Muhammad Ali, Yannick Noah and me
Or ... when I introduced Muhammad Ali to Yannick Noah
Or ... the crossroads of destiny
Here is a story that I have told only a few people but, over time, given the reputation of the two main protagonists, I decided to share it with the world, send it on the web through my first blog, as one throws a bottle into the sea, before I die, before one of the other two protagonists die, just to see if it will make ripples in the water.
The facts took place in 1975, 1983 and 1996. We are in 2010 (when I wrote this, but now we are in June 2016).
Let's start with 1983, the year Yannick Noah won Rolland Garros tennis open. I remember how I trembled in front of my TV set whenever Yannick rode to the net with his chip. I was praying that the ball would remain within the limits of the course and I prayed that Matts Wilander would not hit the ball back into the course to score the point.
We held our breath until the last point and then, he won the match. It was wonderful !
I remember he jumped into the arms of his father who had just climb down the stands of the stadium. It was wonderful !
A memory as imperishable as when France won the (soccer) Football World Cup in 1998.
In 1983, I had just created my small business. After two trips round the world backpacking between 1975 and 1981 full of many adventures, I returned to Paris. Having largely improved my English during my travels and even learned Spanish and Brazilian in South America (and even Italian in Guadeloupe, which I can explain on another blog, why not?), I naturally found employment of multilingual guide in Paris Visions.
I worked as a night guide doing night guided tours of Paris ending with a show at the Lido, Moulin Rouge, Bateaux Mouches, etc.
Tourists often told me that they had problems to reach the departure spot of the bus set “rue de Rivoli”. Either they had struggled to find a taxi, the drivers were not friendly, or they had been ripped off. Or they got lost on foot or using the subway, or even they had been attacked and robbed by a band of gypsies. Or rather the Roms, because at that time they were already circulating in tourist areas, in bunches of 5 or 6 kids, with 1 or 2 older one, often teenage girls, and targeting such and such tourists pretending to be begging while the rest of the gang robbed them of everything that was within reach.
So even when the tours were ending between 2 and 3 am, we night guides were supposed to bring the customers back to their hotels or near with the double decker bus. There were many hotels in small streets where the bus could not access, or close to the periphery of Paris or in the suburbs. As we could not go everywhere, we had to let some tourists somewhere in the streets of the Parisian night, often anxious and even fearful. Because of this, I offered a few times, for the great satisfaction of some, to accompany them to their hotel with my own car at the end of the tour against 50 francs to pay my service and improve my ordinary.
So much so that I quickly decided to take a bank loan to buy a second hand Volkswagen combi-van 9 seats. The idea was to bring not only 2 or 3 people in my two-door Nissan Cherry, but up to 8 people.
Better yet, I decided that if I could bring the tourists back to their hotel at the end of the tours, I could also go and pick them up. Even better, if I was a tourist guide with the Paris Vision bus, I could also do it with my own minibus.
Thus I created in 1983 the concept of semi-private tour which did not exist yet in Paris. Between the limo up to 4000 francs for half a day and the double decker bus of 80 seats starting the tours from rue de Rivoli, there was the minibus alternative with departure and return to the hotel door. So I created my first little pamphlet entitled "Paris Tourism" offering excursions such as the Paris city tour, Versailles, Loire castles, etc. and the Paris by night tours in my minibus. It only remained to convince the concierges of Paris hotels (with motivating commissions) who were used to book limousines or sell tickets for Paris Vision or Cityrama, to call me instead.
Well, believe it or not, the first year was not easy but I managed to retain some hotels that had seen coming back very satisfied customers (the following years, my company has grown a lot. I called it Excursions Parisiennes and it could also be the subject of another blog).
What about Muhammad Ali in all that ?
I’m getting there, but I had to explain this to make more understandable the spatio-temporal context of the story.
For me, it was all brand new to work steady and "for myself". I still had the mind of the traveler who does some work some short period of time and then leaves again to travel with the money he earned. Psychologically, you just don’t get out like that of a rhythm of 6 years of globe-trotting around the world, including a hundred countries crossed.
