I traveled to Madrid, Spain, to test my skill at bull fighting. Decked out in a matador’s outfit over my suit of armor, I stepped into the bull-fighting ring and prepared myself for battle.

I waved at the crowd with my little red bullfighter’s cape. Thousands of Spanish citizens cheered for me. I was confident that I would be victorious in the minutes ahead. But I was so preoccupied with my being in the limelight that I nearly forgot about the bull, which had just been turned loose in the ring. Luckily, I wheeled around just in the nick of time.

The enormous beast had steadily made his way across the ring, to within about fifty feet of me. When I turned in the angry bull’s direction, he stopped, momentarily. Then the wild animal snorted, loudly, a couple of times and advanced, rapidly, straight toward me. I could see the rage in his big, blood-colored, concentrated eyes. If I had waited a few more seconds, before I turned to face the hard-charging bull, he could’ve rammed his sharp, pointed horns right up the crease, between the buttocks, in the back of my shiny steel pants!

I had planned to tease the bull by holding the cape directly in front of me, more like a professional bullfighter. But I had to throw that strategy aside. In a flash, the swift-stepping bull was nearly upon me.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time to move in any direction or to take any kind of evasive action. All that I could do was to quickly say to myself, “Maybe I should’ve taken some bull-fighting lessons before hand!”

The mad bull fully intended to severely harm me. Just before contact, he lowered his head. Then I felt the brunt of the impact from the heavy brown animal as he tried to poke holes in my thick metal jacket with his sharp-pointed ivory horns. The rampant bull tossed me high into the air; my arms and legs were splayed to their full extent as I flew, helplessly, through the air. To the horde of speechless, startled spectators, I must’ve looked like an upside-down sky diver. Then I suddenly rolled, face down. All of those in attendance saw the two deep dents in my armored chest, where the angry bull almost fatally punctured me.

At the peak of my flight, my vision became blurred. I tried to focus on my little red bull-fighter’s cape, which lay on the ground, far below. In pain and agony, I cried out, “No mas! No mas!” (Spanish for “No more! No more!”) Then I said to myself, “I think that I’m losing control of my life!”

Fed up with bull fighting, the next day I reset the time and place controls in the Corvette. I zoomed to Madison Square Garden in New York City, still in the month of May, 1974. Bravely, I challenged former Heavyweight Champion of the World Muhammad Ali, formerly known as “Cassius Clay” or the “Louisville Lip,” to an exhibition-boxing match.

Ali, who was scheduled to fight the current Heavyweight Champion George Foreman on October 30, 1974, readily accepted my challenge. Ali said, “I could use a tune-up bout before my upcoming fight with Foreman.”

The ex-champ rented Madison Square Garden for our exhibition fight. Angelo Dundee, Ali’s manager and trainer, and a referee were among a small gathering of curious fight fans in attendance for the bout.

Ali wore his usual white satin trunks. I slipped on a pair of black satin trunks over my full suit of armor. We briefly stared at each other in the center of the ring. Ali told me, “Your name should be Sir Wantsalittle Moremercy. I’m going to use you as a human punching bag. Whatever possessed you to think that you could get into the ring with me—the best, baddest boxer in the history of the world!” I was speechless. I just stood there and shook, from head to toe. We tapped gloves and went back to our respective stools, at opposite ends of the canvass.

The bell sounded for “round one” of a scheduled ten-round match. In less than a minute, the fight was over. Ali finished me with a sweeping right hook. His power-packed punch nailed me square on my left jaw; the jarring jolt knocked me flat on my back, out near the center of the ring. Had I not been wearing my helmet with the chin guard in place, the devastating blow probably would’ve killed me!

The referee signaled for Muhammad Ali to go to a neutral corner. Then the ref leaned over, beside me, and lifted his right hand. The ref was prepared to yell out the traditional mandatory eight-count. I was still lying on the canvass, staring upward, seeing nothing but big bright stars. Ali, without so much as a sweat-bead on his pretty face, bolted out from his ringside corner and skipped halfway across the ring. He stood over me as if he were an eagle gawking down on a freshly victimized varmint. The proud fighter raised both of his hands high over his head as the referee went through the customary “count.” The ref shouted, “ . . . s-e-v-e-n . . . e-i-g-h-t . . . you’re O-U-T!”

I was down, but not altogether “out”! I had my senses knocked loose, but I was coherent enough to yell at Ali. At the top of my lungs, I hollered, “No mas! No mas!”

After I had succumbed to an early knockout and handed the world’s best-ever heavyweight fighter an easy victory, Ali danced jubilantly around the ring. He flashed and waved his former championship belt, repeatedly, in full view of the sparse crowd.

“I’m the greatest! I’m the greatest!” Ali boastfully proclaimed. Then he poetically chanted, “I float like a butterfly and sting like a bee, but that bold knight showed some real class by challenging me!”

I was hurting from the top of my head to my waist from a barrage of punches—heavy left and right hooks and jabs—all thrown by “the Champ” in a matter of seconds. As I struggled to get up off the canvass, I said, “My self-confidence has just been dealt another severe blow!”

