucky I was to have healthy children. Gene took a picture of the twelve-year-old boy with me and as the boy prepared to leave I asked him his name.
“My name is Jimmy,” he answered, and he added that I had made him very happy. I looked at him and told him that I was going to beat George Foreman in the upcoming fight and that he was going to beat cancer.
Jimmy gave me a hug. “You’re right!” he said.
As the boy was leaving I said, “Jimmy, don’t forget what I told you.”
He gave me a big smile, waved good-bye, and walked out the door.
A couple of days later I had the picture of Jimmy and me blown up and sent it to the boy’s father. On it I’d written:
To my friend Jimmy,
You’re going to beat cancer. I’m going to
beat George.
Love,
Your friend, Muhammad
Ali
Two weeks later, while I was on the way to do my road workout, Gene told me that the boy’s father had called to thank me for the picture. He’d gone on to explain that Jimmy was now in the University of Pennsylvania hospital and didn’t have much more time to live.
This made me feel so sad that I told Gene to let the boy’s father know that we were driving down to the hospital immediately to visit little Jimmy. Three hours later we arrived at the hospital and went straight up to Jimmy’s room. When I walked in he was lying in his bed and I saw that his skin was as white as his sheets were.
Jimmy looked up with bright eyes and called out, “Muhammad, I knew you would come!”
I walked over to his bedside and said, “Jimmy, remember what I told you? I’m going to beat George Foreman and you’re going to beat cancer.”
Jimmy looked up at me and whispered, “No, Muhammad. I’m going to meet God, and I’m going to tell him that you are my friend.”
* * *
The room was silent and we were in tears. I hugged Jimmy good-bye and later that night when we returned to my training camp, none of us spoke much.
I guess God had a bigger plan for Jimmy because a week later Gene informed me that Jimmy had died and that I was invited to attend his funeral. I couldn’t go, so I asked Gene if he would go and represent me, and he did.
When Gene returned from the funeral he told me that there had been an open casket and that the autographed picture was beside Jimmy’s head.
Jimmy’s death was a powerful lesson in the midst of all the activity and preparation for my job—a boxing match—of how fragile and precious life is. We must always be mindful that each day is a gift from God that can be lost at any moment.
In my youth, I set out to prove to myself
and to the world that I could achieve
anything I put my mind to.
This was something that I had to do again and again.
GEORGE FOREMAN
and the
Rumble in the Jungle
I WANTED THE heavyweight championship title back. In fact, I had not lost it to an opponent: It was stripped from me when I refused to go to Vietnam. I lost my chance to take it from Joe Frazier shortly before the Supreme Court vindicated me. The Supreme Court decision to confirm my status as a conscientious objector did not reinstate my title. There was no way for me to get the title back except to earn it in the ring. I thought I’d have to go through Joe Frazier again to get it, but in January 1973 Frazier lost the title to George Foreman.
Foreman was the meanest, baddest boxer on the planet. He threw hard punches and always came off as tough and serious. He was also younger and stronger than I was. People thought I didn’t have a prayer against Foreman; all my friends and trainers thought I was going to get beat up pretty bad, some even thought I was going to be killed. But as a scientific boxer, I had devised a plan—a plan I didn’t share with anyone—on how to deal with Foreman.
I watched a lot of tapes of Foreman’s fights. I studied his strengths and weaknesses and made myself aware of how he fought. I also considered my own strengths and weaknesses, and then I thought about how I could use this kn
owledge to my advantage during the fight. I knew that Foreman was just too big and strong for me to take him on toe-to-toe, so I decided that the only way I could win was to tire him out. I believed in myself, I believed I could do it. I prayed and prayed, and I knew that only God controls the universe: I’d do everything I could and leave the rest up to Him.
It was decided that we would fight in Zaire, a country that was little known to Americans at that time. It was a country controlled by Mobutu Sese Seko, who was later forced to go into exile in 1997 when Zaire experienced a revolution and became the Democratic Republic of Congo. Mobutu wanted to gain attention for his country and the Zairian people by staging my heavyweight comeback fight at a stadium in Kinshasa, the capital. I thought this was a great idea, because here was a country run and operated by Black people: They had their own airline, their own post offices, their own supermarkets, and I thought it was just about the best thing I’d ever seen. A country run by Blacks!
I loved the people in Zaire so much, and they were great to me, too. I’ve never received such an outpouring of love and support as I got from them. People lined up on the streets to see me, and I loved interacting with them and learning about their lives. I spent a lot of time with the Zairian people because we shared a mutual respect. And I know that it psyched out Foreman; it probably made him mad that I was the People’s Champ even halfway around the world in Zaire. He couldn’t stand it when the crowds in the stadium on the night of our bout were yelling, “Ali, bomaye!” which means “Ali, kill him!”
Of course I didn’t want to kill him, but I did want to win. When the bell rang I went right up to Foreman and punched him in the head as hard as I could, and then hit the ropes. I wore him out and beat him with an eighth-round KO. I had reclaimed the World Heavyweight Championship. Foreman was a sore loser at the time, blaming my win on everything he could think of, because he just couldn’t believe someone as loud and pretty as me could beat him. He didn’t know what it felt like to be defeated. But then he turned his life around when he brought God into it; he even became a minister. George has said some very nice things about me and calls me occasionally just to see how I’m doing. I think he’s a good person. He has been extremely successful inside and outside the boxing ring—and I use his grill.
