The humble warrior..!

A few years ago I interviewed a famous boxer. He was the man who had had a bout with Tyson and Tyson had bitten his ear in anger during the match. I remember that interview: My cellphone had rung as I drove home that night. I pulled over. “Would you like to interview Evander Holyfield?” the voice on the phone had asked me. “Of course,” I said.
 “Then come to the Sheraton by ten thirty.”
His flight was late and as I sat in the hotel lobby, my mind went to pictures I had seen of world boxing championships. Two men in a ring, more animal than human, glaring, eyeballing each other, moving around, their deadly, lethal fists ready to strike through opponent defense to score points or deliver murderous knock out. Fans screaming around the ring, and millions screaming in front of television sets all the world over. Men excited, blow by blow, women swooning over brute muscle!
I knew Evander had won the boxing heavy weight title, a record four times! Even Muhammad Ali had won it only thrice. Unlike Ali, though Evander was a quiet person. Unlike Ali, Holyfield was no bragger. He had been bitten by Tyson. He had forgiven Tyson for that bloody wound. He was called The Humble Warrior. I wondered why?
I knew he had arrived when I saw camera flashes working overtime. He walked in, slow, calm and self- assured. There was not an inch of him that was not pure muscle.
In his room, he lay on his bed for a moment and then got up. I offered him my hand, he grasped it gently. There was a strength that came not from muscle, but deep within. “May I ask you a question?” I asked. He smiled, and I wondered how many times he had been made to answer questions about himself every time he visited a new place.
“Where does your strength come from?” Another writer from Reuters put her mike in front of him, “may I ask something?” she asked. “No!“ said Holyfield, suddenly looking at me with interest, “ I want to answer Bob’s question. My strength comes from a God above.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“It was tough at the beginning,” continued Evander, “to allow God’s muscle power to take over my muscles, but he gently took over and now I thank Him for giving me His strength..!
I watched later as he got into the waiting cars and left for airport. I waved to a great man. I felt humbled. This man was pointing out to the world where his strength came from.
“How many of us?” I wondered, “continue depending on our puny muscles, when true strength only comes from a God above?”

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The humble warrior..!

A few years ago I interviewed a famous boxer. He was the man who had had a bout with Tyson and Tyson had bitten his ear in anger during the match. I remember that interview: My cellphone had rung as I drove home that night. I pulled over. Would you like to interview Evander Holyfield? the voice on the phone had asked me. Of course, I said. Then come to the Sheraton by ten thirty. His flight was late and as I sat in the hotel lobby, my mind went to pictures I had seen of world boxing championships. Two men in a ring, more animal than human, glaring, eyeballing each other, moving around, their deadly, lethal fists ready to strike through opponent defense to score points or deliver murderous knock out. Fans screaming around the ring, and millions screaming in front of television sets all the world over. Men excited, blow by blow, women swooning over brute muscle! I knew Evander had won the boxing heavy weight title, a record four times! Even Muhammad Ali had won it only thrice. Unlike Ali, though Evander was a quiet person. Unlike Ali, Holyfield was no bragger. He had been bitten by Tyson. He had forgiven Tyson for that bloody wound. He was called The Humble Warrior. I wondered why? I knew he had arrived when I saw camera flashes working overtime. He walked in, slow, calm and self- assured. There was not an inch of him that was not pure muscle. In his room, he lay on his bed for a moment and then got up. I offered him my hand, he grasped it gently. There was a strength that came not from muscle, but deep within. May I ask you a question? I asked. He smiled, and I wondered how many times he had been made to answer questions about himself every time he visited a new place. Where does your strength come from? Another writer from Reuters put her mike in front of him, may I ask something? she asked. No! said Holyfield, suddenly looking at me with interest, I want to answer Bobs question. My strength comes from a God above. Thank you, I said. It was tough at the beginning, continued Evander, to allow Gods muscle power to take over my muscles, but he gently took over and now I thank Him for giving me His strength..! I watched later as he got into the waiting cars and left for airport. I waved to a great man. I felt humbled. This man was pointing out to the world where his strength came from. How many of us? I wondered, continue depending on our puny muscles, when true strength only comes from a God above? [email protected]