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From the wrestler's trip from North Korea with Ali back in 1995.
"...The second we arrived in Pyongyang, our passports were confiscated. Then each of us was assigned a "cultural attache" to follow us everywhere; these guys even sat in the dressing room while we went over our matches. In the dining room where the wrestlers ate, there was a camera in each corner, monitoring every movement. When Scott Norton called his wife and said, "This place sucks," his phone line suddenly went dead.
Muhammad Ali and I were taken everywhere in separate vehicles, while the rest of the guys were on a bus surrounded by government cars. They split us up at the hotel -- the way they did suspected traitors they wanted to segregate and brainwash. I didn't see anybody until our handlers decided the time was right.
The event itself was unlike anything I ever witnessed. A total of 380,000 spectators attended over two nights....During the show...(t)he fans held up different colored placards to create incredible mosaic images. It was beautiful, but also creepy. The first couple of sections were occupied exclusively by guys in military uniforms. The spectators cheered on cue. I almost got the feeling that they had been ordered to attend.
...At one point, my minder asked me how much my watch cost. When I told him, he marveled, "Can anybody really have that kind of money? That's more than I make in five years." I asked him his salary. It was the equivalent of about seven American dollars a week. Had I realized that, I never would have worn that watch in front of him.
Because of the ravages of Parkinson's disease, it was difficult to understand Muhammad Ali when he spoke. But at one function, we were sitting at a big, round table with a group of North Korean luminaries when one of the guys started rambling on about the moral superiority of North Korea, and how they could take out the United States or Japan any time they wanted. Suddenly, Ali piped up, clear as a bell, "No wonder we hate these motherf*ckers."
My hair practically stood up on my head. "Oh, sh*t," I whispered, "don't start talking now."
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