Ali
July 8, 2016
My wife has never held famous athletes and coaches in very high regard. Much of this has to do with her disdain for misplaced priorities – so much attention and extravagant spending devoted to entertainment and sports when so much of the world’s population is without most basic essentials of life.
Because of my work, my wife occasionally has been in the company of some of the biggest names in American sports; but only one clenched her in rapt attention. It was Muhammad Ali.
We were attending a banquet at which Ali was honored. We sat at adjacent tables, with the back of my wife’s chair almost touching the back of the chair to which Ali was being ushered, slowly because of his disease.
We all stood as Ali entered. My wife’s eyes were on Ali; my eyes were on my wife, for I had never seen her give respect to a sports personality in this manner.
After the banquet, and at times since then, and certainly again after his death June 3, my wife and I have talked about what it is in Ali that she hasn’t seen in other prominent sports figures.
We noted that he brought elegance to a brutal sport, and charm to boastfulness. We cited the twinkle in his eye that outlasted his diseased body.
We recalled the tolerance and dignity he brought to his faith, and how he demonstrated his faith commitment at the most inconvenient time in his career.
We recalled his poetry when he was young and talked too much, and his use of magic to communicate after disease stole his words, as he did that night we were with him.
Years after that banquet, when Ali lit the Olympic flame at the 1996 Olympics, my wife cried. She had tears in her eyes again when that moment was replayed on the day after Ali’s death.
Ali ascended to worldwide fame in a different era – when professional media tended to be enablers more than investigative journalists, and before social media pushed every personal weakness around the planet overnight. It’s possible Ali would not have been as loved if he had emerged in public life today. It’s also possible he would have been even more beloved.
Only in Football
November 22, 2011
There was a time when even undefeated teams might not qualify for the MHSAA Football Playoffs. Eventually, the playoffs were expanded to eight divisions, each of 32 teams, assuring any team which could manage six wins was an automatic qualifier, and also that many teams with only five wins would qualify (20 five-win teams in 2011).
It was anticipated that this would allow good teams to schedule like-size, nearby opponents without fear of a loss or two. But some observers now complain that mediocre teams won’t schedule certain nearby opponents because they fear a fourth loss that could keep them from certain postseason play. Long-standing league affiliations are being stressed by this mindset.
There are very smart, very sincere people who want the MHSAA to once again expand the playoffs to, they hope, eliminate these problems; but the MHSAA has already done its part to accommodate football’s “uniqueness.” For example. . .
- It is only in football that MHSAA tournaments have more than four classes and divisions. In football there are now eight divisions for the 11-player game, plus one division for the 8-player game.
- It is only in football that MHSAA tournaments are longer than three weeks. In football, it takes five weeks to crown champions in those eight divisions for the 11-player game.
- It is only in football where first-round tournament matchups can result in round-trip travel of 600, 700, 800 or more miles.
Proposals that would create even more extravagance – more 11-player divisions, more weeks of playoffs and more long trips – all because schools are reluctant to schedule nearby opponents during the regular season – are all proposals that should be sacked.