In a world of chicken scratch texting and emoticons, Bert Sugar spoke in soliloquies that left me scrambling for a dictionary whenever I hung up the phone.
He was the Muhammad Ali of boxing writers, a man who made the world more compelling, more entertaining and funnier than should be allowed by law just by opening his mouth.
Bert succumbed to lung cancer Sunday at the age of 75, surrounded by his family at Northern Westchester Medical Center.
I imagine his trademark Fedora was nearby. Boy, if that hat could talk.
