March 8, 1971: Fight of the Century

NEW YORK - In one corner stood the champion. Undefeated as a professional, he won his fights through agility, endurance, and guile. He may not have been the strongest puncher in the world, but he always found a way to avoid being hit by the big blows and to tire out his opponents with endless jabs.

In the other corner stood the champion. Undefeated as a professional, he won his fights through brute strength. There was nothing fancy or poetic about him. He just punched and punched until you could take no more.

Of course, there was room for only one champion. In the case of the fight on March 8, 1971, that man was Joe Frazier, the pure brawler, the man who took over the mantle of heavyweight champion after Muhammad Ali was stripped of his title for refusing to fight in Vietnam. Five years later, Ali was back, and the public was in store for the most anticipated heavyweight fight in history. Two champions, both undefeated, battling once and for all for heavyweight supremacy.

Part of what made this fight so highly anticipated was the conflicting styles. Ali had won his title as a dancer, so people wondered how he would hold up against the brute force of Frazier's punches. On the flip side, many others wondered if Frazier would ever get to land any of those haymakers, or if Ali would simply wear him down like he had the 31 previous opponents he had faced. And of course, there was the question of how rusty Ali would be after his forced layoff after being stripped of his title. He had fought twice since his return, but he hadn't fought a championship-level fight.

This fight also became about more than just the heavyweight championship. Ali was presented as the champion of the people who had opposed Vietnam and who questioned the government's involvement. Meanwhile, Frazier was the champion of those who supported the war effort.

As the fight began, Ali came out roaring. He completely controlled the first three rounds, using his lightning-quick jabs to harm Frazier and get him wobbly. After three rounds, it looked like Ali would win in a laugher. But in the fourth round, Frazier started to connect with his powerful blows and was able to get Ali pinned against the ropes time and again.

The fight seemed even in the middle rounds, but it was deceiving. In reality, Frazier was taking control of the fight. Ali admitted afterward that he was starting to tire in the sixth round, but the fight remained relatively even until the 11th. Late in that round, with Ali pinned against the ropes, Frazier unleashed a devasating left hook that had Ali staggering; only by leaning against the ropes could Ali stay upright.

Ali survived the 11th, but the fight was realistically over from there. Frazier started to exert more and more control in the final few rounds, taking the lead in all three scorecards. Finally, in the 15th and final round, Frazier knocked Ali to the ground, only the third time Ali had ever hit the canvas. Though Ali got up, the fight was over from there. Frazier retained his championship by unanimous decision, and Ali was handed his first professional loss.

Remarkably, the battle between Frazier and Ali had lived up to all the hype, even exceeded it. It was immediately hailed as one of the greatest boxing matches of all time. But it was just a precursor. Frazier and Ali would fight two more times, and their third and final battle is now considered an even better fight than the first one was. Their personal rivalry remains the greatest in heavyweight boxing history.

March 6, 1967: Conscientious objector

ARLINGTON, Va. - In 1964, Muhammad Ali failed the armed forces qualifying test because his reading and writing skills were subpar. But in 1966, with the test altered, he passed. He said he would never fight in Vietnam, saying it was against his religion. The Army wasn't moved, and on March 6, 1967, Muhammad Ali was reclassified as 1A, making him eligible for being drafted.

It was the difference of one letter, but it made all the difference in the world. Ali was claiming he should be classified as 1AO - a conscientious objector. He stuck to his claim that he would never fight in Vietnam, and when he refused to serve, his case was taken to court.

Like with seemingly all things with Ali, this debate was about more than just one man not wanting to serve in Vietnam. For many people who were opposed to the war, Ali was the champion of their cause, the one man brave enough to say what many people thought and the one man famous enough to do something about it.

For the U.S. government, Ali's status was about more than making a man serve in battle. It was about justifying their reasons for being in Vietnam and for legitimizing the draft.

Perhaps more importantly, it was about the public relations battle. Initially, Ali's stance made him extremely unpopular, the final straw for many people who tired of Ali's bravado and antics. Ali was stripped of his heavyweight championship and no state would grant him a boxing license. He was found guilty of draft dodging, a felony. In the eyes of most, he was losing.

But as the battle went on, starting with Ali's first public refusal to be inducted and continuing through the court battle, public perception started to turn. As the war dragged on and more and more Americans started to wonder why we were still there, Ali started to seem more and more like the good guy. Unable to box to make money, he started in on a lecture tour, speaking at college campuses where many students were anti-war like him. People started to realize that, perhaps, Ali was right all along.

