05/08/2025
Cassius Clay
For the club, the coach, the man who believed in them all
They called him Cassius Clay—not just for the fists,
But for the fire in his heart, the strength in his wrists.
A coach, a fighter, a mentor, a friend,
He built champions, not just with gloves, but with pens.
He fought in the ring, but his true fight began
When he stepped in the gym, when he reached out his hand.
For forty-two years, he gave it all free,
No spotlight, no paycheck—just belief, endlessly.
The kids came in broken, some lost, some unsure,
But he saw through the fear, saw the will to endure.
"Stand tall," he would say, "Keep your chin off your chest.
You fight like you matter—give it your best."
And they did. Some became fighters in lights,
Some put down the gloves, took up justice and rights.
Cops. Doctors. Fathers. They'd all come to say:
"He changed who I was—Cassius showed me the way."
The fair still rolls in, and the ring still gets built,
And though his corner is quiet, the canvas is filled
With echoes of lessons, with laughter and sweat,
With the legacy Clay made so few can forget.
This year I stood there, his voice in my ear,
Calling out matchups, pushing past tears.
I did it for him, and I’ll keep doing more—
For the coach who believed, for the name they adore.
Because when he looked at you, you knew it was true:
He believed in the fight that was rising in you.
Amy Hughes
