Muhammad Ali and President Trump belong in the same ring. Along with Hylton.
Hylton and I worked side-by-side. When we were in our twenties in New Zealand. He was an exceptionally effective executive. Far more, he was a force. As natural and as powerful a force as a typhoon. He both drew and repelled people. He caught the attention of everyone within shouting distance. One way or the other, he got to them. Or got them to come to him.
I witnessed his power in our company. Then in his own. Later, in our industry. Over the years he extended that power to the country. And finally to the region, when he moved to Australia. He utterly dominated his profession in that region. Countless people made it their business to keep up-to-date with what he was doing and thinking. They still do now, as he eases into retirement.
To me, he and fellow typhoon Muhammad Ali were spawned by the same weather system. Of course, Ali impacted the world. He bragged. He taunted. He boasted. He punctured the pompous. He poked one finger in the eye of convention. Another in that of the U.S. Government.
Ahh, but he performed, didn’t he? He confounded his critics. He floated like a butterfly around lead-footed heavies. He stung, not like a bee but a jack-hammer.
Millions despised his very name. They lusted for his comeuppance. Yearned to see him decked in the third round. They scorned his arrogance. They added obscenities to the end of his “I am the greatest!”
Other millions celebrated his bluster. They loved his every move, in and out of the ring.
My point is that Ali drew the intense attention of a few billion people. He somehow inspired them to declare themselves. From Namibia to Peoria, they felt compelled to proclaim they were for or against his antics. Winning this notoriety and devotion was not an easy task for him. A mere handful of mortals have achieved the same.
Donald Trump is one of the handful. You don’t need me to suggest this. He sucks fans and enemies into his sphere of influence. From most every patch of the planet. To love or hate him. As if one extreme of his gives birth to an opposite extreme of dislike.
News media love the audience he delivers to them. Programs and journals that never touched politics now blather on and on about the man. The New York Times hates that most of the books on its best-seller lists are about Trump. They love that half the headlines on their front pages are about him. History textbook writers are already bashing him.
Weather guys finger him for the drought. Commuters in traffic jams curse him as the cause. Shanghai factory workers, the Pope, Tibetan nomads, sheiks and Arctic polar bears growl about the man.
Millions more adore the guy. And millions cannot bear him, but love his policies.
My point is that he is an absolute phenomenon. He is that rarest of blends of arrogance, supreme confidence, cleverness, moxie, crudeness, audacity, irreverence and influence. Ahh but he performs. He accomplishes things. Things that some cherish, some despise.
He entices billions of people to follow his every move and comment. He inspires polarization that has wreaked havoc in countless families and friendships. He causes more froth from Hollywood mouths than anything any of us can recall. Half the people of this world check on what the hell he has been up to before they seek breakfast.
Scorn for him is the number one topic on campuses. While admiration is rampant among the country’s “deplorables”. Often silent or whispered.
In the last two years Donald Trump has probably caused more fist-fights than have insults from the end of the bar.
All of this fascinates me. I am delighted to have lived long enough to witness such a phenomenon, such a human whirlwind. If my grandchildren listened to me any more than yours do you, I would urge them to pay attention. Love him or hate him, the world sees such a force about as often as Haley’s Comet.
I am confident in predicting they will not see such a political force again in their lifetimes. I know, I know. Half of our readers mutter “Amen to that.” While the other half sing his praises.
I wonder what Hylton feels.
From Tom…as in Morgan.
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