Can you imagine that when I returned from my first round the world tour in 1977, my eyes, my heart and my head were so full of memories, that I needed to write it in a book that I titled "Life Lesson ". The book remained in a drawer for 15 years.
And then one day in London by pure chance, I met a publisher willing to publish my book. Can you imagine that just when it was supposed to go out in bookstores, and other distribution vectors, according to the words of the editor, while I was going through a rather dark period of my life, including financially, can you imagine that the editor went bankrupt and gave me royally 4, yes I do mean "four" copies of my book. They are in a drawer, no, somewhere in a box. How should I translate this in language of destiny?
Anyway, I had decided to stop running my tours at the end of the tourist season, that is to say towards the end of October, and to go and see my old friend Carole Cardinal in Canada and spend the winter there with the good money, well earned, that summer with my minibus and ready to start the excursions again in the spring 1984.
I had my ticket for Canada in the pocket when the phone rang!
- Hello? I said.
- Hello, this is the concierge at the Hilton Orly hotel, I have a client for you.
- Sorry, but I warned you well in advance that I would close now the business for the winter. I’ll do the excursions again next spring.
- Yes, but this is special, I really need you to come and take care of that client.
- Sorry but tomorrow, I fly to Canada, I cannot.
- I’m asking you as a favor because this is someone special.
- Special ? Who is it ?
- He's a known person who stays in Paris a short time and who wishes to remain incognito.
Of course the concierge of the Hilton had aroused my curiosity and I replied that if he wanted me to come, he should first tell me who it was.
- This is Muhammad Ali.
- Muhammad Ali, I repeated. Obviously, it is special. And what does he want to do ?
- He just wants to take a tour of Paris for about two hours.
- Well, okay, two hours, two hundred dollars, right?
Silence.
- He agrees.
- Well, I'm coming.
It turns out that fate had me already cross paths with Muhammad Ali, somehow. In June 1975, I was globe-trotting in Malaya in Kuala Lumpur, and I knew that a world heavyweight championship between the British Joe Bugner and Muhammad Ali would take place at the stadium of the city.
I had gone there to the stadium hoping perhaps to see the living legend "for real", even remotely. I had seen his limousine arrive at the stadium and I was already very happy to have a glimpse at him coming out of the car. I took a picture of that.
The crowd piled in the vicinity of the stadium entrances were excited. The ticket prices were too expensive for the local population and even more for me who only had a few dollars in his pocket.
And then, suddenly, the stadium gates were opened!
The crowd stampede at the stadium that I discovered almost empty. So that's why they finally opened the doors. For such an event, how the fight could have been held in a cathedral silence and before so few spectators ? Ticket sales had been a flop probably and they opened the doors to put at least some atmosphere.
The crowd scattered in the stands but remained after all a little unsure and away from the ring, seeming not quite believing yet in this amazing opportunity.
I, armed with my old summer camp Kodak Instamatic, I approached closer to the ring. I saw the fight alongside the rich, men with huge rings and hat women. I could not believe my eyes.
Joe Bugner did not resist long to Muhammad Ali who won easily.
When, winner, Muhammad Ali went back on the path of the locker room, I crept up as close as could have touched him. Still armed with my Kodak Instamatic, victory! I took a close-up photo of the legend.
I even took a close-up photo of the loser, Joe Bugner.
As much as this story, that day has stuck in my memory.
It was June 30, 1975, the day of my birthday! I was 20 years old.
I even celebrated it with a chicken leg that I bought on the street at one of these peddlers. How delicious it had been this chicken leg. Indeed, for weeks before, broke, I fed myself with bananas because bananas hardly cost anything.
So, before jumping into my minivan, I jumped into my closet to find in an album the close-up photo I had taken in Kuala Lumpur.
- Hello, I greeted the concierge at the Hilton Orly.
- Ah, there you are, I call his bedroom. They are five because there are also his children, his wife and his manager.
A few minutes later, I see appear the legend. I recognize him.
But he is ... what is it ? He has put on weight, he walks a bit like an old man, slowly.
