When I went to meet Muhammad Ali the morning after I graduated from high school, my enthusiasm was tempered by my growing recognition of what was happening to him. IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢d seen Ali light the Olympic Torch the previous summer, I knew all those fights had taken a toll, but it didnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t totally sink in until I shook his hand and felt it shake. I verbalized my admiration for him; it was a one-sided conversation.
Compared to Ali, I was relieved to find Micky Ward seemingly in relatively good shape when I went to the North Jersey book signing for his new memoir, Ã¢â‚¬Å“A WarriorÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s Heart,Ã¢â‚¬Â last Tuesday. I came away thinking that Ward looked and sounded pretty good, considering his former line of work. And honestly, thatÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s what we want when we seek out the heroes of our youth.
We want to be able to say, Ã¢â‚¬Å“He looks good.Ã¢â‚¬Â