Mike Tyson, one of the most polarizing figures in sports history, will finish off my four-part series examining the heavyweights who ruled boxing in the 1990s. Make no mistake about it Tyson ruled the decade – not with iron fists, but with the lingering fumes of reputation that intoxicated a global audience.
In Round 1, I looked at American Riddick Bowe. That story can be found at http://blogs.edmontonjournal.com/2013/08/02/riddick-bowe-and-other-monsters-dominated-a-decade/.
The second round profiling Englishman Lennox Lewis is at http://blogs.edmontonjournal.com/2013/08/11/lennox-lewis-undisputed-king-of-heavyweights-in-the-1990s/.
Evander Holyfield’s profile in Round 3 can be viewed at http://blogs.edmontonjournal.com/2013/08/15/a-true-warrior-holyfield-slayed-many-dragons-including-tyson-2/.
Round 4: Mike Tyson, Baddest Reputation on the Planet
Iron Mike Tyson. Dear God, what is there left to say that hasn’t already been said? Or written or blogged or tweeted?
At the start of this series I said I would keep the focus on what the Big Four did in the ring. Despite the temptation, I will stay the course; though, I must make clear that certain events outside of the ring did have a huge impact on Tyson’s tempestuous tour through the 1990s.
Take a step back in time when Tyson applied his craft from 1985 to 1988. What the world saw then was a phenomenal blend of power, speed and intimidation. Some back then said Iron Mike had the speed of a middleweight – try lightweight, try a blinding blur reminiscent of Sugar Ray Leonard. Take that speed, put it in an explosive spring of coiled, killer power and let it loose – that was Tyson. He came underneath in a straight line, bobbing and weaving, slamming into the grill of any fighter put in front of him – a risky style of fighting to say the least, because Tyson was coming right at his opponent, leaving himself wide open for counter-shots. Interrupt that rushing, rapid-fire flow, find some distance with a strong jab and a challenger would have a chance.
But Tyson’s offence – his speed, really – was his defence. He came in so fast and so hard that few men had the chance to set and fire. Either hand – left hook, right uppercut – could stop a bout in an instant. That ferocity, that suddenness built his reputation of intimidation quickly. Tyson fought 15 times, all by knockout, in 1985, the year the New Yorker turned pro. His home-town press cottoned to him quickly, and by the end of the year the 19-year-old destroyer was boxing, its new face, ruthless, powerful and pissed-off. Young fans clung to an image of a hip-hop street urchin who rose from squalor and a crime-infested ’hood to become the “baddest man on the planet.”
Many of his opponents entered the ring with soiled drawers before the first bell rang, before a punch was thrown. Reputation threw the first punch; some very big guys, talented boxers used their strength just to survive against this Tasmanian devil. The thought of fighting back was a distant memory, getting out of Dodge was all that mattered.
That mindset worked wonders for Tyson throughout the 1980s; in three years, 1986 to 1988, he unified the titles – the World Boxing Council, International Boxing Federation and World Boxing Association belts, plus the lineal crown – to become the undisputed, undefeated master of the universe at 37-0, with 33 knockouts. He also became the youngest heavyweight champion in history at the age of 20.
Unstoppable. Scary, a monster. Frankenstein. He made Godzilla run for cover. Attach any ridiculous phrase you want, but it stuck back then, right through the ’90s.
Fights against legitimate Top 10 heavyweights were ending in seconds. It was a path of destruction that captured the imaginations of the public and the press, and led straight to the bank. Tens of millions were flowing into the Team Tyson Wrecking Crew. The only force that had a chance of overcoming his reputation was his ability to make money.
Wild and crazy times, but the wheels didn’t stay on for long. In 1988 Tyson fired long-time trainer Kevin Rooney – a critical mistake. Rooney had kept Tyson focused, sharp and honed right from the start of his career. Tyson abandoned his disciplined speed-power attack strategy; his combination punching started to wane and he relied on one-punch trauma. Surrounded by parasitic sycophants led by promoter Don King, a convicted criminal, Tyson threw away all his accomplishments to relish his new-found riches and overnight fame. A direct line to self-destruction was immediately set up. By 1989 he was no longer what he had been in the ring mere months before; but his power was winning him fights, millions were piling up and his reputation was growing.
But essentially his career was over. Alcohol and drug abuse, marital problems, massive indulgences, they all started to catch up to him. Tyson’s hubris fooled him into believing nothing could stop him; his training habits tanked. It was only a matter of time, and nothing prepared him for what would happen in his first fight of the 1990s.
