Mike Tyson has been bruised and battered for so long, in a career that has threatened to waste away, that he has looked a candidate to join the fallen idols of the ring in boxing’s Babylon. This weekend he has the last chance at a redemption that he arguably does not deserve when he meets Lennox Lewis for three versions of the world heavyweight title at the Pyramid in Memphis. The fight will generate more than $150-million and will therefore be the richest in the sport’s history.
Lewis, meanwhile, is finally looking for the respect Tyson once had and has broken from his usual agenda of calm assurances by promising to end the ”the myth of Mike Tyson”. Lewis is no fool. He knows he needs the recognition that accompanies a truly significant win and not the often scornful progress reports that have followed his muddled victories over Frank Bruno, Oliver McCall and Evander Holyfield.
Tyson had everything in the boxing world when he won the title at the age of 20 in 1986, and a place next to the sport’s greatest fighters looked secure before he lost control of his life. The first drugs were prescribed in 1988, the first divorce was in 1989 and the first loss in the ring in 1990. The rape was in 1991. The youngest world heavyweight champion has lost finanically, too — most of the $300-million he has made from his 54 fights.
Money helped Tyson crawl back from prison, it helped him survive a second exile after he bit off a chunk of Evander Holyfield’s ear and it has helped him acquire the services of men skilled in the art of defending sex pests. Early on Sunday morning, South African time, the money, the memories and the drugs will not be any help in the ring when Lewis emerges from behind a solid blue wall of special ring policemen for a fight that boxing has had thrust on it.
There are numerous reasons why the fight should not be taking place. But simply screaming that Tyson is mad, bad and foul-mouthed is not enough when a slick set of hucksters have access to people in high towers with their fingers on millions of dollars.
So the fight will happen and nearly 20 000 people have paid to witness what some consider to be the last fight of boxing’s glorious age, and at the same time the first fight of the sport’s uncertain future. It is fashionable to be dramatic, and goodness knows this fight deserves a bit of topspin, but the only crossroads next week’s action will reach involves the two ancient fighters who will split $44-million down the middle.
Tyson is 35 and Lewis a year older. They have a rematch clause in their contracts but a brutal end for either would send their best-and worst-laid plans into freefall, because people only crave second encounters if they feel there is a chance of an alternative ending. If either man can win this weekend with a display of pure brutality, then he will be able to repeat the win again and again. A rematch will satisfy the public only if the fight is close or it ends controversially because of an innocent cut.
There is a ”calamity clause” in the contract if either fighter starts to unravel in the heat of the action and decides that a bite, a butt or three falls and a submission are all preferable ways to end the fight. If one or both are disqualified there will probably be a lengthy suspension or ban and that would kill the rematch. It would not, however, ruin the freak value of a return and that is a depressing thought.
Lewis has prepared for wayward behaviour by asking his sparring partners to whack him low, butt him and use their elbows, but Tyson has rejected the stereotypical image of him as a cowardly cannibal. Tyson insists he will not lose his mind if he thinks he is losing and his trainers have supported his claims. ”Mike will not short-change anybody when he gets on the killing floor,” uttered Stacey McKinley. The ”killing floor” is presumably the square of illuminated canvas that the boxers will share.
The gleeful organisers have agreed to dispense with the established formality of boxers meeting face-to-face in the week before the fight and, contentiously, they have also agreed that Tyson and Lewis will not ”touch gloves” in the electric seconds before the first bell. Tradition has been replaced with a shameless desire to eradicate any and all risks of either boxer losing his cool and blowing the small fortune that is at stake.
However, there are still a few days for something dumb to happen.
Lewis has found a voice that has previously been dormant throughout most of his career, even if his image as a mummy’s boy and aspiring chess master has never sat comfortably with anybody who has ever seen him knock back brandy and champagne in the small hours at Stringfellows. Who can blame him for secrecy and silence when he is repeatedly asked about his sexual preferences? And it is truly remarkable that after 13 years as a professional we know less about his lifestyle than we do about Audley Harrison, a mere pup of a pro for just 13 months. If only it were the other way round.
”Tyson has been a millionaire for 15 years and I’m sick of hearing about his hard life. I never had any luxuries when I was growing up and look how I have turned out,” said Lewis. ”Mike Tyson is the last question in my life — I’ve answered the other questions about my heart, my chin and my stamina. This is the final question and it is about the history of boxing in my time.” Lewis has seldom, if ever, mentioned his place in the sport’s history.
So they will finally meet after a dozen scares and rejections and countless court appearances going back to the first meeting between Don King and Panos Eliades in 1995. Both King and Eliades have gone, lost somewhere in the dizzy mists of multimillion-dollar lawsuits. I think Tyson will win; I know Tyson would have won 16 years ago. This is not a bad fight for sport, it is just a few years too late to use as part of a strong defence of boxing.
Hopefully, it will not end up as a strong argument against boxing.