Ali kept fighting his conviction, kept having appeals courts uphold the ruling, until finally taking his case to the Supreme Court in 1971. The Supreme Court didn't reverse Ali's actual conviction, but said that since the government didn't specifically state why it wasn't allowing Ali to be a conscientious objector, the ruling could not stand. It was a technicality, but it was also a victory for Ali.

Soon thereafter, the U.S. began pulling its troops out of Vietnam, and Ali was soon fighting in heavyweight championship fights again. While it's really stretching things to say Ali was responsible for ending the U.S. involvement in the War, his conviction and court battle went a long way toward swaying public opinion away from the government's side. While he was a pariah during the first part of his battle, he eventually won over many of his detractors. Just like he did so often in the boxing ring, Muhammad Ali won.

February 25, 1964: Hail the conquering Clay

MIAMI BEACH, Fla. - Sonny Liston was an imposing figure. A huge, punishing boxer, he was among the most feared heavyweight champions of all time. His intimidation came in part from his sullen demeanor, in part from his stunning record of knockouts, and in part from rumors that he was closely affiliated with the mob. Whatever the reason, many potential championship challengers refused to fight Liston.

Cassius Clay was not among them. Brash, cocky, and confident, the 1960 gold medal winner was not outwardly afraid of anybody. After winning his first 17 fights as a professional, Clay earned the right to fight Liston for the heavyweight championship. Despite his record, the young Clay was given almost no chance to beat Liston. Most experts thought that Clay's quick-moving, dancing style would be no match for the brute force of Liston, that the champion would win quickly and convincingly.

Liston was not a popular champion, considered too brooding and moody to be a popular figure. Clay was also unpopular, at least with the boxing press, but for an entirely different reason. His nonstop chatter and predictions got on people's nerves. Many saw his act as a cover for the fact that Clay was secretly terrified to get in the ring against Liston. The fact that at the weigh-in, Clay's heart rate was measured at 120 just further proved the point that Clay was in over his head.

But that was all part of the plan. All the talking, all the taunting, all the bragging was just Clay's way to get name recognition, to get more publicity for the fight. Normally, he might not have been considered a big enough name to warrant a large national audience for his title chance, but Clay's excessive talking got everybody's attention. The fight was previewed on game shows and news programs, and by the time the fighters entered the ring on February 25, 1964, it had become one of the most anticipated fights in years.

As the fighters came to the center of the ring, Clay kept talking. Why would he stop now? But he had a surprise for everybody. When Clay and Liston stood side-by-side before the fight, fans in attendence were shocked to see that Clay was bigger. Here he was, this young kid who made his living by dancing around punches, winning with finesse rather than force, and he was bigger than the most feared puncher of his day.

Clay had another surprise for the viewers, as he dominated the first three rounds, not letting Liston's powerful punches come anywhere close to landing. All that dancing and jabbing was causing damage to Liston. Clay was shocking the world.

Then in the fourth, Clay backed off. It seemed like he was just saving himself for later in the round, trying to preserve his energy for a last push. When he got to his corner, though, he complained that something was burning his eyes and that he couldn't see. It has been theorized that a substance that Liston's trainers used to stop his cuts from bleeding had gotten into Clay's eyes. Whatever the reason, Clay still couldn't see well in the fifth round, so he stayed away from Liston again.

Before the sixth round, Clay's trainers finally got the substance out of his eyes. Finally able to see again, Clay resumed his domination of the champion, landing punches at will and taking almost no damage himself. He wasn't just beating Liston, he was annihilating him. The beating was so complete that Liston didn't answer the bell for the seventh round, complaining of a shoulder injury.

Clay immediately got up and danced around the ring, his arms in the air. He was the champion - why stop the bravado now? As Clay was lifted up by his trainers, he shouted to anybody who cared to listen: "I am the greatest! I shook up the world!"

The next day, new heavyweight champion Cassius Clay announced he was changing his name to Cassius X. That eventually became Muhammad Ali. The young man who shook up the world in Miami Beach would go on to become the most famous American athlete since Babe Ruth. He would remain the most controversial, photogenic, and important athlete of his generation, dominating heavyweight boxing during its glory era. And it all started one February night in Miami Beach when a 22-year-old man announced, both verbally and physically, that he was the greatest.

