Today, for the second time in my life, I saw Muhammad Ali.

The first time was at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles.

I was out to watch a day of boxing and saw him in the concourse. I walked up and shook his (enormous) hand and told him it was nice to meet him before his bodyguard gave me the Vulcan neck pinch & threw me into the horizon.

Today, 29 years later I saw him again.

He was a woman.

I don’t mean he was acting like a pansy or wearing a wig.
He. Was. A. Woman.

With fists that could easily have crushed my sternum and the same haircut I remember from watching Howard Cosell, she was jazzercising in the shallow end of the pool and singing out (ironically) “Float like a butterfly, sing like a bee!”

I was tempted to go shake her hand but her bodyguard looked like he had the neck pinch ready to so I stayed where I was.

As I was leaving I swear I saw George Foreman coming out of the women’s locker room.

I probably should have stuck around…