Why Muhammad Ali Is a Hero

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Muhammad Ali- Dramatic Monologue Home alone, once again. Just me and you servants here in this huge house, It gets so boring, nothing but my own thoughts to keep me entertained. Sitting like this brings back memories from the past. I remember it like it was yesterday night. October 1st, 1975, the Thrilla in Manilla. I was facing one of the greatest boxers in the sport, Joe Frazier. “Commentator voice; time for the main event all you guys were waiting for, lets get ready to rumble! Ali comes out to Joe Frazier, Joe starts to retreat. They exchange punches, Ali swings with his left, Ali swings with his right, but Joe responses with a fierce uppercut. Ali winds up his punch looking to finish the fight; his punch connects and knocks down Joe Frazier. Ali was won the match, he did it. Ali, Ali, Ali, Ali, I remember the sweet voice of the crowed; they shouted my name like I was the most beloved person they’ve seen, even after what I have done to Joe. The pleasure the audience got watching me knock my opponent down to the ground. This was boxing to you guys. I’m just a puppet hurting others to keep the audience entertained. My name is Muhammad Ali, boxing is just something I do, so what is a black guy like me doing in a frisky sport like this, well it all goes back since I was a kid. Sometimes I thank the person who caused this to happen, but back then I despised him or her. I was born on January 17, 1942. The youngest of two brothers. I was raised in the streets of Louisville, Kentucky, watching my parents suffer everyday trying to make ends meet. My father, Cassius Marcellus Clay. Sr was a billboard painter and my mother Odessa Grady Clay was a household domestic. This is where my story begins, my family wasn’t rich, we weren’t poor either but we couldn’t afford to buy toys and games like the other kids. For my 12th birthday, I expected to get the usual underwear

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