Lewis Wants to Fight 'the Last Misfit'

An old fighter, an ex-champion, once held out his trembling hand to another, younger heavyweight. He'd had hard times of his own and he hoped the fighter would take his hand and pull free from the trouble that was consuming him with destructive intensity.

Mike Tyson was grateful for Muhammad Ali's kindness that day three years ago and, looking for any reason to be impressed, the boxing commissioners of Nevada gave Mike back his licence to fight. They were acting in the naive hope rather than firm conviction that Tyson would surely not let Ali down, that he would repent for the grotesque spectacle he had inflicted on the watching world the night he bit the ears of Evander Holyfield.

But then - as he had done before and may well do again - he betrayed those whose concern he chose to interpret as pity. And pity, he has said, is a sentiment made for women and the weak. The wonder is his second wife waited until this month to file for divorce.

Once he had conned the commission, Tyson started on a predictable curve of tragicomedy that took in lapdancing bars, boxing rings, hotel rooms and any dark corner inhabited by his dope-dealing associates. His rage, dulled only by the mood controller Zoloft, would not surrender to even the powerful love of Ali.

Last Tuesday, another Nevada commission, with changed personnel, refused this time to forgive or forget. For two hours they listened to Mike's descent into self-pity, the quality he so despised in others. They heard his half-hearted excuses for ranting, biting and brawling at a New York press conference a week earlier that had been intended to promote his challenge for Lennox Lewis's world title, an extravaganza that had been scheduled for Las Vegas on 6 April. And they banished him from their desert.

Were they right? Without reservation. Will the rest of America be so righteous? When the commissioners - with the shameful exception of old hand Luther Mack - sent Tyson wandering in search of other patsies, it was said he might find them in neighbouring California. Don't count on it; that state has never licensed a boxer who could not find approval in Nevada. A better bet is Texas, where a cowboy's tendencies have apparently not disappeared and whose slavering boxing boss is almost begging for the fixture.

Whether or not it does take place - and most civilised neutrals are past caring - it will not be outside the United States if allegations of rape against Tyson go forward to the Clark County courts in Vegas and he has his passport impounded. While it would be unfair to prejudge even Tyson over the charges brought by his lapdancing girlfriend and another unidentified woman - although he hardly goes in with a helpful CV - a trial would remove him from the heavyweight picture for the best part of a year, whatever the result. And Lennox hasn't got a year's patience left.

Maybe, as Tyson threatens, their fight will happen in the street without the encumbrance of promoters or the protection of rules. It was suggested last week - falsely in my opinion - that Lewis does not want to fight Tyson. After listening to him for two-and-a-half hours in London on Wednesday afternoon, what I am convinced the champion does want, and will not get, is a boxing match with Tyson in a regulated ring, free of the fear of unscheduled riot.

And what Lewis certainly does not want is a random death-fight with an unhinged thug, in or out of the ring. He can hardly be blamed for thinking that Tyson is the one who would prefer to settle their differences under a street light. 'Listen, I want this fight,' Lewis said. 'I really do. I'm here to clean up the misfits and Mike Tyson is the last misfit.'

Lewis then repeated the faintly ludicrous ritual he had performed for those of our business who had queued up beforehand, and took down his trousers to reveal a coin-size scab on the upper reaches of his left thigh, surrounded by residual bruising. Was the eight-day-old wound Mike's handiwork, though? 'Come on. If someone is biting your leg you look down and you know who the hell is doing it.' Fair point.

Lewis's own mantle was muddied by his seeming relish for mayhem on the New York stage with Tyson, although he steadfastly will not admit he was wrong to pile in. Nevertheless, he is better placed than many to offer an opinion on a fellow fighter who once might have been his friend...

It was 20 years ago when they first met and Lewis found the air in the Catskills, in upstate New York, clean and unspoiled.

The old man who ran the gym and rambling boarding house was one of those Italian Americans from Central Casting - grumpy and wise. His friend Camille cooked stews and dispensed motherly concern for their adopted brood of miscreants. And then there was the kid. Lennox had heard about Mike all right, everyone knew who Tyson was; another overgrown teenage boxer, a prodigy and a product of the ghetto who the cussed Cus D'Amato could save and nurture.

Lewis was to spend a week with D'Amato and Tyson so the trainer could see what sort of property he had been delivered from the New York streets, if he might make a champion. They sparred full out and Lewis relished the experience, confident that, if they ever met, he could handle Tyson with skill as much as power.

'The funny thing is,' Lewis said, 'I don't remember him as crazy. He seemed fine, a nice guy. I was there for a week and we hung out, watched old movies, went into town together. He was lucid, normal.'

What Lewis did not see in his short stay was D'Amato's scandalous indulgence of Tyson's behaviour, letting him drink and bully and become alienated from common decency. It was here that Tyson developed his habit of sexual intimidation. Ever since, the fighter has been taking advantage of people who do not understand his sinister side. Tyson told the world last week that he 'doesn't have a friend in the world'. A human being can hardly give voice to a sadder thought than that.

'You don't know my world,' he had shouted in New York, vaguely in the direction of the white and the smug. Some do, though. Jose Torres, the Puerto Rican light heavyweight who was one of D'Amato's champions and an articulate observer who was witness to Tyson's excesses, reckons he knew the source of the fighter's anger and confusion. 'Mike always had a problem with women,' Torres said once. 'Maybe part of it was his mother. You know, she never came to see him during his stay at reform school. She never called or wrote him a letter.'

Lewis's mother, Violet, whom Tyson caught in his scattergun abuse in New York, said shortly after the Battle of Holyfield's Ear: 'What that young man needs is a mother's love.' Camille, whom Tyson said he adored and respected, was not enough, apparently.

Many others have alternately admired and feared Tyson. Ricky Hatton, the excellent Manchester light welterweight who defends his version of the world title this Saturday, was on the undercard the first time Tyson fought in Britain. He recalled last week how Tyson abused him for mistakenly taking his parking spot outside the Midland hotel in Manchester. But they laughed about it. Tyson was on his best behaviour that time, unlike his later visit to Glasgow. It is this unpredictability that is scary.

'I've always been a great Tyson fan,' Hatton said. 'But it would have been a disgrace if they had given him his licence back. No matter how much money is involved, no one person is bigger than the sport. I don't think we need him any more. It's a crying shame. I will miss him.'

Lewis predicts a terrible conclusion to the story. 'He's got a death wish. Definitely. It might be a gun, or jail again. We all know the ways of the street, I could easily have gone that way myself. But you learn how to survive. Fighting is what we do. We get in the ring, we fight, we get paid. But Mike Tyson is not a boxer any more. He is only a fighter. If you get in his way, he only wants to obliterate people. He wouldn't even be accepted in Ultimate Fighting. And, as Larry Holmes said, he will go before he is 40, because that is the path of his life.'

Last week, Muhammad Ali was still replying to the thousands of birthday cards he'd received on reaching 60. No doubt he also would have remarked to his wife, Lonnie, that Will Smith's portrayal of him in a new biopic was apparently being well received. They might have discussed progress on the Mohammad Ali Center, which is sprouting in his hometown of Louisville, a monument to his greatness and influence for good. His illness apart, Ali's path in life could hardly be strewn with more roses.

What, though, of the young fighter who spurned his friendship? It is difficult to picture Tyson at 60. Do you see a white-haired old man, surrounded by his children and grandchildren, sitting quietly at home opening messages of congratulations from presidents and movie stars and thousands of adoring fans... or do you see a headstone in the graveyard in Las Vegas, parked, as requested by the fighter, next to that of the man he admired most, Charles Sonny Liston?