The concierge introduce myself. We shake hands. We walk up to my van and I opened the side door.
No, Muhammad wants to ride on the front seat beside me. With pleasure.
The manager, his wife and children in the back seats, we take off.
But, what’s wrong with him ? Something is wrong. A pathology. I wonder if it’s because of all the blows he took in his life that made him "crippled".
Not knowing his disease, and never having been in the presence of a person with Parkinson's disease, I didn’t know at the time that it came to this.
However, on the way we talk and I quickly realize that I even if he speaks slowly, he has all his head.
Place de la Bastille, the Marais, Place des Vosges .. and I told him about his legendary battles including against George Foreman in Kinshasa, Zaire and against Joe Frazier in Manila. He makes me a facial expression that says a lot about the harshness of the fights with this last one. I also told him about all the money he must have earned. There he said he gained much, much money... but now he doesn’t have much more left. Too many people around me to pay, he said: coaches, sparring partners, manager and a bunch of parasites of all kinds.
Going down the Sacré Coeur, he suddenly said, "I wana pee”, in a way that I understood it was urgent. I had to think quickly. You do not make a legend wait, but still I can not have Muhammad Ali piss in the street between two cars. I manage to park the minivan, badly, in front of the Ibis Montmartre hotel. Leaving his wife, children and manager in the minibus, I urge Muhammad to follow me. The front desk people look at us speechless. Following my intuition, I quickly locate the toilet down the hall. Muhammad on my heels following me to the place as desired urgently. We take each a urinal and share together with sighs of relief a divine drain of our bladders.
With an impeccable hygiene Muhammad and I take the time to wash our hands before leaving the restroom of the Ibis Montmartre hotel. There, waiting for us, but pretending not waiting for us, some of the staff gathered to verify that it was neither a double or a vision, nor a hoax from the receptionists.
Muhammad Ali accompanied by a guy came out of the toilets at the Ibis Montmartre hotel, crossed the hall, before disappearing into a minivan that vanished into the Parisian traffic.
Arriving Place de la Concorde, I let myself go and told him that one day in the past we have been like this, as close as today, less than a meter away. He looked at me, surprised. I told him that it was in Malaysia in Kuala Lumpur in 1975 when he fought against Joe Bugner.
- Oh yeah Joe Bugner. Good fight, he said.
And here I show him the photo. “It's me”, he said!
- Yeah, it's you, and it was me who took the picture. Destiny is weird, isn’t it?
Thus, Concorde Square, Muhammad Ali dedicated on the back of my picture : "for Jean-Jacques, November 17, 1983, Muhammad Ali."
I can say that I cherish this picture as a treasure.
And where does Yannick Noah fit in ?
I’m getting there. It was necessary for me to explain this so that we understand what is to follow and the force of destiny.
We begin to drive up the Champs Elysees as he says “I’m thirsty”. Well, we do not expect the greatest boxer of all time remaining thirsty. I suggested we stop in front of the Lido, the biggest cabaret in Paris, and have a drink at the cafe next door. OK ? OK.
At that time it was still possible to park in the middle of the Champs-Elysees, where taxis could park. I park up at the Lido’s level when at the same time a big white Mercedes parks just in front of me. We get out of the minibus and at the same time who is getting out of that white Mercedes ? Yannick Noah !
Amazing coincidence, I call : “Yannick ! Come, I'd like to introduce you to Muhammad Ali.”
He looks at me surprised but with the jaded eyes of people over-used. This guy is another pain in the ass, he must think. Muhammad Ali then arrives at my side, he acknowledges, taken aback, incredulous.
- Muhammad, I'd like you to meet the best French tennis player. They look at each other.
- Hey, I've seen you on TV, said Muhammad Ali.
Funny remark, I thought. Still I’m glad he recognized him.
They greet, exchange banalities. I propose Yannick Noah to join us for a drink. Unfortunately, he says he cannot because he has "to do."
Well, too bad. And just like that we “good bye” each other and separate in the middle of the Champs Elysees.
