Muhammad Ali

The quotes came first for most people — the rhymes, the self-declared greatness, the press conferences he turned into theatre. That was part of the method. He fought with quick feet and fast hands, but he also worked on opponents' heads before a punch was thrown, and the talk was as deliberate as the footwork.

He was born Cassius Clay in Louisville, Kentucky, and took up boxing after a stolen bicycle prompted a vow to fight. Olympic gold in 1960 opened a professional run of upsets, capped by beating Sonny Liston through nerve and craft. He joined the Nation of Islam and changed his name and faith, a move he framed as dignity and independence, and the media amplified everything he did next.

The refusal to accept induction into the US Army during the Vietnam War cost him most. He cited his religious beliefs and his opposition to the war, was stripped of his title and banned from the ring, and fought a legal case that went to the Supreme Court and came back in his favour. The years he lost were prime ones. What he gained was a reputation as a man of conscience. When he returned, the fights that followed — the Fight of the Century, the Rumble in the Jungle, the Thrilla in Manila — showed a different fighter: one who could absorb punishment and win late by thinking his way through.

Parkinson's disease took his voice but not his presence. He lit the Olympic cauldron in 1996, travelled to conflict zones, met leaders as a goodwill ambassador, and lent his name to museums and scholarships. Athletes who speak publicly on social questions are walking a road he widened.