But we argued endlessly about Stevenson and Muhammad Ali and would they ever fight and if so, who would win? Our guy and their guy. Money, embargo and the dictators Fidel Castro and Don King kept them apart. Ali was thicker and stronger and faster, we said, and Stevenson, an elegant and unbeatable mystery, had only ever cuffed around Latvians or Estonians a couple rounds at a time. He'd never last past the sixth. On the rare occasions we saw him box, he was lean, upright and murderous. Silent. Unsmiling. A killer of lesser U.S. talents like Duane Bobick and John Tate. Still, we assumed as a matter of religious conviction, political science and apple pie calculus that Ali would beat him, badly, and that the outcome would be the same if we sent Joe Frazier or George Foreman after him. Maybe even Ken Norton. Our gloves were loaded with democracy, after all, so our guys were punching for freedom. Just like Popeye or cartoon Joe Louis! The divine fix was in.
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