With Muhammad, wife, children and manager we enter a nearby cafe and find a table in the back of the room. Perrier water and fruit juices. Served quickly by the waiter in amazement, we only stayed a few minutes. Already the crowd is growing and incredulous onlookers approach to ensure that the rumor is already spreading like wildfire is real, Muhammad Ali is in the café.
We quickly went back to the minibus before the troop of followers became too swollen.
Time passes and that's already nearly two hours that we are touring. We must return to the Hilton Orly.
Beside me in the minibus, Muhammad seems happy and relaxed. He obviously enjoyed the ride.
Hilton Orly, we separate, we shake hands, we became best friends (hey yes man, we went to pee together !). “I enjoyed it very much”, he confirms. And we tell each other “see you one of these days”…
And time passes.
Until a summer day in 1996 when, in front of my TV, I was watching the opening ceremony of the Atlanta Olympics.
I was on Canal + channel and I remember that there was there top commentators (I don’t remember if it was Charles Bietry or Thierry Gilardi or both or another one), and known sports consultants. There was Thierry Rey the judo Olympic champion, Richard Dacoury basketball player and ... Yannick Noah.
Commentators are promising us a surprise and indeed, who do we see appear as last torchbearer of the Olympic torch ? Muhammad Ali.
Slow moving, even more affected by the disease than when I had seen him in November 1983, he climbed the steps and set fire to the cauldron Olympic.
In front of my TV, I'm really happy to see my friend Muhammad again and I am very touched by the honor done to him, deserved.
Commentators rave and ask in turn to the consultants to deliver their impressions. And all to say how it was moving and symbolic to have chosen him as last torchbearer of the Olympic flame to crown his great career etc., etc.
When comes the turn of Yannick Noah, before my TV, I'm on the edge of my seat, and I expect him to say that one day by chance, a guy introduced him to Muhammad Ali on the Champs Elysees.
And what did Yannick Noah say ?
He said it was beautiful and moving to honor this great champion, blah, blah, blah ... and ... and ... nothing else.
In front of my TV, I could not believe my ears, my eyes. Disappointed.
Did Yannick forget or did he not want to tell ?
The timeless fate of the third dimension had again recreated the triangle;
Me before my TV, Yannick inside the TV, Muhammad in front of the camera.
Why ?
When is the next sign of destiny ?
Muhammad Ali has had an exceptional destiny.
Yannick Noah has an exceptional destiny.
And me ?
We held our breath until the last point and then, he won the match. It was wonderful !
I remember he jumped into the arms of his father who had just climb down the stands of the stadium. It was wonderful !
A memory as imperishable as when France won the (soccer) Football World Cup in 1998.
In 1983, I had just created my small business. After two trips round the world backpacking between 1975 and 1981 full of many adventures, I returned to Paris. Having largely improved my English during my travels and even learned Spanish and Brazilian in South America (and even Italian in Guadeloupe, which I can explain on another blog, why not?), I naturally found employment of multilingual guide in Paris Visions.
I worked as a night guide doing night guided tours of Paris ending with a show at the Lido, Moulin Rouge, Bateaux Mouches, etc.
Tourists often told me that they had problems to reach the departure spot of the bus set “rue de Rivoli”. Either they had struggled to find a taxi, the drivers were not friendly, or they had been ripped off. Or they got lost on foot or using the subway, or even they had been attacked and robbed by a band of gypsies. Or rather the Roms, because at that time they were already circulating in tourist areas, in bunches of 5 or 6 kids, with 1 or 2 older one, often teenage girls, and targeting such and such tourists pretending to be begging while the rest of the gang robbed them of everything that was within reach.
So even when the tours were ending between 2 and 3 am, we night guides were supposed to bring the customers back to their hotels or near with the double decker bus. There were many hotels in small streets where the bus could not access, or close to the periphery of Paris or in the suburbs. As we could not go everywhere, we had to let some tourists somewhere in the streets of the Parisian night, often anxious and even fearful. Because of this, I offered a few times, for the great satisfaction of some, to accompany them to their hotel with my own car at the end of the tour against 50 francs to pay my service and improve my ordinary.
