What I’ve always loved about Muhammad Ali was his against-the-grain flamboyance. In a sport that sorely needed a fresh face, different from the battered pugs who came before and mafiosos like Blinky Palermo and his partner Frankie Carbo, who owned a majority piece of heavyweight champion Sonny Liston, the 22-year-old Ali — Cassius Clay at the time — arrived like a comet with blazing hand speed and a mouth to match.

What I hated about Ali was his decision to remain in the game long after his once difficult to elude punches no longer found their mark, too frequently taking a battering from fighters who couldn’t have carried his jock when he was in his prime. Superstar athletes too often see themselves as invincible, but there are exceptions to any rule.

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