A tale of two Tyson’s
And a tale of how I’m trying to love boxing again and why my crazy mate Gareth wasted 91 seconds of his surreal life
And a tale of how I’m trying to love boxing again and why my crazy mate Gareth wasted 91 seconds of his surreal life
When you’ve lived through the early career of Mike Tyson and especially so the undefeated, all conquering and frankly frighteningly dominating years between 1986 and 1989 when he was officially designated as the “Baddest Man on the Planet” you consider yourself an incredibly lucky boxing fan. And I did. And I was. A boxing fan that is. I very definitely lived through this exciting period in Tyson’s career and I was a huge boxing aficionado and not simply a fan. I also lived through the titanic middleweight tussles of “Marvellous” Marvin Hagler, Thomas “The Hit Man” Hearns, Roberto Duran and “Sugar” Ray Leonard. Prior to the advent of Sky Television, ITV Sport showed all these momentous fights live and in today’s vernacular, free to air. I vividly remember staying up until early mid morning for the 1988 fight between Ray Leonard and Donny Lalonde. This fight may not live in the memory anywhere near those of his era defining battles with Hagler, Hearns or Duran but at 32 years of age and after 3 comebacks from retirement he made history as the first man to win 5 world titles at 5 different weight categories and this 16 year old kid was bouncing around his bedroom in delight at some crazy hour of the morning. So I was a boxing fan and would remain so for a good few years following this Ray Leonard piece of boxing history. So what changed I hear you ask?
In a word, me.
Despite the lack of hair these days, I’ve always been a bit of lefty, libertarian hippy and I fell out of love with watching two men beat the living shit out of each other! There were other factors too. Pay Per View slowly killed my interest as did overmatched non-events, over hyped fights that would often fall through as one fighter “ducked” the other, staged fights before the actual fight in the ring, more talk about promoters and how much they would be paid rather than the fighters themselves. Betting syndicates. The “Mob”. The game of boxing is often a murky one. I understand that most of these gripes are all part of the “fight game” but I find all this rather tedious and vacuous and I’m too long in the tooth for all that now. I also have an all or nothing personality and I couldn’t (or wouldn’t) give my time to a sport that an ageing hippy began to find distasteful. Oh, and the ring walks. The bloody ring walks! Naseem Hamed anyone? Remember when he “flew” to the ring on a flying carpet before reciting some religious scripture? I know it’s a “show”, I understand that, but if I want to watch Aladdin I’ll do just that and Robin Williams’ improvisational comedy is far, far more entertaining. Whatever happened to a boxer just wearing a pair of black shorts, no socks and a white towelette over his shoulders as he calmly walked to the ring and shyly, almost timidly and awkwardly looked at his opponent in the pre fight stare down? Oh yeah, that’s another reason I fell out of love with boxing. My boxing hero’s legend status came crashing down all around him.
There’ll be no talk here of the sexual assault, the Holyfield incident, the vile comments aimed at Lennox Lewis or a host of other indiscretions “Iron” Mike Tyson inflicted upon his own boxing dynasty. I’m not defending him. That’s for him to do. But for a 4/5 year period Tyson wasn’t just undefeated but undefeatable. Regardless of what opponents said in the build up to their fights, it was over way before the ring walk, let alone the first bell. It’s also worth remembering as we go along that Tyson was a squat but immensely powerful young man but his physique was more muscular than a traditional heavyweight of old, and far removed from the frame of today’s Tyson, Tyson Fury. The early comparison bears more than a passing consideration as throughout Mike Tyson’s career he fought much taller, heavier and more traditional heavyweights. And he beat them all. Destroyed them in fact. And never was this more evident, and never did Tyson show such humility and grace and respect for a brutal sport when at the age of only 20 he became the youngest Heavyweight Champion of the World in November 1986. In less than two rounds he utterly destroyed Trevor Berbick and when the knock down came it was after a relentless and punishing pugilistic tirade from Tyson as he chased his opponent around the ring. Berbick tried to get up but he was like a new born lamb, his legs throwing him across the ring as he simply couldn’t stand up. As was customary at the time, Tyson, with arms out folded in a gesture of “Look what I’ve done!” aimed at his trainer Kevin Rooney, he immediately checked on his opponent to make sure he was okay before hugging and kissing his close and trusted friend Rooney. Ferocity to compassion. No histrionics. And a hug for his friend and trainer.
