The other day I was watching NFL highlights on ESPN where they
were showcasing the latest feats of the incomparable LaDainian
Tomlinson. Apart from his great athletic talents, something else
strikes you about him. After scoring a touchdown he does a strange
thing; he simply hands the ball to the nearest official. No dances
or similarly planned gyrations; no jersey-grabbing and no “look at
me” demonstrations.
It is indeed a welcome respite from the barrage of hedonistic
narcissism and charges of racism a la Barry Bonds that nightly
pervade my TV set under the guise of sports coverage. Anyone
familiar with American sports has come to expect such behavior
whether they are watching the NBA or Little League baseball. But
where did it all begin?
A good place to look is ESPN’s Ali Rap — a TV special
where various celebrities mouth some of Muhammad Ali’s most notable
quotes, with sometimes disastrous results — which seems to posit
the theory that Ali somehow inspired that art form. The show seeks
to buttress the reputation of a man Spike Lee has called “Our
shining black prince; to black people, he was like God.”
Many like to hold Ali up as a beacon of courage for “speaking
truth to power,” especially on issues of race and war. But he was
much more than that. He was the first to realize that, much like
today’s entertainers, racism sells and, when combined with
cartoon-like displays of narcissism, it sells like hotcakes.
Prior to Ali, sports figures and other entertainment
personalities were held in high esteem and, in return, were
expected to respect those who made them rich and famous; the
ticket-buying public. The heavyweight championship in particular
was still considered the most prestigious title in sports before
Ali ascended to its heights.
Although some boxers verbally sparred with each other to promote
their bouts, they generally comported themselves in the ring with a
gentlemanly brand of sportsmanship and a mutual respect born of the
nature of the sport itself. And at a time when racial segregation
was still legal, most of America cheered all of its heavyweight
champs, white or black.
My late father, who was prone to cheering for Italian Americans,
thought Joe Louis was our greatest champ, both in and out of the
ring. For my dad and others of the World War II era, Louis
represented all of America in his epic rematch with Max Schmeling
in 1938. That he was later called a shuffling Uncle Tom by Ali
earned the ire of such men much more than any of his other
remarks.
And what remarks they were! Though he started out as something
of a self-promoting clown; mugging for the cameras with bulging
eyes and exaggerated facial expressions, he soon graduated to
poster boy for those radical groups who were unsatisfied with the
peaceful civil rights gains being wrought by heroes like Martin
Luther King. Add to this his opposition to the Vietnam War and it’s
easy to see why he was the first real icon of the burgeoning
liberal media.
And like the god that Mr. Lee still worships, he announced in no uncertain terms the parameters
for that worship: “I am America. I am the past you won’t recognize.
But get used to me: black, confident, cocky. My name, not yours. My
religion, not yours. My goal, my own. Get used to me.”
Thrilled by his boxing skills, many fight fans were at first
willing to overlook his ties with the radical Nation of Islam until
they suspected that ulterior motives were behind them. When Uncle
Sam called, Ali made clear in a message
which sounds chillingly familiar today, for whom only he was ready
to go to war:
War is against the teachings of the Holy Qur’an. I’m
not trying to dodge the draft. We are not supposed to take part in
no wars unless declared by Allah or The Messenger. We don’t take
part in Christian wars or wars of any unbelievers.
His message was manna from heaven to a generation of young writers
who themselves opposed being sent to Vietnam. Chief among Ali’s
media promoters was Howard Cosell and the apparent contradiction of
a Jew fronting for a man whose religious mentors were nothing if
not blatant anti-Semites was ignored in the face of such a
marketing coup. But, was Ali a racist?
He and his followers have tried to paint the picture that
everyone who rooted against him was a racist, his fame and fortune
in “white” America notwithstanding. Conversely, every opponent who
did not call for the overthrow of the “establishment” was an Uncle
Tom, deserving of whatever abuse Ali saw fit to dole out, racial or
otherwise.
Sometimes he tinged it with humor, as in this quip about George
Foreman: “It’s a divine fight. This Foreman — he represents
Christianity, America, the flag. I can’t let him win. He represents
pork chops.” He often sneeringly referred to Joe Frazier as “The
White Man’s Champion” and worse, a gorilla. And he was deadly
serious in an interview in 1970:
I was determined to be one nigger that the white man
didn’t get. Go on and join something. If it isn’t the Muslims, at
least join the Black Panthers. Join something bad….I hate to see
black women and men, once they get prestige and greatness, where
they can go into ghettos and pick up little black babies and make
them feel good, to go leave and marry somebody else and put the
money in that race….Now the white man’s got the heavyweight
champion — Joe Frazier’s got a white girlfriend.
He
expanded his views on interracial relationships
in an interview with
Playboy: “A black man should be
killed if he’s messing with a white woman.” When asked if a black
woman dated whites: “Then she dies. Kill her, too.” Yet, this is
the same Ali, who
joked upon his return to America after beating
Foreman in Zaire, “Thank God my granddaddy got on that boat.”
So was he a racist, a shining black Muslim prince fighting for
peace and equal rights, or simply a comic self-promoter who
exploited the woes of the time for his own advancement? That he was
probably all of the above is lost on too many of a new generation
of American athletes who are still bombarded with his message: that
to act in a respectful, humble way, is to sell out.
