Showing posts with label Louisville. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Louisville. Show all posts

Saturday, June 4, 2016

Remembering Muhammad Ali thru the prism of an avid, teenage sports fan in 1970's South Florida. To me, for so many reasons, Ali truly was "The Greatest"


As a kid with a Sports Illustrated subscription starting when I was ten in 1971, I can definitely say today, just as I could ten years ago, that this is my favorite Sports Illustrated cover -EVER.
December 23, 1974 Muhammad Ali, Sportsman of the Year




Remembering Muhammad Ali thru the prism of an avid, teenage sports fan in 1970's South Florida. To me, for so many reasons, Ali truly was "The Greatest"
This has been a very sad day for me that I've been dreading for a very long time.

Since at least the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta, when Muhammad Ali lit the Olympic Torch, and so many Americans who hadn't thought of him or seen him in years, suddenly saw how Parkinson's Disease had begun to rob us of a transcendent and uniquely American personality who was both the source of so many shared joyful moments, as well as the subject of so many heated political arguments over kitchen tables and airwaves from coast-to-coast for years.


















Muhammad Ali, Miami came of age together in the 1960s

Growing-up in South Florida in the 1970's, because of my interests and personality, I was fortunate enough through circumstance and by taking full advantage of opportunities I created to be able to talk fairly regularly to South Florida sports reporters and columnists of the era, many of whom spoke to and interviewed Muhammad Ali regularly whenever he was in Miami, especially those times when he was training at the Fifth Street Gym on South Beach, which was later named for another native of Kentucky who left her positive mark on Miami, Elizabeth Virrick.

A 1982 photo of Elizabeth Virrick and Muhammad Ali in a gym named in her honor.

The following video is a combination of genius and heart and will make you laugh AND cry!


(As some of you readers know, I've long thought that Roy Firestone was a genius, but then, I'm biased on that score. I first met Roy when I was a twelve-year old kid in 1973 at the Bob Griese-Karl Noonan boys summer sports camp in Boca Raton, the first of my three summers there, when Roy was one of my camp counselors while still attending the University of Miami, later becoming a friend and common sense sounding-board of sorts.
Roy is someone I've long been planned on writing about here on the blog, with several great anecdotes including a few of the "Only in Miami" sort that South Florida residents can especially appreciate! 
Roy is also the first person to ever explain to me what makes the the film The African Queen magical, before I saw it for the first time more than forty years ago in Boca Raton. 

Years later, when he was doing the Noon and Weekend sports at Miami's WPLG-TV, the ABC-TV affiliate in South Florida, before he left for LA, when it came time for me to consider where to go to college, Roy urged me to go to Syracuse instead of Indiana University, where I eventually went, or USC, which I had always planned on attending all throughout my days at North Miami Beach Senior High School. That is, until Christmas of my senior year, when the reality of the gap in money needed for making that trip across the country to USC and my dreams of living and networking in LA, an unreachable goal. :-(
Roy suggested Syracuse in part due to the growing prestige and dynamism being attached to what was going on at the Newhouse School of Communications there, which in 1979, was before many of the more-recent but well-known grads there were actually attending. 
Perhaps if I'd gone there, I'd personally know all the very annoying Syracuse grads we all see at
ESPN and the nets, the ones who always want to tell you about how they used to make audition tapes when they were kids. Yes, we know, we know!)

What those journalists shared with me always stayed with me over the years, but I often was able to tell them a thing or two that they didn't know or were unwilling or unable to publicly acknowledge about the reality of the South Florida we lived in, as well as share Ali anecdotes that ABC Sports TV sportscaster Howard Cosell had written about in his own books, which I'd read over-and-over so much that I could practically quote entire paragraphs, to the eternal frustration of my friends and family. (Cosell's account of his times is still great books to read, all these years later.)

But then for people my age, it was hard to think of Muhammad Ali without also immediately thinking of Howard Cosell, the most popular TV sportscaster of his era, to the chagrin of many print reporters and his detractors, but the one person that well-informed sports fans like me could always count on to have the ability to make an #event a #happening -and later tell you why.








I still recall how over-the-top and angry the Miami supporters of the Nation of Islam (NOI) were regularly portrayed by the South Florida news media -esp. Miami TV stations- in ways that would 
be considered completely unacceptable now, even if what they reported then was factually true.
There'd be lots more use of "allegedly"!

It seems like a couple of times a year I'd hear my Dad, a longtime Dade County police officer, say something to the fact that they'd heard some rumors about the NOI Mosque on 7th Avenue & 53rd Street -the Mosque that Ali worshipped at when in Miami- and it was seldom something positive.

