Imagine yourself transfixed into a totally strange, unfamiliar and non-controlling environment-an environment whose only sound is the constant din of a machine attached to your body. An environment so foreign with malodorous, strange smells and barren, plain blanched walls. Your once Adonis-like physique now captive to an audience not of adoring, envious fans but a steady parade of white-clad staff with whom your only communication is with a hand signal or nod. Such is the journey of Ken Nortons transformation from the cocky, self-assured and formidable world champion from Jacksonville,...