Super Sky Point to the great George Foreman. This one hurts. A kid who arrived on the national scene when he won gold in Mexico City in 1968 and waved American flags. Who became the most feared boxer of his era after destroying Joe Frazier and Ken Norton in a combined four rounds. An invincible force who was outthought and outboxed by an allegedly washed up Muhammad Ali in Zaire in 1974 and who retired three years later, exhausted after another upset loss and changed by the subsequent religious experience that prompted him to retire in his prime. Big George left public life and went home to Texas for a decade before returning to boxing to raise money for his church. He was mocked for being fat and written off as a joke as he knocked over a slew of tomato cans. But he persevered to regain that heavyweight title he lost in that African night just over 20 years later at age 45 with a right hand that rendered an undefeated champion unconscious. “It happened! It happened!” shouted Jim Lampley as Michael Moorer laid on his back in a fog after meeting the same right hand that had separated so many other men from their senses. He learned how to smile during his second act. Now bald and cherubic, the same folks who once feared him and teased him suddenly loved him. He became a genial teddy bear who made millions hawking that damn grill. Goodbye to Big George, a man who achieved a dream he believed in for two decades - the dream only he thought was possible. A man whose goodness redeemed him from the darkness that prevented him from enjoying his initial fame, fortune, and acclaim. He won so much more in his middle age than that heavyweight crown he prized so much. I never met George Foreman but I loved him. Rest in peace, champ.