Sting Like a Bee: Muhammad Ali Elevated Trash-Talk to Poetry

When news broke that boxer Muhammad Ali had passed away at the age of 74 after a long and protracted battle with Parkinson’s disease, there was an outpouring of grief from all walks of life. Writers and musicians, artists and athletes all expressed their admiration of the man who declared himself the Greatest long before he knew he was; and while some tributes focused on his exploits in the ring, there were many more that eulogized Ali as a pugilist with a penchant for pithy soundbites, a silver-tongued brawler who knew exactly what to say and how to say it.

Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee; his hands can’t hit what his eyes can’t see.

You may have never seen Ali fight in the ring, but his quotes and quips have transcended sport and entered pop cultural canon as mantras of sorts. The first half of what may be Ali’s most-famous quote has reached pop cultural ubiquity; it’s a platitude you might’ve read on motivational posters. The second half of the quote, however, speaks volumes of Ali’s legacy; Muhammad Ali may not have invented trash-talk, but he damn-near perfected the art.

The man born Cassius Clay was living proof that boxing is as much a psychological sport as it is a physical one. There was no such thing as a run-of-the-mill press conference with Muhammad Ali; instead, reporters and fans alike were treated to impromptu poetry slams. He targeted opponents with flurries of surreal barbs, hyperbolic boasts and bold predictions that were as entertaining as they were intimidating. He was a pioneer and a master of performance who held nothing back.

The Louisville Lip was known for having the audacity to call his knockouts: he infamously declared that he would knock Henry Cooper out in five rounds, but he was willing to cut him down in three, should the British boxer dare talk about him in the papers. Similarly, Sonny Liston “may be great, but he’ll fall in eight;” Ali could effectively ether his opponents in the span of one soundbite.

Muhammad Ali may not have invented trash-talk, but he damn-near perfected the art.

It’s no surprise then that the self-proclaimed G.O.A.T. has had a tremendous influence on hip-hop. Ali proclaimed his nemesis Sonny Liston a “bear” and “too ugly” to be world champion decades before A$AP Rocky declared himself “that pretty motherfucker;” he effectively taught a generation that confidence was a feather to be worn in one’s hat, rather than something to be ashamed of, even going so far as to say:

At home I am a nice guy, but I don’t want the world to know. Humble people, I’ve found, don’t get very far.

Beyond boxing, Ali dared to be a confident black man in a time when such behavior was dangerous to his career and his life. He talked trash about his oppressors as much as he did his opponents and he sacrificed five years of his prime in defense and defiance of the Vietnam War draft; a political stance that made him a public enemy, and he had the spine, courage and wit to defend his decisions in the public forum.

His blunt machismo and masculinity were antithetical to the stuffy, sportsmanlike standards of the time, and his ostentatiousness was part and parcel of his entire appeal.

When asked about his training regimen, Ali said he had been trying “something new” before lapsing into liquid verse:

“I have wrestled with an alligator. I done tussled with a whale. I done handcuffed lightning, thrown thunder in jail. That’s bad! Only last week I murdered a rock, injured a stone, hospitalized a brick! I’m so mean I make medicine sick!”

In the lead-up to the “Thrilla in Manila” with Joe Frazier, Ali noted, “My lawyers told me to bring a bail bondsman to get me outta jail,” before turning the story into a couplet of tumbling verse: “They might put my tail in jail and get me out on bail after what I do to Joe Frazier!” Flow came naturally to Ali, whether it be the rope-a-dope or a string of perfectly landing syllables.

 The world has lost a singular figure. Sport has lost one of its pioneers. Boxing has lost its king. Perhaps none said it better than Ali himself:

When I’m gone, boxing will be nothing again. The fans with the cigars and the hats turned down’ll be there, but no more housewives and little men in the street and foreign presidents. It’s goin’ to be back to the fighter who comes to town, smells a flower, visits a hospital, blows a horn and says he’s in shape. Old hat. I was the onliest boxer in history people asked questions like a senator.