1987 was notable for two fights in particular and both went the 12 round distance and virtual new territory for Tyson as first he defeated James “Bonecrusher” Smith in a rare non-event as I remember and not a particularly spectacular fight and one I watched on tape at a friend’s house before we went to play Sunday League football. En route to the football in my mate’s Dad’s car, one wing mirror fell off of it’s own accord, the indoor reversing mirror fell into my lap and there was smoke billowing from under the bonnet! What larks and what memories. But I do distinctly remember the second fight against Tony Tucker as this was a boxing masterclass from Tyson who hounded Tucker from the centre of the ring from the first bell to the last. Tucker was game and he came to fight (a rarity indeed) and Tyson was tested but easily won and retained his titles. Three notable fights followed in 1988, the first of which worried me as Tyson was lined up with an ageing Larry Holmes and I honestly recall fearing for Holmes’ safety ahead of the fight. Thankfully nothing horrendous happened (if you discount the brutal slaying Tyson inflicted on him in the 4th and final round with some of the cleanest right hands Tyson ever threw) but it was a mismatch of epic proportions. The second fight against Tony “TNT” Tubbs only went two rounds but after some sparring in the first, Tyson destroyed him in the second with some incredible body shots and upper cuts before a final left hook saw Tubbs fold like a sandwich in the corner of the ring. The third and final fight of 1998 saw Tyson matched with Michael Spinks and, as so many experts and boxing aficinardos said ahead of the fight, this would surely be his toughest test to date and many even saw Spinks a slight favourite. Spinks had never been knocked down in his professional career and many predicted a changing of the boxing guard. There would be a new Champion come the end of the fight so said the experts. And one of those “experts” was my daft as a brush but golden hearted friend Gareth.
Regular readers of my blogs (God bless you all) may recall my old friend Gareth, he of great musical taste, persuasive techniques, a golden heart, a “golden bullet” of a car and a bit of a silly goose in search of a silly gander! Leading up to the Spinks fight as Gareth drove us around in his “Golden Bullet” (a brown coloured rust bucket of a Vauxhall Viva handed down to him by his beautifully hearted Mother), he was convinced, nay certain, that Spinks would triumph. Now, even at his tender age Gareth liked a bet. In fact, he had a scam with his local bookmakers on what was then known as a “Football Accumulator” and it seemed to work a charm every time. This was in a more innocent age of course and way before an “Acca” was being pushed down your throat at every commercial break by Ray Winstone as he kindly says “Go on! Have a bet! You want to have a bet, don’t you? Go on! Have a bet!”. That’s how I translate the “Gamble Responsibly” mantra, and that odious and insidious sign of our twisted times. Anyway, Gareth was convinced. I of course was in “Iron” Mike’s corner and so we had the tiniest of late teenage bets to make it interesting and furthermore, Gareth would come to mine for the fight. Perfect! Should I fall asleep pre fight, he would arrive to awaken me. Suffice to say, my dear old Mum was less than pleased at our 4am pact, but she liked Gareth and, well, the deed was done. She was a diamond was my Mother.
As it turned out I was awake when Gareth buzzed the intercom to the flat and he quietly, if breathlessly, arrived from his 3 mile running walk from his house to my Mum’s just as the fighters were being announced to the crowd. He settled down expectantly, we no doubt exchanged knowing nervous glances at the first bell, and, well, Tyson destroyed Spinks in a cold fury in 91 seconds! A vicious upper cut and body shot sent Spinks to the canvas for the first time in his career and after the referee’s 8 count the first shot Tyson landed again, an unreal right hand, sent Spinks flat out on the canvas. As he tried to beat the count he flopped through the ropes and I’d hazard a guess he didn’t have an earthly clue where he was. Tyson, arms outstretched in his “Look what I’ve done!” pose immediately hugged his friend and trainer Kevin Rooney and he was, again, undisputed King of the World. Gareth rose from his chair mere seconds after the end of the fight, bid me a cheery farewell and set off on the 3 mile run home!
Another 3 fights would follow before my boxing hero would spin out of control, and both inside and out of, the ring. Tyson defeated the great British hope Frank Bruno in 5 rounds in an eagerly awaited fight that almost, almost, lived up to the enormous hype and expectation before a punishing left hook ended the hopes of Carl “The Truth” Williams in just 92 seconds. But on 11th February 1990 in one of the greatest shocks in boxing history, Tyson was floored for the first time in his career by James “Buster” Douglas, never recovered and was badly beaten before being counted out towards the end of the fight. It wasn’t just the end of a fight but the end of an era and an end I didn’t see coming, either figuratively (I overslept and missed this fight and perhaps that was for the best) and metaphorically. The King was dead. Long live the King! A new King, and a new era would leave my boxing hero far, far behind. The Douglas fight may have been the “night of the long count”, but Tyson was well beaten and perhaps reflective of the turmoil he was going through outside of the ring. He would return and he would return again and again over the years but the King would never rule the world again. I would still watch his fights but filled with enormous sadness for the ghost of a previous Champion that looked rather lost and bewildered without his friends and mentors and a stable presence in his corner and in his life. He was “Mighty Mike” now rather than “Iron Mike” and the last fight I watched was with British heavyweight Lennox Lewis in 2002 on an early morning as I awaited to go on holiday to Greece. Lewis beat him easily, and painfully, and sadly, Mike Tyson simply wasn’t “Mighty” any more.
