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Somewhere within the dreadful fog that comes with Alzheimer’s, I hope that Floyd Patterson considered that he had finally beaten his toughest opponent. Not Sonny Liston, Muhammad Ali or Ingemar Johansson. Floyd’s greatest tormentor was a shy, gifted and sometimes brilliant man who never stopped feeling incomplete and frustrated by his genetic flaws. That man, of course, was Floyd Patterson.
In 1962, Patterson wrote a book called ‘Victory Over Myself’, which has since become something of a collector’s piece. It said everything about Floyd, who wrestled for most of his life with the notion that he didn’t quite belong in that special part of the stratosphere where he had aimed his ambitious rocket. [details]
In 1962, Patterson wrote a book called ‘Victory Over Myself’, which has since become something of a collector’s piece. It said everything about Floyd, who wrestled for most of his life with the notion that he didn’t quite belong in that special part of the stratosphere where he had aimed his ambitious rocket. [details]