It was no coincidence that King, hyping White Lamb Liakhovich's WBO title defense against Shannon Briggs, chose a day before adversary Sheldon Finkel and HBO/Madison Square Garden ran their presser for the IBF title bout between champ Waldimir Klitschko and Calvin Brockoli, I mean Brock. When it comes to tinkling with Finkel, DK operates with a scorched earth or least a scorched steak policy.

So there I am at the Garden. I feel the buzz. Bzz, bzz, bzz. Now I sniff some magnificent perfume. Perfume and pugilism, these don't go together. Can it be that Klitschko and Brock had overdone their cologne even though Wlad thinks cologne is a city in Germany, which it is.

I look around and I spot the source of the buzz. The source of the bzz, bzz, bzz. And now I realize where the enticing aroma is coming from. It's comes from a fighter who isn't even on the TV portion of the November 11 card. 
Her name is "She Bee Stinging," Laila Ali, and she was surrounded by more media types and other gawkers than both of the heavyweights. Her business guardian, Damon Bingham, is hovering by her to keep things in order.

I'd rather rap out with an Ali than a Klitschko or a Brockoli any day, wouldn't you? So I did.

I told Ms. Ali I knew Damon's dad, photographer and Ali shadow and best pal, Howard Bingham. Or as Muhammad always says it, "my man Bing-ham!" They are the new Generation Ali and Bingham. Or, I said Bingham and Ali, sounds like a law firm.

"Now that's an idea," SheBee said. "You just can't get rid of those Binghams when you're an Ali."

Then I gave her a little quiz to make sure it really was the SheBee and not some SheeBee Wannabee. What happened in this building on March 8, 19761, I queried.

She looked at me as though I were a very low-grade moron instead of the mid-grade moron that I am.

SheBee rolled her eyes but did not let loose her stinger.

"My father fought here," SheBee said. Yeah, the opponent was some fellow named Joe Frazier who did not believe in No Smoking laws.

I mentioned that it's hard to believe that her popular Pop turns 65 on January 17.

"I know it but my father is doing very well and I am still very proud of him," SheBee said.

Well, I said remind The Old G.O.A.T. (Greatest Of All Times) that 65 is the new 55.

She said she would pass the word to Dad.

I told her I was the other white guy in attendance in Beverly Hills when her oh so gorgeous mother, the aptly named Veronica Posche (did you expect Ali to marry a Volkswagen?), married the then younger G.O.A.T. What I didn't tell her was that about 20 gorgeous ladies came rushing at me like a dream. They trampled me to get at Warren Beatty who stood behind me. I also didn't tell her that her late grandfather, Cassius Clay Sr., and I shared a few quick shots of Jim Beam in the hallway at the no booze Muslim matrimonial party or that Cassius Sr.'s musical renditions that night included the highly inappropriate "Ruby Don't Take Your Love To Town."

SheBee informed me her mother is doing great and she has been just as big an influence on her life as the man who floated like a butterfly and stung like a HeBee.

I asked Mr. Bing-ham how they made out on a recent trip to South Africa where promotional problems cropped up and SheBee made a visit but did not climb into the ring. Bing-ham said they got their money regardless which is always good. SheBee needs lots of honey for her hive and that's no jive.

With a lack of competitive opponents and seeming disinterest by HBO and Showtime, I asked SheBee if she would keep her ring career going. She's had endorsement deals, done commercials and surely could be a Hollywood star.

SheBee said she still has plenty of time and that, if SheBee wanted to Bee a Big Hollywood Star, she could Bee already.

I shook the hand of the SheBee whose father had the hands that shook Sonny Liston, Joe Frazier and George Foreman. I thanked her and I am sure she thought she had just roped another dope.

But SheBee did not float when she took the dais. She did sting.

"I am on the card but I am not on HBO," SheBee said. "I want everyone to know that. You have to come to the Garden to see me."

SheBee's smile lit up the room. Everything else was Imitation Ivan Drago and Leftover Brockoli.

Without the SheBee, the charisma count at the Garden was below zero.

Somewhere, many miles away, I could someone cackling. It was a familiar cackle.

It was the cackle of the KingBee.