As the fascinating new documentary Tyson reminds us, Iron Mike refuses to have a happy ending. He earned 100 million dollars…and squandered 100 million dollars…and earned another 100 million dollars…and wasted it again. (When he complains about Don King stealing tens of millions from him, one sympathizes but can’t help thinking, “So with your spending habits and general knack for shrewd decision making, that would have kept you out of the red for, what, another month?”) He keenly understands his mistakes, but keeps making them. He’s now over 40, no longer fights, has six kids, wants grandchildren, and hasn’t been in legal trouble for at least a few weeks, but it’s hard to shake the feeling he remains a danger to himself and anyone else within reach.

I’ve always been fascinated by Tyson. His mentor Cus D’Amato trained fighters in the same part of New York where my grandparents lived, so I heard about him well before he became the heavyweight champ. I saw one of his bouts in person, a title defense against Carl “The Truth” Williams lasting a whopping 93 seconds, or two seconds more than the Michael Spinks fight did. I watched a number of other ones on TV (notably the infamous rematch with Evander Holyfield live on pay-per-view while crashing with friends of a friend in Dublin, which meant it was about 5am local time and we were all dozing off when someone said, “Did he just spit out a chunk of ear?” — incidentally, the documentary makes clear Holyfield engaged in his own dirty pool, repeatedly head-butting the shorter Tyson). I read newspaper articles about Tyson and checked out his TV interviews and thought, “For better or worse, I’ve never seen an athlete vaguely like this guy.”

I still haven’t. I’ve seen athletes better than Iron Mike. When the going got tough, Tyson usually crumbled or went crazy, neither a course of action advocated in the “Eye of the Tiger” lyrics. It goes without saying I’ve seen athletes who are better human beings than Mike (though, thanks to OJ, I’ve now seen at least one who’s worse, too). While the documentary downplays some of Tyson’s most troubling behavior — it doesn’t mention his split with trainer Teddy Atlas, who handled much of the actual training for Cus and can be seen running Tyson workouts in some of the documentary’s archival footage, over alleged sexual advances on Atlas’ underage sister-in-law — it’s undeniably disturbing to watch as Tyson insists he didn’t rape Desiree Washington, then readily admits taking advantage of other women. (I came away from the documentary thinking that, in his mind, Tyson is innocent; how this coincides with reality I have no idea.) Likewise, it’s almost sweet when Mike reveals he has his own version of the knight in shining armor rescue fantasy, with him marrying a strong woman (“a CEO”) who saves him from himself, until he ends it by noting he’ll then “dominate her sexually.”

Yet there remains something engaging about him. For one, with his high-pitched voice, slight lisp, and idiosyncratic word choices, he often comes across like an unusually foul-mouthed Dickens character. What other human being would recount tales of robbing drug dealers and use the term “gentleman” to describe a participant? He famously characterized his fighting style as “impetuous” and another time spoke of hitting a garbage man and leaving him “convulsing on the floor like an infantile retard,” not to mention his indignant announcement an opponent “called me a rapist and a recluse. I’m not a recluse.” (Hey, a man has to draw the line somewhere.) Throw in his gift for invoking boxing history (former champs Jack Dempsey and Sonny Liston are particular favorites) and history in general (note the Mao tattoo on his arm) and you have a man who, as this quote highlight reel shows, was rarely coherent, but never dull. (He was also surprisingly brittle: the film has footage of Tyson threatening to rape a male heckler, which becomes more pathetic than frightening when we realize Tyson is on the verge of tears.)

In the ring, Tyson was impossible to ignore. He is not one of the great fighters, but he may be the most exciting. In his prime, his combination of hand speed and power was unique among heavyweights, and when he unleashed those fists against one of his inevitably mediocre challengers — remember James “Bonecrusher” Smith? — the results were electric. He didn’t take out opponents; he obliterated them. Watching them go down is riveting; watching them try to get back up is even better. Countless times in the documentary we see fighters fall, attempt to rise to their feet, and collapse once more, as if their bodies suddenly thought better of facing Tyson for even another second.

While the footage of Tyson taking out all comers is amazing — here are some examples in this synthesizer-heavy clip — the film’s most memorable fight is Buster Douglas’ legendary 1990 upset. There were some fanatical Tyson fans at my screening (they cheered all of Mike’s knockouts and loudly heckled Desiree Washington); when Douglas came on screen, they left the theater. It’s understandable, because from that point on there isn’t much to celebrate. In this fight Mike is no longer dishing out the punishment; now he absorbs it. Douglas is bigger, more energetic, and far sharper than Tyson, dominating him and looking slick doing it until finally he drives Mike to the canvas, leaving him searching for his dropped mouthpiece. It’s as thrilling as the earlier Tyson knockouts, only this time Mike’s on the wrong side of the KO. This may be Mike’s appeal in a nutshell. Even as an out-of-shape loser in a downward spiral, you can’t take your eyes off of him, nor can we look away now, no matter how far he plummets.

 

Man of the Moment appears each Wednesday.

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