When Muhammad Ali died June 3 at age 72, I remembered his famous boxing moments. His brash talk. "I am the greatest." Poems. Predictions about what round his opponent would fall. I remember watching him on TV, dancing in the ring, with his hands down low, ducking punches. The Rumble in the Jungle. The Thrillah in Manila. He would win the title three times.

But there was much more that to Ali's amazing life. He refused induction into the Vietnam War on religious grounds after converting to Islam. He was stripped of his title and banned from boxing for more than three years. During this time, Karen and I saw Ali speak at the MSU Auditorium.

In retirement, he fought Parkinson's and became a silent messenger for peace. Billy Crystal's tribute, below, was funny, moving, and fitting.

I was lucky to see Gordie Howe play in person and on TV. I didn't see the original Production Line (Lindsay-Abel-Howe). But I began paying attention to Production Line II (Howe-Delvecchio-MacDonald) in the '60s.

So much to remember after Howe died June 10 at age 88. Talent. Toughness. That big No. 9 lumbering up the ice. I would buy standing room and sit on the steps at the Olympia. And then wait outside the dressing room for the Wings to sign autographs after the game. Howe had arthritis, but he would shake his hand and keep on signing.

And my Howe-autographed Michigan Falcons jersey from the '90s is a treasure. (Thanks, Jer, and trust me, I haven't cut off the sleeves.) I also treasure my piece of the boards from the Olympia. (Thanks, Rick, it's still on my basement wall.)