So, after my own enforced absence from the ring I’ve returned. I watched highlights the day after the first two Tyson Fury and Deontay Wilder encounters (so I dipped my toes back in the water gently!) before watching the Joshua/Usyk fight live and rather enjoyed myself. I also really enjoyed messaging my longest and dearest and lifelong friend Marc my “Blackford Scorecard” as the rounds progressed as he was lucky enough to be in the crowd at the fight. We have a long and mutual love for the original Tyson and Marc, to my green eyed envy, met him some years ago. On the night of the AJ fight we were pretty unanimous in our own verdicts, the British Champion had lost by 2/3/4 rounds and quite convincingly so. And so it turned out. No “Homer” decisions on the scorecards at ringside. But here’s the thing: This was my first encounter of the myth of “AJ” having seen and read the hype that surrounds this young man for many years and I wasn’t impressed. Based on only one fight, but he appears to me to be a “blown up” light heavyweight and he had no heart for the fight against Usyk at all. He was ponderous, timid and completely out fought and out thought, by a more determined and dare I say more accomplished boxer. Usyk looks the real deal and I was mighty impressed and, in keeping with this blog, I was expecting to fall in love with boxing again via Anthony Joshua or Tyson Fury, but did so via a real fighter in Usyk. AJ versus Fury? Don’t make me laugh! It would be a money spinner for sure, full of hype and shenanigans and the epitome of the “fight game” I listed above. And don’t talk to me about his bloody ring walk! Smiling as though on a family picnic, selfies with the crowd, hugs and high fives! I guess they call this being relaxed ahead of a fight? Looked way, way too casual for me. And Fury, if he took the fight seriously, should brush Joshua aside easily. But what do I know? And don’t relay these comments to AJ! As “Iron Mike” once famously stated:
“Everyone has a plan until they’re punched in the mouth”.
So to the “other” Tyson, and everyone’s favourite Tyson it seems, Tyson Fury and his third tussle with Deontay Wilder. Fury clearly won the first two fights regardless of what the ladies and gentlemen with their scorecards at ringside noted. Fury was busier, landing more and better punches and looking constantly threatening whereas I was seriously disappointed in Wilder who after only 4 or 5 rounds of both their earlier fights looked spent, tired and bewildered. Where was the beast the hype had assured us would hand a whipping to Tyson Fury?
And so it came to pass that just six short nights (or should that be early mornings?) ago I watched Fury/Wilder III with my good friend “Brother Andy” and at 4.30am UK time, after a bewildering night and early morning of American Football and Baseball and then Baseball and the Big Fight (we were watching on two television screens all evening and I felt as though I was slipping further and further into The Matrix!), I jolted “Brother Andy” awake and we were off. Yes there was the spectacle of two ridiculous ring walks and to our half closed eyes it appeared that Wilder was wearing a skirt rather than boxing shorts but the fight lived up to its billing and then some. Was this what I’ve been missing all these years? It was a thunderous heavyweight contest and despite again tiring by the 4th/5th round, Wilder gamely held his own against a far superior and supremely talented fighter in Tyson Fury. Fury deserved to win and was way ahead on my infamous “Blackford Scorecard” before he finally, and brutally, ended the fight with a vicious right hand that worried me as Wilder looked completely out of it when back on his stool. What worried me more though was my reactions: I was shouting at the two screens (my LA Dodgers baseball team was winning too so it was doubly exciting) but I was roaring on Tyson Fury and really, really into the fight. Where did all this reinvigoration for boxing come from? Being in a slightly happier place at present? Being with a good friend? Forgetting my troubles for one slightly drunken evening? Perhaps a little of all three.
The thread that runs through this rambling tale of two Tyson’s is that of friends, memories and perhaps even troubled minds. I saw my longest and dearest friend Marc recently and what a tonic that was. “Brother Andy” isn’t my brother, it’s an in joke that would take too long to explain but despite the 14 year age gap between us, I see a lot of my younger self in him, and he’s a beautiful human being. Mike Tyson’s troubled mind got the better of him but, at the time of writing and after listening to numerous podcasts and interviews with him, he sounds as happy as perhaps he’s ever been, he has an interesting, to say the least, business on the go, a huge family and a wife he clearly adores. Tyson Fury too perhaps mirrors this in so many ways. His openness about his mental health struggles made me warm to him a thousand fold and it’s far braver and stronger to admit the depths he’s sunk to and risen from than entering any boxing ring in the world. He too has an interesting business, he’s very definitely the new (boxing) King of the World and has a huge family and a wife he adores too. And long may that continue, for both Tyson’s.
The King is Dead. Long live the King!
So I’m trying to love boxing again. But why can’t boxers just stroll to the ring in black shorts, no socks and a white towelette over their shoulders anymore?
And where’s Gareth these days? I hope my old friend and golden hearted madman is doing well, wherever he is.
