MIKE TYSON AT HAMPDEN
Mike Aitken on an out-of-control fighter who brought shame to boxing on a rainy night in Glasgow,
MIKE Tyson’s intention to cast himself as the Hannibal Lecter of sport was reinforced by a 38-second demolition of Lou Savarese which was both chillingly clinical and wildly out of control.
The former heavyweight champion of the world, who has always billed himself as the baddest man on the planet, lived down to all expectations in a shameful night of boxing.
While there was a tantalisingly brief reminder in Glasgow of Tyson’s ferocious punching power – one left hook in the 15th second of the fight was sufficient to let Savarese know he was being stalked by catastrophe – what followed was conclusive evidence of Iron Mike’s psychosis.
When Savarese, another stooge worthy of the Great White Hopeless tag, got off the canvas, he struggled to defend himself and was caught by another crushing blow before referee John Coyle decided enough was enough.
The official from Wolverhampton showed courage in placing himself between the fighters but almost paid for his valour when Tyson kept on throwing punches.
One uppercut narrowly missed the official’s temple before Tyson’s elbow knocked the referee over. Although Coyle made light of the incident later, some of British boxing’s most revered champions launched attacks on Tyson which speared their target with far more conviction than anything Savarese could muster.
Jim Watt, who has contributed as much as anyone since Ken Buchanan to the promotion of the fight game in Scotland, was visibly upset by Tyson’s tactics.
“To push the referee to get to a beaten and helpless opponent is disgraceful,” said the former lightweight world champion. “He (Tyson) is not prepared to obey authority. He has shamed boxing again and should have his licence revoked. He is not a sportsman, he’s a devil. They don’t want him in Las Vegas and we don’t want him here in Scotland again either.”
As if the lunacy in the ring was not enough to be going on with, Tyson’s spoutings in the moments after the bout were equally offensive and deranged.
Although some allowances should always be made for things said in the heat of the moment, the truth is that Tyson has made a career out of muttering malicious remarks ever since as a teenager he told Jesse Ferguson 14 years ago that he planned to push the bone in his nose back into his brain.
Even by Tyson’s dissolute standards, however, the metaphors of mayhem were as ugly as any so-called sportsman has ever uttered.
“I’m the most brutal, vicious and ruthless champion there’s ever been,” he ranted. “There’s no one can stop me. I’m Sonny Liston. I’m Jack Dempsey. There’s no one like me. My style is impetuous, my defence is impregnable and I’m just ferocious. I want your heart. I want to eat your children.”
Then, when he was asked about a possible fight next year with Lennox Lewis, Tyson warmed to his theme: “Lennox, I’m comin’ for you. I’ll rip out your heart and feed it to you.”
While PG Wodehouse wasn’t much of an influence on this script, the invective dropped another notch, as Tyson also paid a sickening tribute to an incarcerated London gangster. “I thank Mr Kray,” he said. “I have much respect for you. Thanks for your support. I love you.”
Everyone knows that boxing is a brutal business and images of violence help to sell Tyson as the fight game’s freak show attraction – a kind of 21st century Elephant Man.
Yet unlike say, the world Wrestling Federation, where the actors who double as wrestlers understand the difference between illusion and reality in their pre-determined clowning, any apologist for Tyson would have a hard time pretending that the boxer’s predilection for violence is an act.
Just remember, this is a man who once whispered in the ear of an 18-year-old girl: “Don’t fight me! Don’t fight me, mommy!” as he raped Desiree Washington and ruined the life of a Sunday school teacher who dreamed of becoming a missionary.
Remember, too, this is a fighter who supposedly reveres the sport but has behaved like a cannibal in the ring and bit an opponent’s ear.
As his deeds and words inside a gloomy Hampden demonstrated, those voices which were raised in protest at Tyson’s presence in Glasgow were more than justified.
Because of its ferocity and the gladiatorial nature of heavyweight combat, boxing is supposed to teach men discipline. The lessons though are lost on Tyson, a kind of torturer who admits that he enjoys inflicting pain on others. His determination to hurt Savarese, when the boxer could no longer defend himself, demonstrated the wickedness of a playground bully rather than the heroism of a true champion.
“Look at the man, he’s so out of control,” observed Barry Mcguigan, world featherweight champion in the mid-eighties. “It was a disgrace. Fighting teaches you to keep your control. He didn’t do that – he just flipped again. He seems to be losing it in the ring as well as out. What he said afterwards proves he’s losing the plot.”
Mind you, it was a fitting finale to what was probably the most farcical as well as unsavoury sporting occasion I’ve witnessed.
On a night of torrential rain which sent those who had paid £500 for ringside seats scurring for shelter, the undercard was both tedious and interminable.
While the main attraction, to paraphrase the title of a new Hollywood blockbuster, was gone in 38 seconds, the supporting fights meandered on and off for nearly six hours.
Zab Judah, a much-touted lightwelterweight from New York, was pitched against a little-known Englishman, Junior Witter. The Brooklyn boy won easily though not impressingly against an opponent who did more running than hitting. Judah complained if he had known he was going to take part in a track event he’d have brought his running shoes to Scotland.
While it was a night of disappointing action when fighters did fill the ring, there was a long pause even Harold Pinter wouldn’t have dared to script as nothing at all happened for half an hour. Apparently this was because supermiddleweight champion Silvio Branco was arguing inside the ring about his fee. Perhaps if he’d known England’s Robin Reid would get away with a shot so far below the belt it might have endangered his manhood, Branco might have remained in the dressing room.
As it was, the Italian won a mediocre fight thanks to a unanimous points decision.
Hampden, as David Lacey once wrote, is the only stadium in the world which looks the same in black and white as it does in colour. Even an expensive wash and brush up hasn’t altered the truth of that observation. On a sorry Glasgow night, the standard of catering – pies with harder crusts than Savarese’s chin – was on a par with the miserable weather and indifferent boxing.
Sportswriters dispatched to write colour pieces quickly decided their reports would be monochrome rather than Kodachrome. The only surprise of the night was that Savarese, who was supposed to be a real-life Rocky, made Julius Francis resemble Muhammad Ali. Francis, you may recall, was the dodgy Brit who provided Tyson with another large pay day in January and lingered for two rounds, not one.
When the night which had generated all the party atmosphere of a wake finally came to an end Tyson, on one side of the ropes, was over £5 million richer. On the other, the 15,000 or so Scots who had parted with their cash were left feeling fleeced as well as soaked.
As the would-be Hannibal was ushered away by his entourage, a dark hush settled over the stadium. It felt like the silence of the damned.