The other evening I stood numbly in a slow-moving ticket counter line at O`Hare, wishing that I could be anywhere else. My bored eyes were slowly reconnoitering the racing masses in Terminal 2, when I was startled to see Muhammad Ali standing just a few feet away.
He was dressed in a well-tailored blue pin-striped suit, and looked very impressive and distinguished. Passers-by would glance furtively at him, suddenly smile as they recognized his face, and then allow their gaze to absorb the powerful image of the champion. A few would stop to chat, and to ask for his autograph on their ticket folder. Ali cheerfully would write a personalized message to each of them–the old and the young, the three-piece- suited and those in shorts–all of them getting equal time with the heavyweight champion. It didn`t seem to bother Ali at all that there seemed to be an endless supply of admirers.
His eyes met mine briefly as he made small talk with a fan, and they gave me quite a jolt. Their intensity immediately brought to mind the younger Ali, dancing majestically in the ring, so awesome and beautiful and in full control of both his opponent and his audience. When I compete in sports today, it is this image of him that urges me to keep trying, to concentrate, to stay in control, and to never, never, never give up. I will always love and respect him for being that competitive role model for many of us.
I approached him, and his glance once again met mine as he was writing something for a young man, and softly I said, ”Hello, Champ.” He finished his writing, and extended his right hand toward me–the powerful hand which had earned the respect of every boxer alive during the last 30 years or so.
”I just wanted to shake the hand of the greatest fighter who ever lived,”
I said and smiled at my champion. He smiled back and said ”Thanks.”
Abruptly, a middle-aged woman to his left said, ”Can I have your autograph, please?” He turned toward her and smiled. ”Sure–what`s your name?”
I returned to my interminable line and watched him patiently and cheerfully personalize autographs for another 20 minutes. I didn`t want an autograph, or something to show to friends or hang on a wall somewhere. What matters to me is that I have stood before him, looked into those magnificent eyes and shaken his hand as a friend. For my competitive spirit, that`s enough of an autograph for a lifetime.