A couple of days passed by before I fully recovered from my embarrassing defeat at the hands of Muhammad Ali. Then I traveled to Chicago’s United Center in October of 1997. I challenged Michael Jordan, superstar basketball player for the Chicago Bulls, to a friendly little “one-on-one” basketball match.

Jordan, commonly regarded as the most exciting and prolific player in NBA history, proudly wore his white-with-red-trim Chicago Bulls’ home jersey, #23. I slipped on my green and gold Camelot Knights’ jersey, #13, over my full suit of silver armor.

When we started our head-to-head competition, Michael initiated the action. At first, he determinedly dribbled the ball toward me. Then Michael suddenly eased up. I noticed a teasing, playful grin on his face. Jordan wanted to have some fun, at my expense, before he would make a serious attempt to score.

The basketball wizard taunted me. He said, “Okay, Wantsalittle, I’m going to badger you a little and irritate you before I take the ball to the hoop.”

In response, hoping that I could fluster the normally nerve-steady superstar, I quipped, “Okay, Mr. Basketball, give me your best shot!”

Michael didn’t like my cocky remark. All of a sudden, he stopped. But he continued to dribble the ball. He glared at me and showed me a much more determined look on his handsome face. Like anybody else who Michael ever played against, he carefully sized me up before he made his first move. As Jordan mentally prepared his attack, he dribbled the ball, first slowly, then more rapidly, intensely, while his feet remained firmly anchored to that one spot on the floor, as if he were entrenched in starting blocks, waiting for the gun to sound to start a hundred-meter dash.

Meanwhile, I interpreted Michael’s patience and prudence as signs that the Bulls’ aging star player might be getting a little old and long at the tooth. My hopes of successfully defending the play against Jordan rose with each bounce of the basketball.

Michael, having thought about it far too long already, grew tired of our little cat and mouse game. He moved in for the kill. As he dribbled the ball off to his right side, he bumped up against me with his left shoulder. Michael was trying to bait me. He wanted me to believe that he would try to get by me, around my left side. I tried my best to keep myself between Jordan and the basket. I didn’t fall for his trap. I held my ground, and he had to try to reverse his course. I didn’t fall for that tactic, either. Temporarily, I succeeded at holding the clever basketball guru at bay.

Then the tall, muscular athlete picked up the pace. He more deliberately dribbled the basketball, using his right hand and dribbling with short, pronounced strokes. In a couple of linked, one-right-after-the-other maneuvers that only Jordan could have gracefully performed, he first faked to his right. Then, with a mind-boggling display of Michael’s lightning quick reflexes and his unique God-given physical coordination, he swung around, in a ninety-degree arc, and moved to his left. I didn’t have any time to react. As fast as I could blink my eyes, he leaped through the air, like a rocket lifting from the launching pad.

As Jordan began his free flight to the basket, I saw “YOUR AIRNESS” printed on the back of his Bulls’ jersey. And as Michael hung high in the air, over four feet off the floor, and with his tongue sticking out, Jordan acrobatically lifted the ball over the front of the rim with his right hand, in a windmill-like motion. Then he swiftly stuffed the basketball through the hoop for two points.

After being badly beaten and faked out of my jock strap, I looked directly into Michael Jordan’s big brown eyes and shouted, “No mas! No mas!” Then, out of total respect and appreciation for the incredible athletic feat that I had just witnessed, I turned away from Jordan and asked, “God, how can I be more like Mike? And how can I get better control of my life?”

Jordan left the court, his usual bottle of Gatorade® in hand, to take a short break. Then God appeared near the free-throw line. She had suited up in a Chicago Bulls’ uniform; Her preferred and rightful number, #1, was printed on both the front and back of the Bulls’ basketball jersey. The Lord grabbed the basketball out of my hand, dribbled it a couple of times, and said, “Michael Jordan’s a pretty tough act to follow, Wantsalittle. But I think that I can show you how to take control of your life.”

“Yeah, You must’ve been in an exceptionally good mood when You created Michael Jordan!”

God chuckled and said, “In his excellent pamphlet, As A Man Thinketh, James Allen wrote a passage that clearly summarizes this subject: Every man is where he is by the law of his being; the thoughts which he has built into his character have brought him there, and in the arrangement of his life there is no element of chance, but all result of a law which cannot err. . . . When he realizes he is a creative power, and that he may command the hidden soil and seeds of his being out of which his circumstances grow, he then becomes the rightful master of himself.”

“Lord, do You mean that I am the master of my own destiny?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. If you’re not in control of your life, it’s time to get in touch with your innermost self. Free yourself from all distractions. Try to acquire faith in yourself and build self-confidence.”

I said, “There have been many occasions when I wondered whether or not that life was worth living. I expect so much of myself—well, it’s easy for me to get depressed from my personal failures or lack of personal achievements.”

