Obama Finally Fights—and Wins

The skinny bookworm who sits in the front row can duke it out after all. All you have to do is call him a wuss, get the class bully—the Barber of Cranbrook—to taunt him and threaten to take away his personal plane, the one with its own conference room and O.R. Then, he comes out like Jake LaMotta, eyes flashing, gloves up, his malicious intent plain for all to see. Nobody could accuse him of having failed to do his prep for this one. Like Muhammad Ali, after being embarrassed in his first bout with Leon Spinks, he had put in the hours skipping rope, and rehearsed his combinations until he could unleash them at will, from all angles.

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