So much so that I quickly decided to take a bank loan to buy a second hand Volkswagen combi-van 9 seats. The idea was to bring not only 2 or 3 people in my two-door Nissan Cherry, but up to 8 people.
Better yet, I decided that if I could bring the tourists back to their hotel at the end of the tours, I could also go and pick them up. Even better, if I was a tourist guide with the Paris Vision bus, I could also do it with my own minibus.
Thus I created in 1983 the concept of semi-private tour which did not exist yet in Paris. Between the limo up to 4000 francs for half a day and the double decker bus of 80 seats starting the tours from rue de Rivoli, there was the minibus alternative with departure and return to the hotel door. So I created my first little pamphlet entitled "Paris Tourism" offering excursions such as the Paris city tour, Versailles, Loire castles, etc. and the Paris by night tours in my minibus. It only remained to convince the concierges of Paris hotels (with motivating commissions) who were used to book limousines or sell tickets for Paris Vision or Cityrama, to call me instead.
Well, believe it or not, the first year was not easy but I managed to retain some hotels that had seen coming back very satisfied customers (the following years, my company has grown a lot. I called it Excursions Parisiennes and it could also be the subject of another blog).
What about Muhammad Ali in all that ?
I’m getting there, but I had to explain this to make more understandable the spatio-temporal context of the story.
For me, it was all brand new to work steady and "for myself". I still had the mind of the traveler who does some work some short period of time and then leaves again to travel with the money he earned. Psychologically, you just don’t get out like that of a rhythm of 6 years of globe-trotting around the world, including a hundred countries crossed.
Can you imagine that when I returned from my first round the world tour in 1977, my eyes, my heart and my head were so full of memories, that I needed to write it in a book that I titled "Life Lesson ". The book remained in a drawer for 15 years.
And then one day in London by pure chance, I met a publisher willing to publish my book. Can you imagine that just when it was supposed to go out in bookstores, and other distribution vectors, according to the words of the editor, while I was going through a rather dark period of my life, including financially, can you imagine that the editor went bankrupt and gave me royally 4, yes I do mean "four" copies of my book. They are in a drawer, no, somewhere in a box. How should I translate this in language of destiny?
Anyway, I had decided to stop running my tours at the end of the tourist season, that is to say towards the end of October, and to go and see my old friend Carole Cardinal in Canada and spend the winter there with the good money, well earned, that summer with my minibus and ready to start the excursions again in the spring 1984.
I had my ticket for Canada in the pocket when the phone rang!
- Hello? I said.
- Hello, this is the concierge at the Hilton Orly hotel, I have a client for you.
- Sorry, but I warned you well in advance that I would close now the business for the winter. I’ll do the excursions again next spring.
- Yes, but this is special, I really need you to come and take care of that client.
- Sorry but tomorrow, I fly to Canada, I cannot.
- I’m asking you as a favor because this is someone special.
- Special ? Who is it ?
- He's a known person who stays in Paris a short time and who wishes to remain incognito.
Of course the concierge of the Hilton had aroused my curiosity and I replied that if he wanted me to come, he should first tell me who it was.
- This is Muhammad Ali.
- Muhammad Ali, I repeated. Obviously, it is special. And what does he want to do ?
- He just wants to take a tour of Paris for about two hours.
- Well, okay, two hours, two hundred dollars, right?
Silence.
- He agrees.
- Well, I'm coming.
It turns out that fate had me already cross paths with Muhammad Ali, somehow. In June 1975, I was globe-trotting in Malaya in Kuala Lumpur, and I knew that a world heavyweight championship between the British Joe Bugner and Muhammad Ali would take place at the stadium of the city.
I had gone there to the stadium hoping perhaps to see the living legend "for real", even remotely. I had seen his limousine arrive at the stadium and I was already very happy to have a glimpse at him coming out of the car. I took a picture of that.
The crowd piled in the vicinity of the stadium entrances were excited. The ticket prices were too expensive for the local population and even more for me who only had a few dollars in his pocket.