The sixth round and the aftermath:

December 11, 1981: The End

NASSAU, Bahamas - "The Greatest is Gone," blared the headline on the cover of Time magazine. The image was of Muhammad Ali in defeat, slumped in his corner while his trainer looked him over. The most shocking part about the cover was how true it was. By 1978, Ali was nowhere near the fighter he had once been, very obviously at the end of a career that had completely captivated the boxing world. But now it was over. Everybody could see that now.

Everybody, that is, except Ali. See, that photo was published in February of 1978 after his loss to Leon Spinks, but Ali fought three more times, defeating Spinks in a rematch before losing his final two bouts.

The end for Ali finally came on December 11, 1980, not in the glory of a title fight in a huge stadium or a glorious casino, but rather in the middle of a rundown sandlot baseball field in the Bahamas, fighting against an inconsistent and subpar challenger in a poorly organized event where nothing was going right.

Most people involved in boxing believed that Ali should not have been fighting Trevor Berbick, or anybody at all in 1981. Ali was 39 years old, his body was ravaged by the beatings he took in 62 heavyweight fights. He was neither strong enough to inflict damage nor quick enough to avoid it. In short, he stood no chance.

But he also faced a $1.1 million payday, and even if a lot of people were unsure where the promoters would get the money, Ali agreed to it, and he stepped into the ring against Berbick in Berbick's home country.

Ali lasted the full 10 rounds against Berbick, but that was about the only positive thing that could be said about his bout. Berbick hit him continuously and mercilessly. Perhaps it was a sign of Berbick's ability as a fighter that he couldn't knock Ali out, but Ali stayed up before losing a 10-round decision.

After the fight, even Ali knew it was time to step away. He could no longer protect himself in the ring, could no longer either float like a butterfly or sting like a bee. And so he retired, finishing with a career record of 56-5 and leaving behind a legacy that made him perhaps the most famous athlete the world had ever seen.

October 30, 1974: Ali bomaye!

KINSHASA, Zaire - Ali bomaye! Ali bomaye! The chanting had been going on for a month, and it continued the night of the fight. Ali bomaye!

Muhammad Ali had come a long way since returning from his boxing exile. He had been stripped of his heavyweight championship in 1967 for refusing to fight in Vietnam, then was effectively banned from boxing for three years. In that time, he had become villified, both for refusing to go to war and for his religious beliefs. When he was finally allowed to resume boxing, Ali got a chance to reclaim his heavyweight title, but he lost to Joe Frazier in his third fight back.

Licking his wounds, Ali retreated, resigned to fighting also rans to prepare for another shot at Frazier and the title. Two years later, when it seemed like he'd get his chance again, George Foreman beat him to the punch by knocking out Frazier, claiming the title as his own. Foreman's win took a bit of the luster out of the second Ali-Frazier matchup. When Ali won that one, there was only one man left to fight. Foreman was waiting.

Ali bomaye!

In the hot and humid jungle of Zaire, Ali and Foreman trained excessively. Ali had started to regain favor in America as the Vietnam War grew more and more unpopular. He also easily gained the favor of the Congolese people with his outgoing personality, winnign friends everywhere he went. Foreman, on the other hand, was sullen and withdrawn, caring only about training for his fight. When he walked around with German shepherds, the dogs teh Portuguese colonists had used on the Congolese people, that clinched it. Public favor was permanantly on Ali's side. And thus the chanting: Ali bomaye! Ali, kill him.

But how could Ali hope to win, much less knock Foreman out? Ali was eight years older than Foreman and was well past his prime. He was a brawler now instead of a dancer, and aside from Frazier and Ken Norton, his list of conquered opponents hadn't looked too impressive lately. Foreman, meanwhile, seemed invinceable, a heavyweight with one of the strongest punches ever seen. He was indesctructable and capable of knocking somebody out with one punch.

As the Rumble in the Jungle started, fans settled in, expecting a classic. What they saw shocked everybody, including Foreman: Ali was standing in the corner, letting Foreman wail away at him. What was he doing? Why wasn't he fighting back? Instead of the dancing, floating Ali of the past, he was a statue, taking the best shots from the greatest fighter of the day and just letting him have free reign. It looked like suicide.

