Thiry four years ago last Thursday, Muhammad Ali demoralized and defeated George Foreman in Kinshasa, Zaire to reclaim his title. Tonight, I saw Barack Obama reclaim America from our national nightmare in a cow pasture hard upon the battlefields of Bull Run in front of a crowd of 100,000.
I have long thought the Ali-Obama comparision was a good one to both men. However, I had previously thought of Obama as the young Ali, the one who could not be touched, could not be hurt. Tonight, as our next President fought through tragedy, through fatigue, my heart broke watching him, but ultimately, he reached down into some inner bedrock, found his bearings, and left us "fired up", dizzy and wanting to do it again.
Pictures will be posted after I recharge my batteries.
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Its over.
If you could have seen the 100,000 people standing out in the middle of what was basically a cow pasture in 45 degree weather for 6 hours, you would agree . Of course, you could also reach the same conclusion from the fact McSame only drew 1K at a rally in Florida
Obama was visibly tired and heartbroken by the death of his grandmother. As he talked, he missed cues, missed words, and was lacking energy. The crowd's enthusiasm was dampened by the cold mist and the hour's delay, not to mention a band that kept playing Kenny G-esque jazz.
Then he started telling the story about his "fired up" chant, and you could see him stitching himself together, gathering strength from everyone there and willing himself forward, one word, one gesture at a time. He called, we gave the response, and he rose until he soared, delivering the final devastating indictment of Bush/McCain/Palin. The crowd was swept along, two 50 ish women crying next to me, little children screaming and clapping on their dad's shoulders, and for me, an epiphany as to what America's promise looks like in real life.
The overwhelming emotion was love, and we gave him ours, and damn sure if he did not give us back his.
Obama, boumaye. Make history in 18 hours.