I was lost.
It was late in the fall of 1989 and I was in the bowels of the most famous hotel in the world with no idea where to go or what to do. The Mirage Hotel and Casino had opened in Las Vegas a few weeks before, a stunning development rising into the Strip that had cost nearly a billion dollars and had a volcano outside its doors. Yeah, a volcano.
As a young Bay Area newspaper columnist, I had spent most of the past few months following the fortunes of the San Francisco 49ers, a juggernaut rolling toward a second consecutive Super Bowl title. But the spotlight of the sports world had turned to Vegas in early December with the third career match between Sugar Ray Leonard and Roberto Duran. The two heated boxing rivals were meeting in a temporary stadium near the back parking lot of the Mirage, a fight for Leonard's middleweight title and a celebration of a new over-the-top destination in a city known for going over the top.
And did I mention these two guys that were going to do nightly shows with pet tigers -- Siegfried and Roy?
So as I was wandering around the Mirage, I stumbled into an ice cream shop the size of Central Park. Well, not really that big, but it seemed liked it. And there were hundreds of people, clapping, laughing and cheering.
The ice cream must be pretty good, I thought. But it wasn't the waffle cones or the sundaes causing the party. As I moved closer, I suddenly realized I was mere steps away from not only the most famous athlete in the world, but perhaps the world's most recognized personality.
Muhammad Ali was sitting in a chair doing magic tricks and signing autographs. Yes, Ali. The crowd was fascinated. Children approached with caution, but ran away in delight after getting a hug or handshake. Adults took pictures and asked for signatures. And then came the chant.
"Ali ... Ali ... Ali."
The former champ grinned. It was the smile that had graced generations of magazine covers. Although Ali a few years earlier had been diagnosed with Parkinson's disease and the disorder was destroying his ability to communicate like he had for decades, he was here in front of hundreds of strangers turned friends doing what he always did best: Being a showman in complete control of his surroundings.
I wasn't lost anymore. After watching for a few minutes, I decided to approach Ali with a few questions. I needed to write a column and, well, there wasn't going to be anything better than what I was witnessing that moment. So I went to the chair, introduced myself and asked a question.
"The Mirage, a volcano outside, Vegas and Leonard-Duran III. Champ, what do you think?" I asked, hoping to get a comment or a prediction.
Ali paused signing autographs for a moment, looked at the spectacle around him and then looked at me. He then motioned for me to come closer and leaned into my ear.
"Try the Rocky Road," he said in a whisper, motioning to the ice cream counter. He then winked and started signing more autographs.
A few days later, I was back at the 49ers' training facility. As the team left practice, future Hall of Fame quarterback Steve Young stopped next to me.
"How was the fight?" Young asked.
"Disappointing," I said, referring to Leonard's boring unanimous decision over an uninterested Duran. "But I did meet Ali."
"You met Ali? Man, well, then it was worth the trip."
It was. So was the Rocky Road.
John Marvel is the Managing Editor of NFL Digital