What it was, though, was a masterful strategy. Ali had devised his "rope-a-dope" strategy specifically for this fight. He knew he couldn't win a traditional boxing match against Foreman, so he had to hope to beat him another way. It appeared that Foreman was inflicting impossible damage on Ali, but in truth, he was barely hurting him. Those vicious jabs and hooks were just missing Ali's head, pounding harmlessly into his kidneys. They looked bad, but they weren't hurting.

Meanwhile, Foreman was tiring. The equatorial heat was stifiling, and the energy he was exerting was immense. When Ali dared escape from his defensive posture, he would throw jabs that landed squarely in Foreman's face, hooks that staggered the champion. Foreman was tiring and growing frustrated. And he was hurting.

Still, though, it seemed like Ali was doing nothing more than fighting to a draw. Foreman sure seemed like he had taken more damage, but he had thrown so many more punches that the fight was basically a draw in the scorecard entering the eighth round. That round was more of the same, Ali retreating to the ropes, Foreman wailing away, that status quo unchanged.

But then something happened. Foreman's punches were losing power. He was acting with less and less authority now. His jabs had nothing left in them. The heat and the exertion and the frustration had gotten to him. It was Ali's turn to strike. And when he did, he did so with ruthless efficiency.

Once Ali noticed Foreman's weakness, it took him five punches to end the fight, five punches to reestablish himself as the greatest heavyweight in the world. A right hook to get himself out from the corner. Two more to put Foreman on the defensive. A left hook to stun the champ, and a right jab as the finishing blow. Five punches in five seconds. It took an extra second for Foreman to fall to the ground, and it was over. The crowd barely had time to cheer.

After losing to Ali, Foreman didn't fight for a year and a half, shocked and saddened by his loss. He started a comeback in 1976 with the intention of getting a rematch with Ali, but it never happened. Foreman fought six more times before surprisingly retiring after a shocking loss in 1977. Ten years later, he came back, resuming his career, and his second boxing career culminated in him becoming the oldest heavyweight champion in history, winning in 1994 at age 45.

After beating Foreman, fought three no-names before beating Frazier again in the Thrilla in Manila. He kept his title for three more years, losing his championship to Leon Spinks in 1978. He regained the title for a third time later that year before giving up the championship voluntarily.

The Rumble in the Jungle remains one of the most famous fights in boxing history. It introduced the world to "rope-a-dope," and reintroduced Ali to the world. The legacy of both fighters was forever changed by that hot night in Kinshasa, and the echoes of "Ali bomaye!" remain in our ears to this day.


The eighth round of the Rumble in the Jungle

October 1, 1975: The Thrilla in Manila

QUEZON CITY, Philippines - This wasn't about boxing. It wasn't about the heavyweight championship. Not anymore. This was beyond personal. This was about one man who truly thought he was the greatest, and about an opponent who absolutely hated his guts.

Boxing is called the Sweet Science, but there was no science to what happened in the Philippines on October 1, 1975. Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier, both in the twilight of their careers, put on a display of power and brute force unlike anything that had ever been seen before.

Frazier didn't always hate Ali. In fact, Frazier petitioned the U.S. government to reinstate Ali and helped send him money while Ali was in boxing exile. It's possible, or even probable, that Frazier did this in part because he wanted a piece of Ali. He got that chance, winning their first matchup, a battle of unbeatens, in what was billed the Fight of the Century. Ali won the rematch easily, setting up their third and final match.

Leading up to the fight, Ali did his usual trash-talking through the media, including the now-famous line, "It's gonna be a thrilla, and a chilla, and a killa, when I get the Gorilla in Manila." That's what hurt Frazier the most, that "Gorilla" line. That's what inspired the intense training. And that's what was going through his mind when he stepped into the ring that morning in the Philippines.

This fight didn't begin like most Ali fights. Gone were the days of him dancing around a slower opponent, sneaking in a quick barrage of punches while his opponent swung at air. Now, Ali was the master of the rope-a-dope, wearing down an opponent not by speed, but by perserverence, making them punch themselves out. Frazier had always been that way, often just standing in the center of the ring and pounding away at his opponents, beating them into submission with pure strength.

But, it usually took Frazier a few rounds to get going and, knowing this, Ali came out firing. There was no dancing, no waiting. He just stood there, flat-footed, and fired away at Frazier for four rounds. Frazier was obviously hurt by the punches, often staggering backwards, but he always kept coming forward, putting himself right in the line of fire so that he'd be in position to punch back. To everybody's amazement, including Ali's, Frazier began the gain ground, and by the sixth round, he was in complete control. It seems it was Ali who had been punched out, rather than Frazier.

