The Silent Season of a Hero

Guest Opinion

By Isiah Smith, Jr. | Sept. 5, 2026

“No man has the right to be an amateur in physical training. It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength his body is capable of.”

Socrates offered this famous advice to a young disciple named Epigenes, who was in noticeably poor physical condition. When Epigenes excused himself by saying he was “not an athlete,” Socrates reminded him that everyone is engaged in a lifelong struggle for survival, making physical preparedness an absolute necessity rather than an optional hobby.

My heroes have always been writers and athletes. They say never meet your heroes because the fame or admiration for people you admire often lets you down in person. Your heroes are normal, flawed human beings rather than the perfect idols you imagine them to be.

I have met two of my heroes in my lifetime, and only one of them let me down, even though both seemed larger than life. First, James Baldwin, the writer, disappointed me because, seeing that those of us who had gathered to hear him at the Library of Congress in the mid-1980s were young, he pandered to us with his copious use of the “N-word.” He was clearly creating a militant persona he thought we wanted to see and hear.

The other hero I met was Muhammad Ali. Two female colleagues and I were returning from lunch at a Cuban restaurant in Miami, near the historic Fifth Street Gym where Ali trained. Now, however, he wasn’t training; he was in Miami to star in the story of his life, The Greatest. There sat an immaculate white trailer with “Ali” emblazoned on its side. On a lark, we knocked; one of Ali’s assistants looked out the trailer window, saw the two beautiful women with us, and, to our surprise, beckoned us inside.

Ali was warm and welcoming, giving the women hugs and engulfing my small hands in his massive claw. I was so excited, almost hyperventilating. Later, a “Black Muslim” cousin invited us to hear Ali at Mosque No. 1 in Miami. He was electric, expressing himself in a magical way, crafting well-considered sentences that grew into poetic paragraphs.

It’s no accident that the hero I met who disappointed me the least was Ali, a sports hero. He had shown us who he was so we could believe him the first time.

In 1996, the great essayist Gay Talese wrote a tribute to Ali, “Ali in Havana,” for Esquire magazine (later included his The Silent Season of a Hero essay collection). The essay was written when Ali was 54 and had been retired from boxing for more than 15 years. Parkinson’s syndrome had largely robbed him of the ability to speak, yet his presence spoke louder than any words ever could. Even in silence, ravaged by a cruel disease, he remained the man he had said he was, “the greatest.” Sports heroes move us like no other heroes ever could.

Even if, like me, you have no talent for sports, you can still pursue the physical and strength of beauty that Socrates urges us to pursue.

If basketball didn’t require dribbling, passing, shooting, and defense, I could’ve been an all-pro, on par with Michael Jordan. Even though I lack genuine athletic ability (I know, I know; yet another stereotype turned on its head), I eventually developed a barely passable tennis game through stubbornness, pride, and a high tolerance for humiliation. I may be the only amateur tennis player alive whose serve follow-through sent me to the emergency room with a knee the size of an overripe cantaloupe. Follow-through in the serve motion does not mean following through until your racket meets your knee. Who knew?

The great essayist Michel de Montaigne (often considered the father of the essay) did not write about modern athletics, but he regarded children’s play and games as profound reflections of human character rather than trivial distractions. He famously noted that “children’s play is not sport but should be deemed as their most serious actions,” meaning that early habits and games reveal true natural dispositions.

While admitting he was not particularly athletic, he recognized the value of physical training, and, during his travels through Italy and Germany, observed sports with great interest, appreciating events that echoed Renaissance traditions or classical antiquity.

Sports define and situate us, anchoring us in time and space. Ancient Greeks regarded physical fitness and sports as a vital, holistic discipline essential to developing both a strong body and a sharp mind. This remains true today.

Sports figures such as Ali raise complex questions about free will, responsibility to society at large, and happiness. Those lives also challenge the prevailing philosophy of nihilism—the dangerous idea that life lacks meaning or value and that morality does not exist.

It does, and sports are a way to teach that lesson to kids.

Isiah Smith, Jr. is a retired government attorney.