After the fight, I returned to the presidential compound, where I was staying, about an hour north of Kinshasa. The match had started around 3 A.M. in Zaire so it would be on during primetime in the United States. By the time I got back to my place it was actually the next morning and I was exhausted, but after Angelo and Bundini and all of my entourage had gone back to their rooms, I stayed up and sat on the steps of my cottage. A group of local kids came by to see me. I’m not sure if they knew about my boxing or the huge match I had just won, but they knew my face and name from all of the posters and radio announcements. They expected me to entertain them. These kids wanted to be with Muhammad Ali the magician and jokester, not Muhammad Ali the boxer. I love children because of their innocence and their ability to make the best out of any situation, and being able to entertain a group of kids after such an emotional and stressful night was really great. As much as the championship meant to me, I won’t ever forget sitting up with those kids that day, doing magic tricks well into the morning.
champions to come
One day I won’t be around to answer people’s questions, or advise young aspiring athletes. What I want to say is for the people whom I’ve never met. It is for the boys and girls whose hands I will never hold. It is for the champions to come. These comments are for every spirit on the downside of advantage.
CHAMPIONS AREN’T MADE in gyms. Champions are made from something deep inside—a desire, a dream, and a vision. They have to have the skill and the will.
But the will must be stronger than the skill.
When I was boxing I would set a goal for myself to demonstrate to other people what could be done, and to prove to myself that anything was possible when I set a goal then worked to achieve it. We create our own realities according to our thoughts and beliefs. The critics who told me what I couldn’t do didn’t know as well as I what I was capable of.
Everyone wins and everyone loses every now and again. If we didn’t experience a loss we would never know what we are capable of. The important thing to remember is:
You don’t really lose when you fight for what you believe in. You lose when you fail to fight for what you care about.
* * *
I’m going to share a little secret with you. Running has always been a source of my stamina. Early in my career I learned to run until I was tired, then run even more after that. But all the running I did before the fatigue and pain was just the introduction to my workout. The real conditioning began when the pain set in. That was when it was time to start pushing. That was when I would count every mile as extra strength and stamina.
What counts in the ring is what you can do after you’re exhausted. The same is true of life.
Outrun the people who quit when they feel discomfort, outrun the people who stop because of despair, outrun the people who are delayed because of prejudice, outrun the people who surrender to failure, and outrun the opponent who loses sight of the goal. Because if you want to win, the will can never retire, the race can never stop, and faith can never weaken.
no sad GOODBYES
ALL MY LIFE I achieved the impossible by defying the odds, so after I lost to Larry Holmes in October 1980, I gave it one more shot. I fought Trevor Berbick in the Bahamas on December 11, 1981. I lost in the tenth round. Before the fight I remember telling the critics that I thought forty was a fun age, life was just beginning.
Age was mind over matter—as long as you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.
After I lost my last fight I had to admit that it was over. Time had finally caught up with me. I would later discover that I already had Parkinson’s disease. Before that point, I could never really say goodbye to boxing, so boxing said goodbye to me. None of the Black boxers before me got out when they were on top. I wanted to be the first. The truth is if I won my last fight I would have kept going. I would have been sixty years old still trying to achieve the impossible. Someone wrote that I stayed in the game too long and what I loved ended up destroying me. But if I could do it all again, I would do it exactly the same. Whatever I suffered physically was worth what I have accomplished in life. My heart told me one thing and my mind told me another. And when I had to decide between them, I chose to follow my heart.
My toughest opponent has always been me.
the
SHADOW DANCE
The legendary fight that the world will never see for the title of “The Greatest” is between Cassius Clay and Muhammad Ali. But if only for a moment this fight would be, Who would win the Rumble between the Butterfly and the Bee …?
Every time I look in the mirror,
I see that kid from Louisville, Kentucky,
staring back at me.
His name was Cassius Clay.
THE KID SAYS he is greater than Muhammad Ali. He claims to have made me who I am today. So I tell him that he is crazy. I look him in the eyes and declare that it was Muhammad Ali who made him great.
I insist that it was Muhammad Ali, not Cassius Clay, who stood up to the mighty government for his beliefs.
I tell him that it was Muhammad Ali who weathered the storms and endured the pain.
I tell him that it was Muhammad Ali who mastered the art of faith; Muhammad Ali, not Cassius Clay, who spread the truth.
Then I tell the kid that he was good—possibly even great—but that it was Muhammad Ali who invented the rope-a-dope and lit the Olympic torch.
I tell him that it was Muhammad Ali who shocked the world and made a place in history.
When I am through, the kid has a few words for me.
He looks into my eyes and confidently replies: “Almost everything you say is true. Muhammad Ali may have mastered the game, but it was Cassius Clay who dreamed the dream. Ca
ssius Clay who inspired Ali to follow his heart. While Muhammad played the rope-a-dope game, it was Cassius who danced around the ring, shuffling and floating as if in a dream.”
So, when you accept the awards and receive the praise, he tells me, remember one thing: It may be Muhammad Ali who is the greatest, but it was Cassius Clay who paved the way.
the
DECISION
As Cassius and Ali danced around the ring, reliving the dream, in the final round it came to a draw. One could not be greater than what the other proclaimed. From the very beginning they shared the same heart, This has been true from the very start.
hana yasmeen ali
HAPPY MEMORIES
Not long ago, someone asked me what I missed the most about boxing. They wanted to know the things I thought about when I revisited yesterday.
SOME DAYS WHEN I rise, I have memories of yesterday on my mind, memories of the struggles and challenges. Memories of the dance, the glory, and the dream.
I remember Angelo’s shouts, Howard’s flash capturing moments in time, and the sparkle in Bundini’s eyes. I remember jogging with my brother at my side, and all the roads we traveled together. I remember the training camp at Deer Lake in the spring, and the smell of chopped wood. I remember the climb up Agony Hill and the trip back down.
I recall the roaring of the crowd and the sound of the bell. I remember the feeling of the ring, the dancing, the shuffling, the rhythm, and my speed. I remember the rope-a-dope and its victory, but most of all I remember living freely.
