Mike Tyson (Text Only Edition). Monteith Illingworth

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ against David Jaco. That brought Tyson to sixteen wins, all by knockout, twelve in the first round. In the process, Tyson picked up a nom de pug: “Catskill Thunder,” coined by Randy Gordon, an announcer for a sports cable station. In a January cover story, Sports Illustrated came up with “Kid Dynamite.”

      Jacobs and Cayton didn’t embrace either name. In fact, they had decided early on to stick with the simplicity of “Mike Tyson.” D’Amato had once suggested “The Tanned Terror,” as a nod to Joe Louis’s “Brown Bomber,” but that wasn’t taken on. As the children of Brownsville had discovered when Tyson started marauding the streets, his mere name, when combined with the menace evoked by his smoldering manner, the almost animal-like physique, and his performance in the ring, was more than suitable.

      The Sports Illustrated cover, a slew of new television news segments, more morning show appearances, and talk of his becoming champion—it was a remarkable amount of hype over a nineteen-year-old prospect who had yet to fight anyone ranked near the top ten. What was even more remarkable is that Jacobs began to suggest, in confident asides to reporters, that Tyson would become the savior of the heavyweight division. Its one-time glory, as symbolized in the achievements of Dempsey, Louis, Marciano, and Ali, had been tarnished by the splintering of the title in 1978 into three separate crowns, each awarded by a different sanctioning body. The world had no idea who was the real champion. Tyson, claimed Jacobs, would unify the title, restore its meaning, bring back the public’s faith in boxing, and in so doing join the ranks of the great ones.

      “Jacobs’s pitch made for great copy, whether you agreed with him or not,” said Matthews of Newsday. “He knew that. Jacobs figured out what everyone most wanted to hear. They wanted a new myth for boxing.”

      Jacobs buttressed that myth by taking every opportunity to identify Tyson with the great fighters. Starting with the Scaff fight, Jacobs asked Tyson to wear only black trunks and sockless black shoes. Up to then, he’d worn white or blue trunks with a different color trim. The idea was to evoke the classic, austere asceticism of Jack Dempsey. Assistant camp manager Steve Lott then came up with the idea of putting a small badge of the American flag on one leg of the trunks. “I felt that the flag would have a subliminal effect on the press,” said Lott. “They’d find it more difficult to write negatively about Mike.”

      Without question, Tyson was far better than the men he’d fought so for. They were, after all, professional opponents, statistical cannon fodder for the real contenders. Tyson was also likely to prove himself technically superior to the next level of competition he would meet—including most if not all of the fighters in the top ten rankings. But the savior of boxing? In the same tradition as Ali, Marciano, and Louis? That was stretching it.

      In technical terms, and on a strict comparison of achievement at equivalent age and level of experience, Tyson was in some respects better than past greats. Certainly he was more elusive. The power of his punch, especially when combined with the speed with which he delivered it, was also in a class by itself. In practical terms, however, Tyson had not yet shown his character. That would emerge from a test of wills: his against an opponent who didn’t go down in one or two rounds.

      At that point in Tyson’s development, such issues didn’t press on Jacobs and Cayton. They were in a hurry to get him the title shot. It didn’t matter to them if the hype surpassed the reality of the performance. They felt that Tyson, if watched carefully, worked on constantly, packaged, and sanitized, would at the least keep the hype valid, even if he couldn’t yet prove it true. He hadn’t faltered in the ring for a long time. The mysterious flaw remained in check.

      But not for long. That was the flip side of a string of easy opponents. It created a false sense of security for everyone, Tyson included. And that was the sober truth of the man-child within the hype, of the person behind the dual personas of the well-behaved, pigeon-loving surrogate son and the Ring Destroyer, the champion of destiny: nothing could prevent Tyson from bouncing between the opposite terms of his own paradox. It was far easier to control an image of a man than the man himself.

      * * *

      On January 24, 1986, Tyson stepped in the ring to box opponent number seventeen, “Irish” Mike Jameson. He looked like all the others Tyson had dispatched, though less muscular and more bulky. Jameson stood six-foot-four and weighed 236 pounds to Tyson’s 215. His record, seventeen wins and nine losses, implied something less than journeyman status. Jameson was also an aged fighter—thirty-one years old. He lived in Cupertino, California, and had never fought east of Chicago. It was expected, and hoped, that Tyson would do away with Jameson rapidly. There was a lot at stake. For the past several weeks, Jacobs and Cayton had been negotiating a multifight deal with ABC Sports. It would be Tyson’s first exposure on a national network television, and the first big purse money.

      Jameson was no fool. He knew he didn’t have a chance slugging it out with Tyson, so he used his height, reach, and weight advantage to lean on Tyson and tie him up. After the two were pulled apart by the referee, Tyson would get off a few punches, but they seemed to have little effect. He’d then end up in a clinch again. It seemed that Tyson was letting himself be held. He was acquiescing to the other man’s unwillingness to fight. Tyson looked worse in the second round. He got hit easily by a few left jabs and straight rights, a clear sign that after getting position on the inside, he wasn’t moving enough on defense. In the third, Jameson kept getting his punches off first, then clinching to avoid Tyson’s blows.

      By the fourth, Tyson seemed to wake up as if from a trance. He started connecting with more punches. Jameson, older and less fit, ran out of steam. One flurry of five blows in combination—remarkable for a heavyweight—sent Jameson down, but not out. Early in the fifth, Tyson scored a punishing knockdown, and the referee stopped the fight.

      The announcers made an astute point about Tyson’s performance: “What happens when this young kid who can punch so hard hits someone and they’re still standing there and comes back and hits him back? Is he going to get discouraged or what?” Apparently, the answer was yes, at least to a degree. That’s what happened with Jameson in the first three rounds. Had Jameson been more fit, and skilled, he could have perhaps exploited that weakness in Tyson and lasted a few more rounds. Instead, Tyson won the fight on his natural gifts of superior punching power and hand speed. Fortunately, that was all he needed to beat Jameson. Tyson would, however, need much more in the next phase of his career. He would soon debut on ABC in the first of a four-match, million-dollar deal. The stakes were rising.

      Financially, the Tyson team had come a long way in just over eleven months. In the first three fights Jacobs and Cayton had covered all the expenses—$30,417—including Tyson’s purses of a few hundred dollars. They’d made a profit of only $166.80. Expenses for the remaining fourteen fights, plus a 10 percent fee for trainer Kevin Rooney, were taken out of the gross purses paid by the promoters, $69,955. That left a total net purse of $57,095, of which Tyson earned two-thirds. In other words, $38,063 for about twenty-eight rounds, or one hour and twenty-four minutes of actual boxing. Jacobs and Cayton earned the remainder, or $19,032, from which they paid a 10 percent fee to Steve Lott.

      With the $1 million ABC deal, an unheard-of sum of money for a fighter with only seventeen victories, the economics of Mike Tyson were about to change radically. For the first fight he’d earn a purse of $90,000. As Tyson continued to win, the purses increased in size until the $1 million was used up. Futhermore, with convincing victories, Jacobs and Cayton would acquire a significant amount of negotiating leverage with HBO Sports, a division of the pay-cable service owned by communications giant Time Inc.

      In March 1986, HBO would launch a series of fights to unify the fractured heavyweight title. It had most, but not all, of the top-ranked contenders and champions signed up. With the hype surrounding Tyson’s rise, HBO became nervous. It faced the nightmare prospect of spending millions of dollars to determine the unified champion only for Tyson to emerge independently as СКАЧАТЬ