"If I Die Tomorrow, I Was Overpaid."

 

The Destroyer

 

I used to be a BIG fight fan- ravenous! Lightweight, Welterweight, Middleweight, Heavyweight- didn't matter! All of life's trials and tribulations contained within and unleashed by and upon the two individuals within that squared circle. One wild, testosterone fueled joy ride of semi civilized savagery. And, the ultimate drama, those rare occasions when highly skilled opponents would counter each other's strengths not through raw physicality, but through sheer smarts and mind set. The epitome of sports, or so I used to think, where one man literally tries to prevent the other from winning by inflicting direct physical punishment... Until you see how it can completely unravel when my age.

Mike Tyson was one of the very best, so good that you knew the only person that could beat Mike Tyson was... Mike Tyson. He was blessed (cursed?) with the rare combination of incredible strength and speed, a burning, searing rage from a life of early neglect and abuse, and... a PhD's intense knowledge of ring theory and tactics. He existed to destroy whatever set before him, and did it so well, he became the youngest heavyweight champion of all time! He was... in effect, The Destroyer.

Of course, all did not go well for young Mike. The two people closest to him, those that nurtured and guided him (Cus D'Amato and Jimmy Jacobs) died in quick succession. Rudderless, he quickly and predictably succumbed to his inner demons, as his career, life and very sanity quickly spiraled out of control and into a jail cell.

That downward spiral is a well worn path in "the sweet science," but the thing that struck me most about Tyson, that was written all over him- was just how deeply damaged, and yes, vulnerable, he was behind that raging ferocity. It was the same look I saw in many of my "at risk" students, a hurt worn on the sleeve- a look that also hinted that it also just... possibly, disguised an intense curiosity, a thirst for knowledge that betrayed a keen intelligence and humanity. But chances were, as so often is the case when one originates from said void, that that very vestige of humanity would only implode, self immolate and die before ever set free. 

Years went by, I disassociated from the tangled mess that boxing had become (and no doubt always was), and so it came as a welcomed relief (and joy, really) to stumble upon videos of an older, calmer, more reflective Mike Tyson who seemed to have exorcised, or at least committed to confronting and working through his life long demons. He was sober, apologetic to those he had harmed, eager to reclaim his life anew- and yet, insightful enough to realize he is a work in progress. You can see the blinding rage has cleared, substituted with that thirst for knowledge and a yearning to reconnect on the most basic of human levels. Yeah, this is the fight Teddy Atlas was really talking about...