The Greatest
It was a sleepover, but early, so they weren't quite ready for bed. They'd watched a basketball game while making s'mores, and both had pleasantly sticky fingers from the treats. It gave Alan a secret happiness to see his magnificent friend, the one and only Denny Crane, indulging in such simple, childish activities, and a greater delight to be the one with whom he so indulged. Once the s'mores were gone, they returned to big, overstuffed chairs for scotch and cigars without the slightest shift in their pleasure.
The game was over, and something else had come on, some sort of sports documentary with a socio-political theme. They weren't watching it, but it was on in the background, no commercials to remind them to change the channel. The game had been on one of the premium sports channels Denny had; he had just about every channel available to man, although he didn't watch television much unless he was on it. When Alan asked him why he had them all, Denny shrugged and said, "Just in case," without any further explanation. When he thought about it, briefly, Alan realized he didn't need one.
A familiar figure appeared on the screen, a unique possessor of athletic and aesthetic prowess combined. "Ali," Denny said. "They can't do one of these things without mentioning him."
"No, probably not," Alan agreed.
"You know… I always had mixed feelings about him."
"Really?" Alan leaned towards his friend slightly, intrigued.
"Oh, not about his boxing. He was superb…" Denny leaned back in his comfortable chair, and puffed at his cigar. "But the whole draft dodging thing… that left a bad taste. What was it he said about not having a quarrel with the Viet Cong?" He shook his head in dismay. "Of course he had a quarrel! He was American, wasn't he? Part of having a… national identity is making your country's quarrels your own…"
"My country, right or wrong?" Alan asked, with just a touch of amused sarcasm.
"Exactly!" Denny punctuated the word with another deep puff. "What good is being a sovereign nation if all your people just go off on their own, deciding who is or isn't a good enough enemy? If everyone just…"
"Thinks for themselves?" Alan asked.
"It's dangerous, Alan… that way lies anarchy."
"And free speech."
"Now you're talking like one of those civil libertarians."
"I am, on occasion, one of those civil libertarians, Denny. And so, in your own inimitable way, are you."
"Nonsense."
"You believe in uniqueness. And you fight for it."
"For my own uniqueness, yes." He looked at Alan. "And yours."
Alan smiled. "And mine. And countless others. It's all part of your… legacy."
Denny smiled as well. "My legacy… yes." He glanced at the television screen, showing an aged and depleted champion making his way up a slanted platform, carrying a torch. "I will admit – and just to you, my friend – that when I saw Ali at the Atlanta Games…"
"You were moved."
"Not to the point of tears or anything, but… yes. He endured. And that… that has to count for something." There was a long, comfortable pause. Finally, Denny said, "Now, if you asked him today… he wouldn't say he had no quarrel with Al-Quaeda. He wouldn't dare."
"I suppose there are some enemies that are easier to agree on than others."
Another nod from Denny. "Maybe we'll get our chance some day, Alan. To take down a few Islamofascists for our country. We're not over yet…"
"No…" Another long, reflective sip. "Far from it…"
Another pause. "Are there any marshmallows left?" Alan shook his head. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to go to Food Lion and – "
"No…But I brought that disgusting cereal you like for breakfast tomorrow."
"Spoken like a true friend…."