“Wantsalittle, if you’re generally or severely depressed, due to whatever reasons or circumstances—if it’s difficult for you to determine any purpose or meaning in your life—or what’s worse, if you’ve had or end up having suicidal tendencies—you can travel one of two basic roads—roads that are headed in opposite directions. One road, not having any faith in yourself, will take you on down and eventually out! The other road, doing whatever it takes to build or rebuild your self-worth and your self-esteem, will allow you to recapture control of your life and lead you to wherever you want to go! Wantsalittle, where the head goes, the feet will follow. The choice you make will dictate the life you lead. Which of these two roads do you want to travel?”

“Naturally, I’d like to build my self-confidence and get self-control. What can You say that might help me to overcome my inner fears and self-doubts?”

“Confront your biggest fears. Wantsalittle, do you have a fear of failure or a fear of rejection? You are made in your God’s image. Do you think that I want you to crawl, cowardly, on your hands and knees? Or do you think that I want you to stand tall and walk confidently through life, unafraid? Concentrate on your personal strengths and abilities. Above all, develop faith in your God, because through that faith, you will come to have more faith in yourself! Each time you break through the fear barrier, your newly found self-confidence will replace fearful emotions such as self-doubt, anxiety, and worry.”

“Lord, I’m going to overcome my fear of failure. From now on, I’m going to concentrate on my strengths and abilities. And I’m going to show more faith in You—my God! By so doing, I know that You will help me to have more faith and confidence in myself.”

“Good! Wantsalittle, please maintain that type of a positive attitude and frame of mind. Milton wrote, ‘The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heav’n of Hell or a Hell of Heav’n.’ Additionally, Ralph Waldo Emerson said, ‘The soul contains the event that shall befall it.’ Stop imaging yourself as a failure or as being out of control. Instead, focus on your personal strengths and abilities. Look at the possibilities in your life, and explore all of your avenues of opportunity. Concentrate and form images of success—things that you want to accomplish. When you achieve a few of your goals or dreams and experience some degree of success, it will merely be a reflection of what your mind already holds to be true. And, Wantsalittle, keep in mind the wise words of Henry Ford who said, ‘Whether or not you think that you will succeed, you are right.’”

The Lord paused for a moment, then She continued, “Getting control of your life will also require you to find a meaningful degree of true happiness. Abraham Lincoln once said, ‘Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.’ And Emerson wrote, ‘To be happy, make yourself necessary to somebody.’ Wantsalittle, true happiness and success is largely a measure of how you make other people happy and successful. As you think with the attitude of happiness and success, you will more likely achieve true happiness and success. Try to think of what you can say or do to inspire others, encouraging their happiness and success in the process.”

“All right, Lord. I’ll do everything that I can to inspire others and to help them become more successful in their lives. But how long do You think that it’ll take me to see some difference and make some major strides in my life?”

“You’re seeing more and more light with each passing day. And you’re well on your way to becoming a noble, virtuous individual. However, you’re not likely to achieve your goals or reach your precious dreams, overnight. Have patience. Keep a positive outlook on life. Stay focused on your better talents and abilities. Try to image or visualize that you have already achieved your goals and dreams. As you think with more faith in yourself and belief in yourself, you will gain more self-confidence and experience more personal success. Think of some worthwhile tasks—activities that will inspire you to ‘take the bull by the horns’ and get better control of your life!”

“Lord, thank You very much for all of Your valuable suggestions on this most important topic!”

“You are most welcome, Wantsalittle. I’ll talk to you later.”

Michael Jordan returned to the court, following his brief break, and I took my turn with the basketball. Jordan, a “bull” who believed that there was absolutely nothing that I could do to get around him, felt generous. He said, “Wantsalittle, obviously you’re a considerably slower, less-agile competitor. I’ll grant you one wish—anything that you want that will help you to score against me.”

“Okay, Michael, I’ll take you up on your thoughtful proposition.” I trotted off the court and went into the equipment room. I picked up a little device and returned to the basketball court. Then I strolled out near the free-throw line and placed the little apparatus on the hardwood floor. I backed up several yards and stopped in my tracks. Jordan was waiting for me. He assumed a defensive position, directly between the little doohickey that I had sat on the floor and the basket. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, trying to anticipate my next move. I hollered out, “Michael, try to stop me now!” Then I trotted halfway across the basketball court and planted both of my steel boots dead center on a springboard! I soared high in the air, over Jordan, and stuffed the basketball, utilizing one backward, over-my-head motion, in a spectacular fashion.

My landing, though, was somewhat less than spectacular. Then, because I had worn my full suit of armor under my jersey, there was a matter of the damage that I inflicted to the hardwood floor. I crashed down as if I were a rookie high-diver doing a belly flop off the highest platform at an Olympic-class swimming pool!

Nonetheless, I had a big grin on my face. I confidently exclaimed, “I’M BACK! And I’ve regained control of my life!” Michael Jordan simply shook his head and wandered off, dejectedly, toward the locker room.

(The moral of this episode: Forming images of success can reinforce your self-worth and build your self-confidence, which will allow you to take better control of your life!)

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