So what role does stubbornness play in the overall make-up of the manly man?  Thought you’d never ask.  Before we get into it, though, let me tell you about the van I was driving in 1971.  It was a 1969 Dodge that already had over 150,000 miles on the odometer.  It was mechanically eccentric, rolling on retreads, no air conditioner and equipped with am radio only.  I was working for a delivery service and the job had me behind the wheel of that van most of my waking hours.  When I wasn’t driving, I was working part time at a rough and rowdy rock ‘n roll bar call The Blue Goose.

On the evening of March 8, 1971, the farthest thing from my mind was personal milestones.  I was looking forward to a fight.  It was a Monday--odd time for a high profile prize fight.  Mohammad Ali would meet Joe Frazier, both undefeated, in a match for the heavy-weight championship of the world.  My money was on Frazier--for all the wrong reasons.

The build-up to that contest was unbelievable.  Cassius Clay, the U.S. Olympic boxing champ, converted to Islam and was given a new Muslim name.  At a time when thousands of Americans, including many of my friends, were being drafted to serve in Viet Nam, Ali refused to report for duty.  As a result, he was charged, tried, convicted and stripped of the heavy-weight crown.  As he stepped into the ring that night, his conviction was still on appeal.

In the lead up to the match, Ali, as usual, taunted and belittled Frazier.  As usual, these taunts and insults were eaten up by the media.  Where Ali was a vocal opponent of the war and a shameless braggart, Frazier was a low key professional wrecking ball.  He tended to the business of boxing and, for the most part, let his fists do his talking for him.

I didn’t like Ali.  Didn’t like the idea he’d rejected Christianity.  Didn’t like the idea he’d refused the draft.  Didn’t like the idea he was a loud mouth braggart.  The fact that he was s superior boxer was an irritating inconvenience.  I wanted Frazier to knock his block off. 

Since I was driving that night, I couldn’t  watch, even if the match was televised on a network channel.  I had to rely on the erratic reception of the van’s crummy little am radio for the bits and pieces I could catch between deliveries.  I don’t know what the Vegas odds were, but the money at the Blue Goose was even up.

What a scrap!  The advantage shifted from fighter to fighter almost round by round.  As the drama unfolded, the announcer, with breathless enthusiasm, praised the skill, courage and determination of both warriors.  Ali was hurt in the 11^th but came back to fight heroically through the 12^th, 13^th and 14^th.  Going into the 15^th, it was anybody’s fight.  I can’t say I liked Ali any better, but I had to give the devil his due.  The son of a gun had a great heart.

Then in the 15^th, a crushing left from Frazier sent the mighty Ali to the canvas for the first time in his professional life.  The announcer said it was a miracle, but he fought his way back to his feet.  According to the commentator, no mortal man could finish the fight after such a devastating blow.  But Ali battled on to the finish.

Frazier won a unanimous decision.  I made money.  But way down deep, I was ashamed.  It hit me like a ton of bricks that, whether I agreed with him or not, it took a lot of courage for Ali to get off the canvas and fight on, just as it took a lot of courage for him to stick to his code no matter how unpopular and costly.

So here’s what I learned about manliness that night.  A man deserves respect, even if he rejects everything we believe in, so long as he conducts himself with courage and high ideals.  He has a right--in fact he has an obligation--to be stubborn in this regard.  Where I was concerned, I realized it’s a weakness for a man to insist on being stubborn when he’s being petty.  One test of true manliness is knowing when to be stubborn and when to change your mind.  I had to change my mind about Ali.  Still, knowing everything I know now, I’d still bet on Frazier. 

I’m Hink and I’ll see ya.

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