Mike and Roy: Battle of the Aged

Mike Tyson seemed alert but slightly tired, something like a large dog after a romp in the park. His small tank of a body looked weathered - one noticed that the old tattoos had actually faded a bit over the years - and his face was drawn, though more from dehydration than anything his opponent had done.

This was moments after last night's exhibition at the Los Angeles Staples Center. Wearing oversized gloves in a smallish ring, Tyson and a soggy-looking Roy Jones Jr. had gone eight two-minute rounds for something called the "WBC Frontline Battle Belt." It was two days after Thanksgiving, 2020, a full 35 years after Tyson made his professional debut and knocked out Hector Mercedes in Albany. It was rather strange that his tornado of a life had tailed off to this odd tableau, with him panting into Jim Gray's mic before an empty arena. Still, it was a safer ending than many of us had predicted for him.

His sixteen minutes of grappling with Jones, which ended with no clear winner, was hardly a comeback bout. It was more like a long delayed coda. Tyson, 54, wants more of these nights. He wants to give exhibitions all around the planet and donate his money to charity. He's a humanitarian now. He says this often, a child with a new word.

As has been the case in recent years, Tyson was somewhat charming and humble during his postfight interview. He talked about how good he felt, and praised Jones for taking his punches. When Jones was asked if he'd been concerned about facing Tyson, Iron Mike interrupted and said, "I haven't fought in 15 years. How come nobody was worried about my ass?" 

Tyson proposed more of these events where "legends" could compete on pay-per-view, and invited Jones back. Then he wandered off into the catacombs of the arena, perhaps wondering how long it would take to regrow the Jerry Garcia beard he'd shaved off for the exhibition.

A trio of unofficial "celebrity judges" (Vinnie Pazienza, Christy Martin, and Chad Dawson) had deemed the contest a draw, but Jones felt he'd edged it. The truth is that Jones had looked exhausted after the first minute, gulping air.

When asked if he would fight again, Jones said possibly, if it was "cool with my family." He sounded upbeat for a weary, middle-aged man with bad knees.

There had been talk that Tyson and Jones were going to fight 17 years ago, when Tyson was on a downhill skid and Jones, though lighter in weight, was considered the best in the game. Things didn't work out back then, but nothing about Saturday's event makes us think Jones would've done any better during the George W. Bush era. Though he occasionally landed a jab or a flicking combination, Jones spent most of the eight rounds holding onto Tyson, while Tyson thumped his ribs.

"The body punches definitely took a toll," Jones said. "It's something to take the punches that Mike throws."

Those watching at home were deluged by noise from what sounded like a dozen ringside commentators, a lineup that included Sugar Ray Leonard and Snoop Dog. But while there was much yapping about history being made with two former superstars in the ring - and in fairness, Tyson and Jones appeared to be trying - what we all saw was little more than a glorified gym session. When Leonard was asked his opinion at the end of the program, he was noncommittal.

"Mike is 54," he said. "Roy is 51." He left it at that.

There was no need to ask Tyson the humanitarian how he felt. He seemed happy that the event had attracted some attention, happy that the public seems to have forgotten his buffoonish past. He admitted that his training did not interfere with his love of cannabis, and claimed to be satisfied at having gone the full eight rounds. Boxing, he said, is all about going the distance.

Tyson didn't turn back the clock to his prime, though he turned it back to when he was 39 or so. He looked about the same as he did late in his career, back when he was losing more often than not. He showed just enough of his old style against Jones that most observers felt he had the best of it, though he'd landed only a handful of solid punches and, just like in the old days, was entirely flummoxed by an opponent that held.

Still, there was a sense that had he wanted, Tyson could've tossed Jones out of the ring like a rag doll. Late in the contest he landed a left hook to the jaw that appeared to shake Jones; it may have been mere politeness that kept Tyson from throwing a few more of those vintage bombs.

Then again, maybe Tyson was tired, too. "Those two-minute rounds felt like three minutes," he said later, and all the geezers at home toasted Iron Mike's memory. 

Though the program included performances by rap artists and a middling undercard, plus fake crowd noise to make up for the virus-impacted empty arena, viewers are unlikely to spend another 50 dollars to watch the stars of yesterday compete. Suckers would probably like to see Tyson against his 1990s rival, Evander Holyfield, but it's doubtful that Jones will do this again. Tyson looked like he was having fun. Jones looked like an ice sculpture melting under the ring lights.

