Colin Sheridan: Pathetic Tyson-Paul show should mark end of this era of pro boxing - but won't
TEXAS HOLD'EM: Jake Paul and Mike Tyson before their heavyweight bout at AT&T Stadium in Arlington. Pic: Stephen McCarthy/Sportsfile
“I’ve seen the needle and the damage done,” sang Neil Young, “a little part of it in everyone. And every junkie’s like a setting sun.” On Saturday night in Arlington, Texas, two junkies - one, Jake Paul, addicted to attention and money, the other, Mike Tyson, addicted to boxing, and God knows what else - put on a show that was so absurd it could finally see the sun set on this era of professional boxing.
It could, but it won’t. There is too much money to be made and too many fools willing to part with it. A professional celebrity and a 58-year-old one-time champ, three decades past his prime following each other around a ring was pure scripted pantomime. Colin Firth and Hugh Grant fighting in Bridget Jones’s diary was more authentic. Those who have paid close enough attention to men's professional boxing have long ago seen the needle and the damage it's done to the sport. These two addicts were like a pair of setting suns. The sun, sadly in this instance, also rises. Paul will find another clown to dance with. It has become clear over his boxing “career” - nine fights, eight wins, one loss - that, while money is his main motivator, he loves the idea of himself as an elite athlete. In trying to buy legitimacy, he has further degraded a sport intent on self-sabotage.
What of Tyson? I’m not certain what the hope was, even for the most casual, inebriated fan on Saturday night. To see Iron Mike get knocked out? Carried out? Or to see an old man put manners on a young punk upstart? They were the choices, really. Nobody was going to walk away from watching that fight and be enlightened or inspired. Conspiracy and conjecture already swirled sound the matchup. Was it rigged? Did Tyson go easy on Paul those first couple of rounds? Did Paul spare the old man when it was clear his legs were like a young fella nine hours deep into Christmas Jumper day at college? In 1949, a chap called Gus Waldorf fought a bear in a cage. Not too unlike Paul, Waldorf was known as “a boxer so distinguished that this picture is literally all he’s known for”). He lost the match, but gained lifetime infamy, as the haunting shots from that event became the most famous photos from what became known as the “boxing bear era.” The sport is in no better shape now. At least we knew the bear (who wore gloves) was real and not motivated by money.
If Paul versus Tyson broke any new ground, it managed the hitherto impossible feat of many people rooting for a convicted rapist. Or, at least hoping Tyson didn’t get seriously hurt. Everything from his geriatric ring-walk to the dodgy stream Netflix platformed made this an intensely uncomfortable and unsatisfying experience for the consumer. In the end, YouTuber Jake Paul got paid a reported £30million (€36m) for getting in the ring with a man 30 years older than him. The needle and the damage done.
As if to amplify the absurdity of the Paul/Tyson debacle, Katie Taylor and Amanda Serrano served up a fight so brutal and intoxicating, it was worthy of being the sports saviour. This bout was everything its headline event was not. The punches were real. The head clashes were real. The animosity between camps was real. The auteurism that for so long dogged women's boxing was absent and forgotten, replaced by an excellence so authentic it was an emotional experience to watch. To mention Paul and Tyson in the same breath is insulting, but it needs to be done only to highlight the dichotomy of experiences. From about the second round it was as if the crowd did not exist for the Irishwoman and her Puerto Rican rival. They were on another planet entirely, the referee the only distraction. It mattered to neither woman who said what before, during, or even after the fight. The crowd seemed to melt away. It was epically gladiatorial.
That Taylor emerged the baddie too, is absolutely no harm. She had done nothing but acquit herself admirably since she first became a public figure, and given the fight game’s bandwidth is dominated by Mayweather, McGregor, Paul and Tyson, that Serrano and her following find fault with Taylor “use of the head” in the ring, as opposed to some viral prank she pulled is as refreshing as it may be justified.
I am not Geroge Kimball, but this, to me, is what the sport of boxing should be. The two best fighters fighting in an environment they have done so much to cultivate, not by image manipulation, but by talent and hard work. That they were deprived of the headline spot was bad enough. That their brilliance had to prop up the sorry charade that followed is no reflection on them, but the gnat-like attention span of the masses.
Boxing has long needed a saviour. Turns out they had two of them right under their noses. Far from embracing and corrupting them, they should let them be to do their thing. The proof is in the punches.
It’s one of the most iconic scenes in the movie Casablanca. Humphrey Bogart's Rick and Paul Henreid’s Victor Laszlo are busy arguing over Ingrid Bergman (fair enough) when the occupying Nazi forces start up a singsong, banging out “Die Wacht am Rhein" with a gusto equal to their superiority complex. Laszlo interrupts his conversation with Rick to march defiantly down to the house band, for whom he has one simple instruction: “Play La Marseillaise.” The musicians pause and look at Bogart, who gives one of the most memorable nods in cinema history. The band plays, the patrons sing, and the Nazis are drowned out. As the camera pans the room, some of those singing are seen weeping. Legend has it the extras employed did not cry on command but were overcome by the profundity of the moment. It is that kind of song. On Saturday night in Paris, a similar rendition could be heard in the Stade de France. The stadium lights dimmed just before kick-off, bathing the stands in the soft hue of the French tricolor. The band started to play, but stopped about one verse in, allowing the 80,000 present to take over the singing, a capella. No stadium announcers ruined the moment. No mic’d up singers. No “Freed from Desire” sound assault. While patriotism means different things to different people, La Marseillaise in Paris in a dark stadium on a Saturday night remains one of the true joys of international sport. An unspoiled moment of joy, unity and defiance. Moments after, the haka was given equal status, performed under a spotlight. Utterly thrilling. The game itself matched the epic preamble. Kiwi kickers were manically booed. Both teams played with a chaotic abandon befitting the pre-match ritual. It was a lesson not just in how to play sport, but how to present it to the public. The IRFU, GAA and FAI should all take note. When it comes to building up the tension, sometimes the best thing to do is shut up and listen.
When JJ Reddick joined the LA Lakers as head coach earlier this year, there were many critics justifiably predicting it was a public relations appointment made by LeBron James after the pair appeared on a podcast together and hit it off. It’s the Lakers, after all, and it’s LeBron James. So, anything is possible. Recently retired Reddick had no coaching experience but was busy building his brand as an uncompromising analyst on ESPN. The Lakers beat the Spurs on Saturday night to secure their fifth straight win. With Anthony Davis firing and James 40 next month - consistent if unspectacular, the rookie coach might just be on to something good in Los Angeles. Nothing's surer than the honeymoon won't last. This could be a case of a “one and done” for Reddick, so, he better make it count. The next four weeks should give a better sample size of whether the Lakers are the real deal, or Hollywood pretenders.
A tip of the cap to Barcelona Gaels, whose run in the Leinster junior club championship came to an end when they narrowly lost out to Kilcavan last weekend. The Catalan club overcame Berlin to become the European champions last month, and they made history by becoming the first Iberian club to compete in the All Ireland club championship. They then went one step further by beating Conahy Shamrocks of Kilkenny. While their historic journey ended in Laois, their adventure should alert domestic GAA fans to the growing number of clubs in the diaspora, and why they deserve our support and attention. The Asian Gaelic Games will be held in Bangkok this coming weekend, it is expected that about 24 clubs and over 700 players will attend and participate.
