Muhammad Ali

My late mother, who knew nothing about boxing, called her children, who also knew nothing about the sport, in the middle of the night to listen to Muhammad Ali fight.

He refused to go to Vietnam. He fought against racism.

He floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee.

Bye bye Muhammad.

Seventy four too young to die.

"I am America. I am that American you don't want to recognise. Get used to it."

"Why would I go to Vietnam? No Viet Cong ever called me a nigger?"

There was no one like him.