At the beginning of the seventh round, Ali whispered into Frazier's ear. "Old Joe Frazier, why I thought you were washed up." Frazier answered, "Somebody told you all wrong, pretty boy." And so the brutality continued. There was no dancing, no ducking. Just punching. Strategy was thrown out the window as the two great champions took turns throwing everything they had at each other.

In the 10th round, the momentum returned to Ali's side. Frazier slowly started to tire, and Ali's started to land more direct shots to Frazier's face. Frazier's left eye started to swell shut, then his right, until only slits remained open. And yet he kept coming, refusing to go down, refusing to quit.

By the 14th round, both fighters were in survival mode. Frazier, who could barely see, was completely at the mercy of Ali's punches, but Ali was so tired he could barely lift his gloves, much less punch with any conviction. This had long ago stopped being a title fight; now, it was a matter of survival.

When the bell sounded at the end of the 14th round, Frazier had his head resting against Ali's shoulders, while Ali was leaning against the ropes himself, barely able to stand. Both fighters staggered to their corners. Frazier's camp, seeing the carnage that had occurred in the last round, told him the fight was over. Despite Frazier's pleas to continue for the last round, his manager, Eddie Futch, said "It's all over. No one will forget what you did here today." He then signalled to the referee to end the match. Meanwhile, in the other corner, Ali had told his team to cut off his gloves, saying he couldn't go on. With Frazier's team throwing in the towel, Ali was the winner, but only by a matter of seconds. When he was announced as the winner, Ali could barely stand, and had to drop to a knee to do the post-fight interviews.

After the fight, both fighters had nothing but awe for each other. Frazier was amazed at Ali's ability to take a punch: "Man, I hit him with punches that'd bring down the walls of a city. Lawdy, Lawdy, he's a great champion." Ali's words about the fight have lived on as the ultimate summary: "It was like death. Closest thing to dyin' that I know of."

.....

Most of the quotes used came from from this story by Mark Kram, which may be the greatest article about a boxing match ever written, and is on the short list of greatest sports articles of all time.

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HONORABLE MENTION:
October 1, 1932: CHICAGO - This much is known: With one out in the top of the fifth, and the third game of the World Series tied 4-4, Babe Ruth stepped up to the plate to face the Cubs' Charlie Root. Root threw the first pitch, a strike. Ruth held up one finger. Root threw a second pitch, another strike. Ruth held up two fingers. Now here is where the confusion sets in. People who were there say Ruth either held up one finger, indicating that he had one strike left, or pointed at Root, saying what he was going to do with the next pitch. Still others, though, swear up and down that Ruth pointed to deep center field, to tell Root and the Cubs where the next pitch was going to end up. Well, we all know what happened next. Whether Ruth actually called his shot or not seems irrelevant now; the story has been told and retold so often that it is a permanent part of his legacy, and even if somebody definitively says that he didn't call his shot, it won't matter. To countless millions, that's what happened. And nobody can change that.

September 15, 1978: One more time

NEW ORLEANS - Nearly everybody thought he should be done. Even people in Muhammad Ali's team, the people training and representing him, said that his career should be over, that he should retire while he still could. But Ali didn't listen. He felt like he could still fight. He felt like he still had something to prove.

Gone was the young, brash Ali, the man who danced gracefully around the ring and wore down his opponents with superior speed. That man left after the Rumble in the Jungle. In its place was an old, powerful Ali, the man who won by simply taking punches until his opponent could punch no more.

The Rope-a-Dope method had taken its toll on Ali. He spoke less clearly now, moved a little slower. The effects were noticeable enough that people wanted Ali to retire before permanent damage happened. In February of 1978, at the age of 36, when he lost the heavyweight title in a grueling 15-round lossto Leon Spinks, people around Ali increased their calls for him to hang up the gloves.

He didn't listen, and Spinks gave Ali another shot at the title. The rematch came September 15, 1978, in the Superdome. Once again, it was Ali, winning a 15-round decision of his own. In beating Spinks, Ali became the first man to win the heavyweight championship three different times. He improved his professional record to 55-3, and gave himself the distiction of later beating all three men who had beaten him.