Though the powers-that-be in Miami may well deny it now, the truth is that there was always LOTS of concern among the Police and the Miami Establishment of the time that something bad would happen to Ali whenever he was in Miami, due to the myriad NOI personality/turf/power wars, which were generally acknowledged by people who knew the facts, though NOT for public attribution, of course.

My understanding was that very possibility, however remote it may seem now to us from a distance, really ate at some people within Metro Police who had to think about such things, and be prepared to deal with it. As if that were even possible.
Given Miami's unique and unfortunate history with riots, and its multi-ethnic populace's complete willingness to take to the street at the drop of a hat without waiting for all the facts to come in on a situation, something I have been witness to myself, you can well understand why that was a concern.

There were also always plenty of rumors sprinkled with facts about the NOI's involvement with organized crime, their curious easy access to weapons, as well as concern about how frequently NOI members in South Florida seemed to manage to get out of trouble at the last minute, just like in a film, where the audience always knows something the Police don't.
There were, therefore, concerns about possible "leaks" within Metro Police, which were not nearly as unfounded as you might imagine, given the facts-on-the-ground at the time.

In 1975, when I was in Eighth Grade at JFK Junior High in North Miami Beach,  one Spring night, just a few months after the Sports Illustrated cover above, I was surprised to receive a Dade County (Junior High) Track & Field Championships ribbon -Second place- from Muhammad Ali at a Dade County Schools sports award ceremony in downtown Miami, where Ali's appearance came as a complete thunderbolt to everyone -especially the kids! 
And my Dad, who drove me there.

People were, quite literally, in hushed tones in that small auditorium all night, anxious that they would not miss anything Ali said or did, and it will probably not surprise you to learn that the number of the people in the auditorium only increased at the night went on, as word about who was there, in-the-flesh, continued to circulate.
Pre Cell phone, pre-Twitter.

Trust me, if I'd known in advance that Muhammad Ali would be there, me being me, I'd have made plans to have LOTS of photos of that moment! 
Even if by now they were largely faded Polaroids! 

Every year in August on my way to the Cream and Crimson of IU in Bloomington, I'd drive and drive and drive by myself from Miami north to the Midwest, but no matter how much I knew to expect it, every time I first saw the highway signs letting me know that I'd soon be near Muhammad Ali Boulevard in Louisville, it always caught me by surprise.
I'd immediately think back to that surprising and amazing moment in 1975 when I met him in person for the first time, and shook his hand.
Calm when I did it, but slightly abuzz once back in my seat.
Just like all the other kids there, but probably the only one there who, pre-VCR, could name whom Ali had fought and where going back for several years, since retaining information and trivia of that sort was seemingly hard-wired into my brain.
Still is, if you hadn't noticed.











Muhammad Ali , coming and going...



#MuhammadAli #transcendent

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Sunday, May 17, 2009

"Gone were the topless women, and the teens who raced and stumbled across the tops of portable toilets, pelted with beer cans as they went."

Preakness, I barely knew ye.

While this Washington Post article is a little more
pronounced than some of the negative articles I've
been reading the past few months in the Baltimore
Sun on the dismal horse racing scene in Maryland,
it's a bigger part of the overall pattern.
The problem is that the patient is in critical care
and the doctors are running out of options.

Actually, compared to the tangible dynamic energy
and history of the Kentucky Derby at Churchill
Downs in Louisville, a place I love, and the first
race of the Triple Crown -always a huge getaway
weekend before the final end of school for nearly
everyone I knew at IU, due to the short distance
between Louisville and Bloomington and the fact
that SO MANY PEOPLE were from there-
The Preakness at Pimlico during my 15 years
in the Washington, D.C. area was noteworthy for
little more than the fact that the public drunkeness
there was such a neverending and embarrassing
spectacle for all concerned, not least, the State
of Maryland and the parents of the kids who
annually made a menance of themselves.

It was like a 1950's film on juvenile delinquincy
but one not lensed lovingly by Baltimore's own
Barry Levinson, and there in the track infield,
every other kid looked like a future low-life
convict that would prey upon the community,
including the longtime pals from Levinson's
Diner, which I watched again this past week.


How do you not know where to put the
Charlie Parker album, Beth?

Listening to D.C. and Baltimore media people
go on every year about it, most especially,
hearing The Sports Junkies recount crazy
stories they personally experienced or heard
about, was like hearing a trusted friend go on
and on about an old relationship with someone
whom you never met and for whom there
are no extant photos of.