It took place on Feb. 11, 1990 in Tokyo against a 42-to-1 underdog named Buster Douglas, a powerful, skilled American boxer known to wilt under pressure. The old cliché was that Douglas had “million-dollar skills and a two-cent brain.” Douglas was seen as a tune-up, nothing more.
Douglas’s mother had died 23 days prior to the bout; what exactly it did to him and for him only the man himself knows. When he entered the ring he was focused, in shape with a bounce in his step and ready to rumble. On the other side, Tyson entered looking like a zombie; the lights were on but nobody was home. There was training footage circulating that showed Tyson getting knocked down by sparring partner and former WBA champ Greg Page; things were not looking good for Tyson. Once he started fighting Douglas, things were not good, the wheels came right off.
Douglas wasn’t afraid of Tyson. Right away he established a ripping jab followed by searing lead rights and left hooks. Flat-footed, stationary and showing little speed, Tyson launched Hail Mary shots one at a time all night. Douglas was caught once at the end of Round 8, got up and survived. Two rounds later, he knocked out Godzilla in the most shocking upset in sports history.
Take a look; it’s an unbelievable display of intelligence, guts and aggression on Douglas’s part: http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=video+of+tyson-douglas&docid=4871666573640917&mid=63E59C3FA578D23D1BD463E59C3FA578D23D1BD4&view=detail&FORM=VIRE1.
Douglas’s aggressive plan created a blueprint for Tyson’s destruction, and six years later Holyfield would put it to good use again to destroy Tyson for the second time.
The thing is though, technically speaking, Tyson was done; his ascension was halted, abruptly and violently. He would never improve or return to his former disciplined habits.
His reputation remained intact – that’s all he had – but Tyson’s crazy, cartoon life was on the verge of becoming a three-ring circus, the likes of which the world had never seen.
Upon his return to the ring in 1990, Tyson became almost daily tabloid fodder; his behaviour went from dumb to outrageous, toured the valley of vile and ended up on Bizarre Boulevard. In and out of the ring, he was a train wreck, unpredictable, violent, strange. It was a feeding frenzy for the press and the public; neither could get enough of his antics or his power as a fighter. You couldn’t ignore Tyson because he was everywhere all the time.
During his comeback he fought an atrocious collection of bums. Only two fighters stick out: Razor Ruddock and Holyfield. Holyfield knocked out Tyson in 1996, and in the rematch Tyson was disqualified for biting Holyfield’s ears, in a fight Tyson knew he wouldn’t win. The bite fight controversy shocked the world, and Tyson will likely be remembered the most for that performance. Ruddock, a superb puncher with limited skills, gave Tyson hell in two fights, but couldn’t finish him off.
In July of 1991, Tyson was arrested for rape; the following February he was convicted. Released in March 1995, he had been out of the ring for more than three years. His absence only intensified his popularity as Bowe, Lewis and Holyfield played musical chairs with the fractured heavyweight crown.
The popular refrain went something like this: “Wait until Iron Mike gets out; he will clean up this mess, just like he did in the ’80s.” That is what many media types were pitching and the public was catching.
Another comeback ensued – more controversy, more millions were made. It was still a circus, but not much boxing. By this time the routine was boilerplate. I was bored to death of Tyson by then.
Two things Tyson didn’t do during the 1990s stick out: There was never a rematch against Douglas, who was knocked out by Holyfield in Douglas’s first title defence. After that Douglas faded fast. Avoiding the rematch was a colossal miscue; it would have been a monumental money-maker, perhaps the largest grossing fight of the decade. Just imagine Madison Square Garden in New York, the crowd, the noise, the celebrities, the tension, the money. Oh dear, the money; it’s mind-boggling.
Secondly, Tyson avoided Lewis; they fought in 2002 with the predictable victory going to Lewis.
Anytime Tyson fought quality in the ’90s he was in trouble, deep trouble. Reputation made him rich and kept him in the spotlight. But he was finished as a force of greatness in boxing, done in 1989.
So where does that leave him and his legacy? A member of boxing’s hall of fame, he has survived and thrived deep into his 40s. He wasn’t expected to make it past 40. More popular than ever, he has mellowed before our eyes. Still known to say controversial things, Tyson has been to hell and back a few times, and by his own hand. Today, he laughs about it, and that is probably his greatest strength.
But as a fighter in the pantheon of all-time great heavyweights where does he sit? In the first row with legends such as Muhammad Ali and Joe Lewis? I would not put him there; perhaps in the second row.
As a pure puncher he was as good as anybody I have seen in my lifetime. The heartbreak is the waste of skills and time – he had everything in front of him, everything, natural gifts that I have never seen in any other boxer.
For a brief shining moment, he took our breath away, unlike anyone before or since.
