Modesty and humility don't have much place in today's sports world.
We're in an environment where a defensive back will knock down a pass, then thump his chest, do a dance and taunt the receiver who didn't catch the ball.
Never mind that his team is trailing by 20 points in the fourth quarter.
A .220 hitter takes his time getting into the batters' box because he wants to make sure everyone hears the walk-up music he's selected.
In this look-at-me environment, where someone is always trash talking an opponent or guaranteeing victory, it might be difficult to appreciate just how outrageous Cassius Clay was when he burst on the scene in the early 1960s.
He had equally great gifts for boxing and self-promotion. Where most fighters were mono-syllabic characters who let their fists do the talking, Clay was composing poetry about his upcoming fights. The verse would usually include a prediction of the round when he would finish off his opponent.
He had taken his lessons from watching wrestling on TV in his home town of Louisville. He talked about how pretty he was, and promised victory.
His behavior was so over the top for the times that he became instantly known. He established his "brand" before anyone ever thought to use that term.
Boxing was still a big mainstream sport then, and Clay figured out a way to distinguish himself in a field crowded with heavyweight contenders. He was brash and bold. He knew that some people would like it and others would hope he got knocked out. Either way, they cared about his fights.
Maybe a lout like Sonny Liston could match him in the ring; it was no contest when it came to hyping a fight.
Columbia Records took note of the new personality and had him cut a spoken word album called "Cassius Clay: I Am The Greatest."
Most sports interviews in that era went like this: A humble hero like Johnny Unitas or Mickey Mantle would stare at the floor and praise the latest opponent as a fine team. "We're going to have to do our best and hope we can get some breaks and come out on top."
That world was rattled when Clay promised to float like a butterfly and sting like a bee. Imagine the impact of "My face is so pretty; you don't see a scar,
Which proves I'm the king of the ring by far."
Myron Cope traveled with Clay for a week and came away with a prize-winning magazine article titled "Feats of Clay" in 1964. Alas, it doesn't seem to be available online.
His lone Pittsburgh appearance came on Jan. 24, 1963, when he scored a third-round knockout of Charlie Powell at the Civic Arena. It was Clay's 17th pro fight.
Clay became Muhammad Ali and became controversial for more substantial reasons when he refused to serve in the military. It went unnoticed that most famous athletes met their obligation through reserve assignments that included no chance of combat in the Vietnam era.
His title was taken away and he lost three prime years of his career.
Ali returned to the Civic Arena in an odd way on Feb. 10, 1972, staging a sparring exhibition before a Pittsburgh Condors basketball game. The night drew 4,418 fans, which was about four times what the Condors usually attracted on their own.
A ring was set up at one end of the Arena and most of the spectators crowded in that part of the stands. Ali put on a show, wind milling, shadow boxing and pantomiming. It wasn't competition, it was performance and the fans ate it up.
When Ali left, most of the fans did, too. The Condors played the Memphis Pros before their usual few hundred witnesses.
Ali's methods were sometimes questionable. He identified some opponents, notably Liston and Joe Frazier, as "gorillas." He tossed around the term "Uncle Tom" recklessly. When Ernie Terrell refused to acknowledge his new Muslim identity, Ali cruelly slugged him repeatedly, shouting, "What's my name?"
He fought too long, placing his health in jeopardy to pursue paydays. His long slide into Parkinson's Disease was tough to witness. In recent years, he could barely move, speech was difficult and his face showed no expression.
When the news broke Friday that he was on life support at age 74, no one was surprised.
The retrospectives on TV will cover his career. You'll see a flamboyant character who knew how to push buttons and provoke a reaction.
Unless you were there, you might not appreciate just how much he changed sports.
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