And then it was over, or at least it should have been. Ali finally gave in to common sense, retiring as champion in 1979. But the retirement didn't stick, and he came back for two fights in the 80s, losing both. Meanwhile, the loss to Ali represented the end of Spinks' relevance in professional boxing. He lost his next fight in the first round, and though he fought his way back to fight in two more championship fights, he was never again considered a great heavyweight.

Spinks forever holds one distinction, though. He remains the last man to lose to Muhammad Ali.

September 5, 1960: Gold in Rome

ROME - A white Louisville policeman named Joe Martin one day saw a young black boy, 12 years old, fuming. Someone had stolen the boy's bicycle. Martin, a boxing coach in his spare time, suggested the boy learn the craft of boxing to better be able to defend himself against bullies.

The 12-year-old boy was Cassius Clay, and he took to the boxing tutoring immediately. Unbeknownst to Martin, Clay was also training with black trainer Fred Stoner. Clay was making $4 a week appearing on Martin's TV show, "Tomorrow's Champions," while also using Stoner's experience to become more prolific fighter.

Clay's boxing success was immediate. He won six Kentucky Golden Glove titles and two national titles. As an 18-year-old, he took a 96-4 amateur record into the 1960 Olympics in Rome. Fighting as a light heavyweight, Clay won his first fight by knockout, then won two straight unanimous decisions to make it to the gold medal match. There, on September 5, he faced Zbigniew Pietrzykowski of Poland, the three-time European champion. Pietrzykowski was no match for Clay, either, as the young man from Louisville won another unanimous decision for the gold medal.

There's a possibly apocraphal story about Clay's return to Louisville after his gold medal. Despite the praises he got for winning the gold medal, Clay said he was refused service at a whites-only restaurant and got into a fight with a white gang. Frustrated that his life hadn't changed despite his Olympic fame, he allegedly threw his gold medal into the Ohio River.

The veracity of the story is in doubt, but it gives a good idea of what famous black athletes still faced in 1960s America. Clay started to remedy the problem for himself a bit later, as seven weeks after the Olympics, he fought his first professional fight. By 1964, he had compiled a professional record of 19-0. Then, he beat Sonny Liston for the heavyweight championship, changed his name to Muhammad Ali, and eventually became perhaps the single most famous athlete on earth.

All because somebody stole his bicycle.

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HONORABLE MENTION
September 5, 1918: CHICAGO - The first game of the 1918 World Series was notable for how early it was. Congress mandated that baseball end its season early because of World War I, so the Red Sox and the Cubs squared off a month earlier than normal. To add to the patriotic feeling of the day, the Star Spangled Banner was played during the seventh inning stretch of game 1. It marked the first time the song was played at a sporting event. Babe Ruth was the winnig pitcher for the Red Sox in game 1, beating Hippo Vaughn 1-0. He would also win game 4, helping the Red Sox to the title, their last for 86 years.

July 19, 1996: The Torch

ATLANTA - The final leg of the Olympic torch relay had some memorable moments in the 1990s. There was the ski jumper taking the torch in the Lillehammer Olympics in 1992, the archer firing the arrow deep into the Barcelona night later that summer. Atlanta organizers had their hands full trying to top that.

They did a pretty good job with the way the flame entered the stadium. Four-time gold medalist Al Oerter handed it to Atlanta native Evander Holyfield, who ascended a staircase to appear right at the center of Olympic stadium. Pretty creative, pretty goosebump-inducing.

Then Holyfield was joined on his lap around the track by Voula Patoulidou, a Greek runner. Symbolism abound, with a man joined by a woman, and American joined by a Greek on the 100th anniversary of the modern Olympics. Poetic.

Those two handed off to Janet Evans, one of the most successful Olympians in American history, and one with a chance to do great things at that year's Olympics, too. As she started running up the ramp towards the cauldron, it appeared that she'd be the final person to hold the flame. Good choice, there, to go with a modern athlete for the final leg. It was unique, picking somebody modern rather than a star of the past.

So there it was. The well-decorated swimmer, holding the torch aloft, running up the ramp towards the cauldron. The Olympics were about to start, the goosebumps out in full effect. But then, as she reached the top of the ramp, she was joined by a figure in white, stepping out of the shadows. People strained, trying to figure out who it was standing next to her, who was the official last person to hold the Olympic torch. Then it hit them...