And then, suddenly, the stadium gates were opened!
The crowd stampede at the stadium that I discovered almost empty. So that's why they finally opened the doors. For such an event, how the fight could have been held in a cathedral silence and before so few spectators ? Ticket sales had been a flop probably and they opened the doors to put at least some atmosphere.
The crowd scattered in the stands but remained after all a little unsure and away from the ring, seeming not quite believing yet in this amazing opportunity.
I, armed with my old summer camp Kodak Instamatic, I approached closer to the ring. I saw the fight alongside the rich, men with huge rings and hat women. I could not believe my eyes.
Joe Bugner did not resist long to Muhammad Ali who won easily.
When, winner, Muhammad Ali went back on the path of the locker room, I crept up as close as could have touched him. Still armed with my Kodak Instamatic, victory! I took a close-up photo of the legend.
I even took a close-up photo of the loser, Joe Bugner.
As much as this story, that day has stuck in my memory.
It was June 30, 1975, the day of my birthday! I was 20 years old.
I even celebrated it with a chicken leg that I bought on the street at one of these peddlers. How delicious it had been this chicken leg. Indeed, for weeks before, broke, I fed myself with bananas because bananas hardly cost anything.
So, before jumping into my minivan, I jumped into my closet to find in an album the close-up photo I had taken in Kuala Lumpur.
- Hello, I greeted the concierge at the Hilton Orly.
- Ah, there you are, I call his bedroom. They are five because there are also his children, his wife and his manager.
A few minutes later, I see appear the legend. I recognize him.
But he is ... what is it ? He has put on weight, he walks a bit like an old man, slowly.
The concierge introduce myself. We shake hands. We walk up to my van and I opened the side door.
No, Muhammad wants to ride on the front seat beside me. With pleasure.
The manager, his wife and children in the back seats, we take off.
But, what’s wrong with him ? Something is wrong. A pathology. I wonder if it’s because of all the blows he took in his life that made him "crippled".
Not knowing his disease, and never having been in the presence of a person with Parkinson's disease, I didn’t know at the time that it came to this.
However, on the way we talk and I quickly realize that I even if he speaks slowly, he has all his head.
Place de la Bastille, the Marais, Place des Vosges .. and I told him about his legendary battles including against George Foreman in Kinshasa, Zaire and against Joe Frazier in Manila. He makes me a facial expression that says a lot about the harshness of the fights with this last one. I also told him about all the money he must have earned. There he said he gained much, much money... but now he doesn’t have much more left. Too many people around me to pay, he said: coaches, sparring partners, manager and a bunch of parasites of all kinds.
Going down the Sacré Coeur, he suddenly said, "I wana pee”, in a way that I understood it was urgent. I had to think quickly. You do not make a legend wait, but still I can not have Muhammad Ali piss in the street between two cars. I manage to park the minivan, badly, in front of the Ibis Montmartre hotel. Leaving his wife, children and manager in the minibus, I urge Muhammad to follow me. The front desk people look at us speechless. Following my intuition, I quickly locate the toilet down the hall. Muhammad on my heels following me to the place as desired urgently. We take each a urinal and share together with sighs of relief a divine drain of our bladders.
With an impeccable hygiene Muhammad and I take the time to wash our hands before leaving the restroom of the Ibis Montmartre hotel. There, waiting for us, but pretending not waiting for us, some of the staff gathered to verify that it was neither a double or a vision, nor a hoax from the receptionists.
Muhammad Ali accompanied by a guy came out of the toilets at the Ibis Montmartre hotel, crossed the hall, before disappearing into a minivan that vanished into the Parisian traffic.
Arriving Place de la Concorde, I let myself go and told him that one day in the past we have been like this, as close as today, less than a meter away. He looked at me, surprised. I told him that it was in Malaysia in Kuala Lumpur in 1975 when he fought against Joe Bugner.
- Oh yeah Joe Bugner. Good fight, he said.
And here I show him the photo. “It's me”, he said!
- Yeah, it's you, and it was me who took the picture. Destiny is weird, isn’t it?