 

 - Don Stradley

Excuses...excuses....

 

Deontay Wilder, the defrocked heavyweight titlist, is talking a lot lately. 

If you've paid attention to Wilder in recent years, this is not so unusual. He's a talker, the way a lion is a carnivore. 

In the past, he's usually talked about his devastating knockout punch, and how he uses positive thinking to harness the power of the universe into his right hand. Now he talks only about Tyson Fury, and how their bout earlier this year was marred because the big Brit cheated.

Wilder hasn't always been so verbose. After his bronze medal win at the 2008 Beijing Olympics, he was a mild-mannered, grateful young guy whose only concern was being able to gain weight without sweating it off in the heat of his native Alabama. In recent years, though, he's been waging social media wars with anyone his mouth can reach, including past champions. It seemed he had tapped into this part of his personality in hopes of creating hype for himself, getting his name "out there."

After a lengthy reign as an undefeated heavyweight titleholder, and a string of impressive wins by knockout, Wilder had achieved a status that no American heavyweight has enjoyed in many years. But then came a draw with Fury in 2018, and then, shockingly, a TKO loss to Fury in 2020, one where Wilder was manhandled and smashed to the canvas many times before the contest was stopped in the seventh round. It was as disastrous a loss as we've ever witnessed for such a knockout artist as Wilder.

His face had been butchered, his left ear nearly torn off. Men thrown through the windshields of cars came out looking better than Wilder did on this night. He first blamed his performance on the bulky costume he'd worn into the ring, some unusual plumage that better belonged on an actor chasing Sigourney Weaver in an Alien movie. The cumbersome rig was apparently so heavy that Wilder's legs were exhausted before the opening bell. Then he blamed his trainer for stopping the contest prematurely, and even poisoning him. Wilder's display of sour grapes climaxed with him pointing to irregularities in Fury's gloves, as damning an accusation as can be made in the business.

Wilder's latest accusation isn't entirely his own - other's have pointed out that Fury's gloves looked peculiar during the bout - but America's fiercest heavyweight may be losing fans every time he opens his mouth.

Creative excuses from fighters are as old as the Marquis of Queensbury rules. When Marvin Hagler lost to Ray Leonard in 1987 he spun out  conspiracy theories about the boxing authorities working against him. Manny Pacquiao once blamed a bad performance on some badly fitting socks. After Muhammad Ali beat him in Zaire, George Foreman talked about someone drugging his water, a quick count from the referee, and voodoo curses. 

Foreman needed many years to come out of the fog created by his loss to Ali, but did so with a surprisingly mature attitude. "Muhammad amazed me," he said in 'Muhammad Ali: his Life and Times.' "I'll admit it. He outhought me; he outfought me. That night he was just the better man in the ring." Time helped Foreman accept his defeat, but there's no telling if Wilder will ever be so magnanimous regarding Fury.

The accusations leveled by Wilder are serious, including Fury having an object in his glove that actually left a still visible dent in Wilder's face. Wilder has spoken about this on social media, his voice heavy and dark. But no one is really buying it.

Wilder wants so badly to be seen as a kind of mythical, almost holy warrior that he peppers his diatribes with quotes from the Bible,  a cut rate Elmer Gantry bellowing at the flock. "He will have to pay back seven times what he stole," Wilder said at the end of his most recent monologue about Fury. "Even if he has to sell everything in his house. And payback is coming." 

By painting himself as a righteous champion cheated out of his title, Wilder  may simply be putting himself into a particular frame of mind, that of the unjustly beaten man out for revenge. He certainly wouldn't be the first fighter to talk his way into a victorious mindset - Ali did it all the time  - but he's taking a risk. No one likes a sore loser, and despite Wilder's quasi-biblical posturing, he simply sounds like a guy who doesn't know how to deal with failure. Then again, he knows the customers are fickle; if he beats Fury in a third bout, those fans will be right back in his corner. And if believing he's a victim of cheating helps him get there, so be it.

But a note to Wilder: the Bible is a big book. Check if there's anything in there about keeping your hands up and your chin down. That might help. 

And the costume? Next time, try it on in the store first.

- Don Stradley