Muhammad Ali was undoubtedly one of the most expressive heavyweight boxers of all time. When Ali was at his peak he was an unstoppable force, a charismatic figure bringing pleasure to millions of fans. There were few more technically clever boxers in the world and that was the Ali gospel.

But the latest pictures of the 63-year-old showman tell us the years have sadly caught up with him.  Ali is a frail, tired shadow of the his former self - a caricature of the man who once won back three heavyweight titles. His neck looks like a map of the London Underground, all lines and bulging veins. The Ali body is now sadly weighed down by a zimmer frame and the face just a crumpled mess.

In his prime, Ali snarled and scowled his way around the boxing rings of the world. But underneath the moody façade there was a gentle, unassuming nature just waiting to burst out at the right time.

When the then Cassius Clay climbed into the ring for that momentous fight with Sonny Liston in 1964, the world sighed with anticipation. Overnight a sporting exhibitionist jumped into our consciousness. For the next 15 years, he would talk and promote a good fight like an advertising agency plugging food or drink.

Ali was funny, conceited and unpredictable, a fighter who loved to play to the gallery. He was compulsive box-office viewing and when the money began to run out, he would still do the tango and paso doble in the ring. For all his boasting and bluster before a fight, there was still a comic vulnerability about the man.

During the 1970s, Ali fought George Foreman and Joe Frazier in two of the most pulsating heavyweight fights ever seen. From the moment he climbed through the ropes he would adopt all the famous mannerisms. He would bounce around the ring, teasing, tormenting and goading both Foreman and Frazier until they crumbled. Ali was one of the great self-publicists and would think nothing of belittling his opponent. By the time he had finished with Frazier and Foreman, he had made them feel two inches tall. It may have been boxing psychology but for Ali it seemed to work.

At his best , his body language told us everything we needed to know about the man. He would bunch the gloves together in front of his eyes. Then would come the destructive jabs at close quarters followed by deadly hooks and uppercuts. For Ali there was a plan to every fight and the intentions would never be honourable.

Now all that remains are the images of another age. There was the Rumble in the Jungle, 15-round epics with Frazier and Foreman and all the pre-fight posturing. There were the inevitable references to religion and politics. During his interviews with the BBC’S Michael Parkinson and Harry Carpenter, Ali joked his way through with delightful stories about Joe and George. There were the also the wonderful sermons about Mohammed and Elijah.

At 63 he is now a bag of bones, painfully broken by Parkinson’s disease. The voice, once his most lethal weapon, is tragically silenced, the formidable punching power just a memory. Some will remember Muhammad Ali as a lovable extrovert. Opinion will be divided but what can’t be denied is that there may never be another sporting hero like him.