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
No comments:
Post a Comment