The GOAT

He was a mountain of a man. Standing 6'3" and weighing in at 247 pounds, his sculpted frame looked more like something out of Greek or Roman mythology. With a pronounced jaw and a brooding forehead, his close-cropped hair gave him a presence that was reminiscent more of a sculpture than a real human being. Chiseled features and dark brooding eyes, stared out at lesser men with the haughty visage of a true apex predator. His gaze never challenging, for there was no reason to challenge lesser mortals. All that he surveyed merely added to the behemoth's supreme self-assurance.

Though his sheer size was remarkable, this giant did not move with the ponderous clumsy gait of a bear, but rather, every movement was filled with a lithe and sinewy grace that caused muscular ripples beneath his flawless skin. He never seemed to walk, but rather flow from place to place as if he were gliding, his movements never appeared hurried, yet his quickness was both breathtaking and mesmerizing to watch when he chose to explode into motion.

This massive and imposing specimen was John Joseph "J.J." Weston and the current undefeated heavyweight champion of the world. He had risen from the scrap yards of Scranton, Pennsylvania to win Olympic Gold by the age of 19. His first professional bout (a stunning knockout in 38 seconds) was a harbinger of doom for other fighters, as he steadily demolished every man that entered the ring against him.

It wasn't easy, although he made it look easy. There were many long hours in the gym, longer hours on the road, and an endless stream of anonymous faces to be knocked down like a row of dominoes, each one taking him closer to his goal. Along the way, he accumulated an impressive record, but as his reputation grew, and his future seemed brightest, dark clouds were gathering on the horizon.

Her name was Diana, and she had a beauty that demanded attention. The first time he saw her, at the 21 Club, she was on the arm of some rich guy, and looking bored. J.J. was wading through a crowd of adoring fans after taking out Sailor Donovan in the third round at Yankee Stadium. His manager introduced him to the rich guy, but J,J, barely acknowledged his presence as she captivated his soul.

His manager, Manny was telling everyone that they were in the presence of the greatest of all time. "With Donovan beaten, there aint a heavyweight in the world that can touch the champ!"

"Judging from that shiner, I find it difficult to believe how you could possibly be the greatest." she remarked with a smirk. "After all, the greatest would have remained unscathed."

"What, this?" He laughed. "This ain't nothin'. Just a lucky punch. My kid sister hits harder."

"Perhaps she should have trained the unfortunate Mr. Donovan." she replied, with a twinkle in her eye.

Thus began their tumultuous relationship. The pair boarded a Steamship across the ocean to Europe, where the world's champion gave a series of public appearances and demonstrations of his pugilistic expertise. In each country he was toasted by royalty, dined with Captains of Industry, and displayed his impressive physical abilities across the continent. Each venue bore the banner:

John Joseph Weston

World's Heavyweight Champion

The Greatest of all Time

In an old warehouse near the docks of Palermo, Sicily, John Joseph Weston sat in a hard wooden chair, bleeding. He was firmly tied, and three men had spent the last few hours "softening him up". From out of the darkness, J.J, heard the distinctive sound of hard leather shoes approaching. The great man's head was bowed, and he could barely see out of his left eye.

The champ was lost, as she had walked out on him 3 weeks before, putting his life into a tailspin. She had left without a word. He just returned to his hotel and her things were gone. No note. No parting words. Gone. Sure, they'd had their ups and downs over the last 15 months, but her desertion was so cold that ir literally pierced his heart.

The sound of footsteps ceased in front of him, he barely made out the white spats on the dark shoes with hazy eyes.

"Look at me, Mr. Weston."

He raised his eyes and struggled to focus on the man in front of him.

"Do you recognize me, Mr. Weston?"

The large man shook his head, struggling in vain to place him.

"A pity. But if you plan to take a man's wife, perhaps it would be better to learn something about him."

It took a while for the cobwebs to clear and the realization to dawn. As the light came on in his eyes, the man spoke again.

"I am glad you realize who I am. They say that you are the greatest of all time. From what I have learned, you seem to have been laboring under the mistaken belief that being great at one specific thing should translate across all fields of endeavor."

He paused "Oh, by the way, do give my regards to Diana."

As the man turned and walked out of the warehouse, a single shot rang out, immediately ending the career of John Joseph "J.J." Weston, the once-defeated heavyweight champion of the world.

"For over a thousand years Roman conquerors returning from the wars enjoyed the honor of triumph, a tumultuous parade. In the procession came trumpeters, musicians and strange animals from conquered territories, together with carts laden with treasure and captured armaments. The conqueror rode in a triumphal chariot, the dazed prisoners walking in chains before him. Sometimes his children robed in white stood with him in the chariot or rode the trace horses. A slave stood behind the conqueror holding a golden crown, and whispering in his ear a warning: that all glory is fleeting." -- General George S. Patton, Jr.

George C. Scott (Patton - 1970)