In my thirty-two years of practicing medicine I have only taken care of one celebrity who ninety-nine percent of the population has never heard of. But Cleveland Williams was a celebrity to me, because I was a savant when it came to boxing. It started in fourth grade when I squared off with the playground bully, Chuckie Thurman on the four-square court. Chuckie was built like a house with wide shoulders, a thick neck, and biceps that he could flex. He had coke bottle eyeglasses and small, sneering eyes. After running through our four-square court multiple times and grabbing the ball and disrupting the game I demanded he stop.