My money is on George Foreman.
If Foreman says he can fight again at his age and girth, he can do it. No one who witnessed his many transformations over the decades should doubt that Foreman can do anything he sets his mind to do.
He is boxing's Buddha and America's favorite pitchman. He's a preacher who built a youth center and a rancher who loves Icelandic stallions and Arabian horses. He's a broadcaster and a businessman, selling his famous lean, mean grilling machine brand for a cool $136 million. Some of that cash helped build the pediatric ward of a cancer center in his hometown of Houston.
He was a mugger and street brawler as a teen, turned into the Olympic and heavyweight champion as a young man, and has emerged in middle age as a polished, smiling entrepreneur. These days, he's hawking a new line of signature clothes for "discriminating, style-conscious, big and tall men."
Foreman's announcement Wednesday that he plans to fight again is startling, not sad, curious more than crazy.
The idea that anyone - 35, 45 or especially, as he is, 55 - could beat a credible opponent seven years after last fighting might seem ludicrous. Except when it comes to Foreman.
He may be 25 or 50 pounds over fighting weight, but he probably still has a left jab that could hurt most opponents and a right that could knock them out. Fighters don't lose their punches as quickly as they lose their legs and reflexes. With Foreman's energy-efficient style, he could still be dangerous if he whips himself into shape.
In a division that just lost its champion with the retirement of Lennox Lewis, it's not too farfetched to think that the "one fight" on national TV that Foreman envisions could turn into another pursuit of the title.
Foreman has been picking away at salads the last couple of years, rather than gorging himself on cheeseburgers as he once did. He's a man of discipline who thrives on new challenges. What could be more challenging than changing people's perception of an athlete's limits?
Foreman's first comeback was strictly for money at a time when he had trouble scraping two dimes together. Now that he's got more than he and his heirs could ever spend, why would he put himself at risk by climbing back in the ring?
He claims he wants to show people that age is a state of mind, whether you're young or old.
"You can still dream," he said at his news conference in the town of Humble, Texas.
Humility suited Foreman as well as the dapper black-on-black ensemble from his new line of clothes.
"I feel pretty good, but I'm not going to get into the ring unless I'm 225 pounds, and I haven't been that weight since 1978," he said.
Foreman will have to undergo a physical before he can box, but that doesn't worry him.
"I want to show doctors, 'This man is serious. This man is in shape.' I want to be examined like any other 25-year-old."
That's Foreman's secret. He thinks he's still 25. Actually, he's become more youthful in spirit than he was at that age. That was the year when he got knocked out by Muhammad Ali in Zaire. Foreman was the dope in Ali's "rope a dope" strategy but he wised up. He learned to be likable and now no one wants to see him get hurt.
Foreman enjoys an eternally young state of mind. He has seen the world change and gets a kick out of changing it some more. Given where he's come from and what he's achieved, don't bet against him.
When Foreman was born, the average annual income was $3,000, a flashy "futuramic" Oldsmobile went for $1,300 and a U.S. postage stamp cost 3 cents.
These days, even while he sleeps, Foreman makes more than $3,000 an hour between all his gigs and investments. He has cars with sound systems worth more than $1,300 and he punches out e-mail replies to his many admirers writing to him at george@biggeorge.com. He saves on the postage.
An aged Joe Louis, all of 34, announced his retirement on March 1, 1949, less than two months after baby George entered the world with a slap on the rump.
Louis returned to the ring and lost the following year to heavyweight champion Ezzard Charles and the year after that to Rocky Marciano, while everyone lamented how old the Brown Bomber looked.
Jersey Joe Walcott became the oldest heavyweight champion at age 37 in 1951. Foreman shattered that age record when he regained the title at 45 in 1994.
Lennox Lewis just retired at 38.
"He's in the prime of his life and he just doesn't know it right now," Foreman said. "I'm hoping after a year off or so maybe he'll realize he's got a few more in him. Maybe I'll fight him."
If we've learned anything from Foreman over the years, it's not to underestimate him.
Steve Wilstein is a national sports columnist for The Associated Press. Write to him at swilstein(at)ap.org
