Time running out for PacMan and boxing

“THAT’S MUHAMMAD ALI!” the boxer blurted out, his eyes suddenly filling up with tears and rage.

“They shouldn’t be doing that to him, he shouldn’t be up there, having his mouth wiped, barely able to sit upright. Why do they do that to him? That’s Muhammad Ali for f**k’s sake.”

I was on the receiving end of this alarming late-night diatribe, a few hours and a few drinks after Muhammad Ali had gifted his aura — unblemished, compared to his physical state — to the gathered guests at the American Ireland Fund charity dinner in Manhattan’s Upper West Side last Thursday.