Jake Paul, a 27-year-old social media huckster, beat a 58-year-old man with a long history of health problems, both physically and mentally, in a boxing ring late on Friday night. The fact that Mike Tyson was defeated so comprehensively on points was meant to give Paul a semblance of authenticity in the unforgiving business of boxing. But it didn’t mean much in the end.
Tyson is the former world champion who, in the mid-to-late 1980s, spread awe and terror as he tore through the heavyweight ranks. But, in the dog days of 2024, Tyson was trying to overcome years of abuse, after far too many drugs and far too much drinking, as well as recent troubling issues with a bleeding stomach ulcer and acute sciatica. Two years ago Tyson was in such pain that he had to be pushed around in a wheelchair and, this May, he threw up so much blood on a flight that his manufactured scrap with Paul had to be postponed for six months. He now looks like he also has a bad right knee.
This was Paul’s opponent in a sad and abject bout. The fight had been reduced to eight rounds, lasting just two minutes each, and that relative brevity offered a modicum of relief. Paul received the unanimous verdict by two scores of 79-73 and a shutout 80-72.
The near sold-out crowd at the AT&T Stadium were fiercely partisan in their early support of Tyson. Ninety minutes before the ring-walks, footage of Paul’s arrival was greeted with a muted hum. But we then saw Tyson walking slowly to his locker room. His jacket was emblazoned with his famous old boxing alias: Iron Mike. The huge and sustained roar was strangely moving.
Jake Paul and his brother Logan were driven to the ring in a customised Chevy low-rider, instead of making the traditional fighter’s walk, to a stale old Phil Collins track. Tyson made a sombre, brooding trudge, wearing a stark black top in a deliberate attempt to echo the menace which once defined him. It was the high point of a long night for the once formidable Tyson. He looked weathered and aged as he was introduced in the middle of the ring.
Tyson came out with a modicum of intent and he soon caught the retreating Paul with a clipping left and a glancing right. He ducked under a few swinging punches but Tyson was then tagged by a much sharper right to the head. It was already plain that any vague hope of Tyson being able to summon his once trademark ferocity belonged to a forlorn fantasy. The two-minute round ended with Tyson, wearing a brace on his dodgy knee, trying slowly and unsuccessfully to close the distance between him and a cheerfully back-peddling Paul.
The second round was dulled by pedestrian exchanges, with Tyson looking bereft of any real intent while Paul landed a few decent punches. But the former world champion was soon in trouble when he was rocked to the soles of his black boots by a stream of left hands. Decades ago, Tyson would have been far too fast and elusive for such a telegraphed series of blows. He would have slipped under them and then punished and dropped a boxing novice for his audacity. But Tyson’s speed and ring savvy is long gone and he took his shots with bleak stoicism.
Paul cruised through the remaining rounds, winning them with little obvious effort. If he really did make $40m it must have felt easier than some of his teenage YouTube stunts which made his name and early fortune.
Tyson had already put the result, as well as the protracted and ridiculous hype surrounding the circus, into bleak context the previous night. Dragooned into an interview with Jazlyn Guerra, a 14-year-old social media personality who tags herself as Jazzy’s World TV, Tyson was withering in the way he dismissed the fight and his historical reputation. His words carried a dark meaning which ridiculed his contest with a YouTuber.
Guerra, who appears to be an accomplished teenager, was initially gushing in her enthusiasm for the bout after the weigh-in on Thursday night. She said it would provide “a monumental opportunity for kids my age to see the legend Mike Tyson in the ring for the first time. So after such a successful career what type of legacy would you like to leave behind when it’s all said and done?”
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Tyson paused. It wasn’t a terrible question but he was in the mood to dole out a grim truth. “Well, I don’t believe in the word ‘legacy’,” Tyson said. “I think that’s just another word for ‘ego’. Legacy means absolutely nothing to me. I’m just passing through. I’m gonna die and it’s gonna be over. Who cares about legacy after that? We’re nothing. We’re dead. We’re dust.”
Guerra, to her considerable credit, was gracious. “Well, thank you so much for sharing that,” she said. “That’s something I’ve not heard before.”
Tyson wasn’t done. “Can you really imagine someone saying I want my legacy to be this way or that?” he continued bluntly. “You’re dead. What audacity is that – to want people to think about me when I am gone? Who the fuck cares about me?”
It was hard to care about anything in regard to this stunted show – apart from a sincere hope that Tyson did not suffer much damage from the blows he took. Walking out into the black Texas night, and away from such a contrived and cynical business, it felt like freedom to escape the madness and the sadness.
