It was a picturesque day in LA in about 1980. I was about to go for lunch in Century City as I crossed an open plaza.
In that plaza in a boxing ring with many strands of gray hair, was Muhammed Ali sparring with another fighter. When he was young his trainer said he floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee. There wasn’t much floating and no one was getting stung. At 38, he was a mere whisper of the fighter he had been.
One of the iconic figures of that century had met his match, Father Time. I only saw him again when he lit the torch at the 1996 summer Olympics in Atlanta, still, loved by people in every corner of the earth.
One thought on “A Day in LA”
Reblogged this on Pilgrim on a Long, Long Journey and commented:
A memory of Muhammed Ali…