Me and Muhammad Ali (02/02/13)

Of course, Paul MCartney isn't the only world famous person I've ever spent a minuscule amount of time with. You have to consider the circles I move in.

It was the early 90s (91 if I recall correctly) and I was working in Leeds. A local bookshop had pulled off something of a coup. A book signing by Muhammad Ali. Recollection dictates that there wasn't a great deal of notice of this and I only found out the day before by walking past the shop and seeing a poster in the window.

This is obviously utterly ridiculous. The greatest boxer that ever walked the planet, a cultural icon, a sportsman who, in his absolute prime, took a political stance and refused to be drafted into the army, refused to serve in Vietnam as he 'had no argument with the Viet Cong', a man who was stripped of his title for making this stand and had to fight his way back up again - once allowed to actually practice his art once more.

Probably the single most important athlete that has ever lived and his presence was advertised by a poster in a window?

But it was. And I took my chance. Expecting not to be able to get near the shop due to the hordes that would attend, I scheduled my lunch to give me time to at least go down and see if I could catch a glimpse of the legend.

20 people. A queue of 20 people. I waited nearly 10 minutes to meet a god amongst men.

I'm sure rumours were already out that Ali wasn't a well man, that the onset of Parkinson's Disease was beginning to claim his greatness. It was clear in the fact that the 'signing' was simply a chance to meet him; no signing was necessary, the books came ready signed, an inlay glued to the frontispiece.

I reached the front of the queue.

Have you ever been in the presence of true, genuine greatness? Been in the presence of somebody who is just somehow 'more' than other human beings? I have. Just this once. Ali exuded greatness, there was an air about him, an almost otherworldly atmosphere, a stillness, a calmness. A greatness. There is no other word.

I probably shouldn't have asked what I asked next.

I have no idea whether I called him Muhammad or Mr Ali but what I followed with was this;
"I'm getting this for my father, could you possibly write 'To Bob' in it? It would mean the world to him"

Slowly, laboriously, one of the greatest men who has ever walked the planet took his pen and carefully inscribed the two simple words To Bob above the sheet containing his signature.

I quite simply, quite honestly wanted to cry at the fact that I had requested him to put himself through this.

I shook his hand.

I shook Muhammad Ali's hand. And I said;

"Thank you, it's been a pleasure and a privilege to meet you"

And the next weekend J and I drove home and I shook my Dad's  hand and gave him a book.

A book that had his name in it, written for him by the hand of a legend.