You try to put it together in your head,
and keep waiting for the part of the story
where you hear what the initial attraction
was, met cute, before it wound up so
horribly, horribly wrong.

But that part never ever comes, it's always
just the seamy underside of the relationship
that gets continually discussed.

That's The Preakness!

Coming soon: discusssing the many, many
problems over at Gulfstream Park Racing
& Casino, complete with lots of photos.

Trust me, there's literally a mountain of stuff
to talk about on that subject, not just the
actual racing or the Village at Gulfstream
angle or...
And that's not just my opinion.

I just happen to be in an unusually-close position
to observe it and share my opinions, which many
people across the country have written to me
about over the two-plus years this blog has
been operating.

One thing is certain, people are tired of being
disappointed by it and the customer service
experience, over and over.
-----------------------------

At Troubled Preakness, a Sobering Attendance Drop

By Lisa Rein
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, May 17, 2009

BALTIMORE -- The future of Maryland's storied horse racing industry might be a matter of debate, but one thing was clear yesterday at the yearly race that has been the state's biggest sports event for more than a century: The Freakness is gone.

The usually crammed infield at the Preakness Stakes, which earned that nickname because of drunken fighting and other forms of debauchery, was far from full as post time neared. Gone were the topless women, and the teens who raced and stumbled across the tops of portable toilets, pelted with beer cans as they went.

To restore civility to what had become little more than an all-day party, officials at the Pimlico Race Course in Baltimore banned spectators this year from bringing their own beverages, including beer, onto the infield. The move contributed to a 30 percent drop in attendance, and it drew plenty of complaints.

"I'm here, but I'm not happy," said Chad Jones, 35, a mortgage broker from Baltimore. He was among a smattering of fans on an infield that ordinarily draws 60,000.

Those who stayed home forfeited the chance to see Rachel Alexandra become the first filly to win the Preakness in 85 years, holding off Kentucky Derby victor Mine That Bird by one length and Musket Man by 1/2 lengths.

Rachel Alexandra had drawn all the pre-race attention after her victory in the Kentucky Oaks the day before the Derby, and she did not disappoint yesterday as she led the all-male field for almost the whole race, covering the 1 3/16 miles in 1:55.08.

That so few people turned out to see the race was the latest blow to Pimlico and the Preakness, the second race in the coveted Triple Crown.

Attendance dropped 7.5 percent last year, to 112,222, and it fell yesterday to 77,850, track officials said. A referendum legalizing slot machines in Maryland has produced no money for the state's ailing horse racing industry. And Magna Entertainment, the Canadian conglomerate that owns the Preakness, is in financial straits.

The company filed for bankruptcy in March, saying it would put Pimlico up for auction. It relented only after Gov. Martin O'Malley (D) and state lawmakers threatened to seize the track by eminent domain.

O'Malley, on a tour of the stables before post time, repeated his pledge to "do everything we can" to keep the Preakness at Pimlico.

"I look forward to seeing it run for another 134 years," he said in a nod to the Preakness's first race at Pimlico, in 1873.

Tom Chuckas, president of the Maryland Jockey Club, which operates Pimlico, said he expected the ban to cut into ticket sales this year and next. Even so, he said, the infield -- a world away from the dresses and heels, linen suits and fedoras worn by some in the grandstand -- needed to change.

"We're trying to elevate the experience for everybody," he said. "Sometimes a short-term loss turns into a long-term gain."

Beer and black-eyed Susans, the event's signature drink, still could be had. But thousands of racing fans -- and fans of one of Maryland's wildest parties -- could not be consoled by a 16-ounce plastic cup of Budweiser for $3.50.

"We're missing about 30,000 people right now," said Sean Robinson, a track employee who was checking coolers to ensure that no beverages were smuggled in.

In an effort to keep the infield crowd, ZZ Top performed, and a bikini contest was held. An 8-11 a.m. breakfast bash featured $1 drafts of Bud Light.

None of that was enough to bring back Ryan Goff, 24, a Baltimore resident who works in media marketing and started one of many Facebook groups that protested the change. "What's the point of going?" someone wrote on one of the pages. "As if there's some reason to be there other than drinking and partying."

Reached by phone, Goff said, "For them to make this change was ludicrous for a struggling racetrack."

For all the criticism, the new policy also drew some new spectators. Mark Lennon, 30, who works at the University of Baltimore Law School, said he had stayed away from the infield for years because of its rowdy reputation.

"I was hesitant to come," Lennon, of Baltimore, said. "I'd like the day to be about the actual event, which is horses."

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