It is exactly 49 years this week since a breathtakingly brash young man named Cassius Marcellus Clay became Muhammad Ali and won the world heavyweight title against Sonny Liston.

Sadly, there are serious worries that the greatest figure in boxing's rich history may not live to see the "golden anniversary" of an event that in his words "shook up the world".

There are conflicting stories about the current state of Ali's health. At 71, paralysed and muted by Parkinson's disease, an affliction unquestionably acerbated by having at least ten fights too many, he is said by some to be on the brink of death.

The rumour-mongers are largely those family members from whom he has become estranged, notably his brother Rahman and son Muhammad Ali Jnr (one of his nine children) who claim they are being frozen out by fourth wife Lonnie as heirs to his $30 million (£20 million/€23 million) fortune.

Lonnie and others in Ali's circle of friends take a different view, saying that while he is obviously very seriously ill, he continues to fight on sustained by medication, TLC and the global adulation of his fans.


Most days are spent propped up in a chair watching old movies and videos of his fights.

He barely recognises those around him but while the end is not believed to be imminent, it may not be far off.

Lennox Lewis, like Ali a former Olympic champion, is among those concerned over reports of his rapid deterioration.

"Seeing Ali as he is now is the greatest sadness of my life," sighs one of only three heavyweight champions in history to quit while still champion and stay retired, along with Gene Tunney and Rocky Marciano.

"Ali was more than my idol, he was my inspiration. I just wish we could all remember him as he was, a pioneer and the boxer who had it all. What he's done outside the ring – the bravery, the poise, the feeling, the sacrifice – he should get the Nobel Peace Prize for what he has achieved."

Another sad aspect is that when Ali goes he leaves behind no legacy for American heavyweight boxing, at either world or Olympic level. There is not one big American who has a hope of winning what once was regarded as the richest prize in sport or an Olympic gold medal.

It is seven years since an American (Hasim Rahman) last held an authoritative version of the world heavyweight title now dominated by Eastern Europe courtesy of the Klitschko brothers.


It is also almost 30 years since Tyrell Biggs became the last US Olympic heavyweight champion in Los Angeles. Biggs, like so many others who stood on the Olympic rostrum, never became a professional world champion.

Although immensely talented, his was a career blighted by alcohol and drug addiction.

The dearth of decent US heavyweights is the main reason the top American promoters Golden Boy have been wooing the new British Olympic champion Anthony Joshua.

However, Golden Boy may have a fight on their hands for Joshua, together with fellow Olympic gold medallist Luke Campbell he was hobnobbing at the York Hall ringside with promoter Eddie Hearn at Saturday's Prizefighter tournament won by, surprise surprise, dear old Audley Harrison.

The 41-year-old Harrison had last been seen poleaxed in 82 seconds by another fellow Olympic medallist, David Price, whose own burgeoning unbeaten career was brutally punctured by veteran Yank Tony Thompson the same night in Liverpool. Funny old game, boxing.

I believe Price will rise again but more significantly the current buzz is that if big Josh is to take the dosh and turn pro when his contract with GB's amateur set-up expires later this month it will be with Hearn's Matchroom organisation, with David Haye's guru Adam Booth schooling him.

There has not been a major heavyweight attraction in America since Mike Tyson.

While American heavyweights may be a disappearing breed but there is no shortage of talent in the lower weights.


Currently the best fighter around in any division is the flashily arrogant two-weight world champion Adrien Broner, who so ruthlessly despatched British lightweight Gavin Rees last week.

With a preening vanity allied to a brilliance that is a blend of Ali and Floyd Mayweather Jnr - the new "Cincinnati Kid", at 23 already a father-of-five, can sustain boxing for the next decade. Like Ali, he has a tongue as fast as his fists. Asked what is his best shot he smoothes his hair and replies: "When someone takes a picture of me."

With Olympic boxing in the US is such a parlous state you may wonder why Broner never made their team despite having had 300 amateur bouts.

The answer that his 2008 Olympic aspirations were scuppered when he served a year on remand accused of robbery and assault as a wayward teenager.

Now he confines his aggression to the ring.

Doubtless Ali will be reflecting ruefully on his nation's decline as an Olympic force as his sits in his farmhouse home at Paradise Valley in Michigan.

He will ponder more comfortingly on the day over half a century ago when as the 18-year-old Cassius Clay he won the Olympic light-heavyweight title in Rome, defeating Polish opponent Zbigniew Pietryskowsky in the final and showing early signs of the unique flamboyancy that was to become his trademark.

He was so proud of his gold medal that he didn't take it off for two days. Born on 17 January 1942, the younger of two brothers (Rudolph Valentino Clay was later to box as Rahman Ali) he was named after the 19th century slave abolitionist and politician, and brought up a Baptist. As a 12-year-old, Clay had taken up boxing on the advice of a white Louisville police officer, Joe Martin, after saying he wanted to "whup" the thief who had stolen his bicycle. He went on to win two National Golden gloves titles recording 100 wins and five losses.

In an early biography, he had claimed he threw his Olympic medal into the Ohio River in disgust after being refused service at a "whites-only" restaurant where was told: "We don't serve niggers." He is said to have responded:" "Well, I don't eat 'em, either."


He later admitted he actually lost the medal and was given a replacement during the 1996 Atlanta Olympics where his trembling hand lit the flame in one of the most emotional moments in the history of the Games.

The last time we saw him in public was here last year when, with his wife, a former nurse, guiding him, he haltingly assisted with the 2012 flag ceremony. For those of us who recall a rather different Ali shuffle, this was not a sight we wish to remember.

The previous occasion Ali had a such global audience and was as a member of the New York contingent which bid unsuccessfully in Singapore for the 2012 Olympics.

They took him along because of the impact he had made on three billion viewers when he lit the flame in Atlanta. But it proved a dreadful mistake. Ali had clearly deteriorated. His movements were painfully slow and robotic, his gaze blank, and unrecognising, save for the constant blinking of his eyelids.

The last time we had met was during a visit to London a few years earlier, when he received an award as the Sports Personality of the Century.

Ali always remembered your face, if not your name and he placed a trembling hand on my shoulder as he leaned down to whisper in my ear. "It ain't the same any more, is it?" "No champ," I replied, "It ain't."

Nor will it ever be once The Greatest is gone.

Alan Hubbard is an award-winning sports columnist for The Independent on Sunday, and a former sports editor of The Observer. He has covered a total of 16 Summer and Winter Olympics, 10 Commonwealth Games, several football World Cups and big fights from Atlanta to Zaire