Thus, Concorde Square, Muhammad Ali dedicated on the back of my picture : "for Jean-Jacques, November 17, 1983, Muhammad Ali."
I can say that I cherish this picture as a treasure.
And where does Yannick Noah fit in ?
I’m getting there. It was necessary for me to explain this so that we understand what is to follow and the force of destiny.
We begin to drive up the Champs Elysees as he says “I’m thirsty”. Well, we do not expect the greatest boxer of all time remaining thirsty. I suggested we stop in front of the Lido, the biggest cabaret in Paris, and have a drink at the cafe next door. OK ? OK.
At that time it was still possible to park in the middle of the Champs-Elysees, where taxis could park. I park up at the Lido’s level when at the same time a big white Mercedes parks just in front of me. We get out of the minibus and at the same time who is getting out of that white Mercedes ? Yannick Noah !
Amazing coincidence, I call : “Yannick ! Come, I'd like to introduce you to Muhammad Ali.”
He looks at me surprised but with the jaded eyes of people over-used. This guy is another pain in the ass, he must think. Muhammad Ali then arrives at my side, he acknowledges, taken aback, incredulous.
- Muhammad, I'd like you to meet the best French tennis player. They look at each other.
- Hey, I've seen you on TV, said Muhammad Ali.
Funny remark, I thought. Still I’m glad he recognized him.
They greet, exchange banalities. I propose Yannick Noah to join us for a drink. Unfortunately, he says he cannot because he has "to do."
Well, too bad. And just like that we “good bye” each other and separate in the middle of the Champs Elysees.
With Muhammad, wife, children and manager we enter a nearby cafe and find a table in the back of the room. Perrier water and fruit juices. Served quickly by the waiter in amazement, we only stayed a few minutes. Already the crowd is growing and incredulous onlookers approach to ensure that the rumor is already spreading like wildfire is real, Muhammad Ali is in the café.
We quickly went back to the minibus before the troop of followers became too swollen.
Time passes and that's already nearly two hours that we are touring. We must return to the Hilton Orly.
Beside me in the minibus, Muhammad seems happy and relaxed. He obviously enjoyed the ride.
Hilton Orly, we separate, we shake hands, we became best friends (hey yes man, we went to pee together !). “I enjoyed it very much”, he confirms. And we tell each other “see you one of these days”…
And time passes.
Until a summer day in 1996 when, in front of my TV, I was watching the opening ceremony of the Atlanta Olympics.
I was on Canal + channel and I remember that there was there top commentators (I don’t remember if it was Charles Bietry or Thierry Gilardi or both or another one), and known sports consultants. There was Thierry Rey the judo Olympic champion, Richard Dacoury basketball player and ... Yannick Noah.
Commentators are promising us a surprise and indeed, who do we see appear as last torchbearer of the Olympic torch ? Muhammad Ali.
Slow moving, even more affected by the disease than when I had seen him in November 1983, he climbed the steps and set fire to the cauldron Olympic.
In front of my TV, I'm really happy to see my friend Muhammad again and I am very touched by the honor done to him, deserved.
Commentators rave and ask in turn to the consultants to deliver their impressions. And all to say how it was moving and symbolic to have chosen him as last torchbearer of the Olympic flame to crown his great career etc., etc.
When comes the turn of Yannick Noah, before my TV, I'm on the edge of my seat, and I expect him to say that one day by chance, a guy introduced him to Muhammad Ali on the Champs Elysees.
And what did Yannick Noah say ?
He said it was beautiful and moving to honor this great champion, blah, blah, blah ... and ... and ... nothing else.
In front of my TV, I could not believe my ears, my eyes. Disappointed.
Did Yannick forget or did he not want to tell ?
The timeless fate of the third dimension had again recreated the triangle;
Me before my TV, Yannick inside the TV, Muhammad in front of the camera.
Why ?
When is the next sign of destiny ?
Muhammad Ali has had an exceptional destiny.
Yannick Noah has an exceptional destiny.
And me ?
Jean-Jacques Sevestre
I love that sory
RépondreSupprimer