BOXING MAY SHUN HIM, BUT TYSON IS HOLLYWOOD’S FAVORITE NEW ACCESSORY
New York, NY— Fans of trash-tv masterpiece Jersey Shore received quite a surprise when they tuned into the irrelevant Spike TV Video Game Awards last month to see their crew in action. Behind Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino—and his chemically enhanced abs— was a much more confusing and problematic situation unfolding: Mike Tyson (50-6, 44 KOs). Initially, it seemed an amusing, one-off cameo appearance. Surely, the Jersey Shore cast must like boxing, as 80% of the program is fist fighting, and, given the opportunity, they asked Tyson to come around. It’s not as if Tyson has anything better to do. Yet Tyson apparently did have better things to do, because he cleaned up nicely for an appearance at an actually respected awards program, the Golden Globes, a few Sundays ago. His cameo appearance in The Hangover was enough to bring him around. Naturally, once there, he was the butt of a few inside “jokes” about how safe his castmates felt with him around and other comedic duds referencing his fighting ability.
CHARITY IN SOUTHERN CALI A HARD FIND
In a sense, it is heartwarming to watch such a superficial crowd as that of the entertainment industry put aside their own egos and give Tyson the only thing they know: positive publicity. It seems to do him good to get acknowledgement; he is finally, after so many years, respected again. The dogcatchers of the entertainment world have collected raggedy old Tyson off the street after a lifetime of tragedies only surpassed by his own earth-shattering successes. They have sheltered him from himself. As cute as this initially sounds, it’s not all rainbows and butterflies in the marriage of Tyson and celebrity. There are two rather disappointing aspects to the story of his reemergence as a media darling. One is that he is not loved enough. The other is that he is loved too much, comparatively.
FROM HERALDED CHAMPION TO ACTOR’S PET
Mike Tyson has become to many Hollywood insiders nothing more than what Tinkerbell is to Paris Hilton, or Levi Johnston to Kathy Griffin: a cute pet that can follow you around to ingratiate yourself with the cool kids. There is something profoundly dehumanizing to Tyson in his relationship with the entertainment elite. The transformation from a world champion to a fashion accessory is a tragedy in and of itself. For many who do not follow the sport, the lives of boxers appear to be devalued simply because they are at risk whenever they enter the ring. What they do not understand is that, in demonstrating to an audience that nothing is not worth risking for the sport, boxers earn a respect that elevates their humanity to levels that quite possibly no one else can experience. So, in essence, by Tyson falling from legendary fighter to actor’s pet, he has fallen from the purest state of humanity to no state of humanity at all—from the deepest respect to none at all. No matter what the intentions of having him move in Hollywood circles are, the psychological impact cannot be positive.
ANY MORE WORTHY CAUSES IN BOXING?
Conversely, Tyson is an extremely complex character, and for every tragedy he has endured there is an equally abhorrent action he himself has committed. He has egregiously cheated in desperation (Tyson-Holyfield, anyone?). He has threatened to eat people’s kids. He has had some uncomfortable run-ins with the opposite sex. For all the pity we might feel towards him, Tyson is a troubled character. Why should he be the first boxer we all want to salvage from his self-tailored fate? Why, when there are so many fighters that have certainly caused less damage to others? The Star-Ledger, New Jersey’s largest newspaper, recently discovered 1980s champion Rocky Lockridge (44-9, 36 KOs) living a miserable, lonely, and poor life on the streets of America’s worst city, Camden, NJ. He is homeless and drug-addled, but, thankfully, he is doing better than some of his peers, like Gerald McClellan (31-3, 29 KOs), former middleweight champion almost two decades ago whose career was cut short by a series of errors from his corner, the referee, and the medical team on duty during a fight with Nigel Benn (42-5-1, 35 KOs). McClellan survived, but barely. He cannot see, is 80% deaf, needs assistance to walk, and has severely limited communication and short-term memory. Benn and others in the boxing world have helped, but the mainstream media mostly ignores his case. And yet perhaps more tragic than either of these stories is that of another generation, of the decline of former champion Emile Griffith (85-24-2, 23 KOs). Most people will remember him for causing the death of Beny “Kid” Paret (35-12-3, 33 KOs) in 1962, but as Griffith himself has been quoted as saying, “I kill a man and most people understand and forgive me. However, I love a man, and to so many people this is an unforgivable sin; this makes me an evil person.” Besides being one of the most gracious and professional of the forgotten champions, he is perhaps the single most important and underrated figure in the gay/BGLT rights struggle. Many consider his near inability to speak and need for 24-hour care a result of pugilistic dementia. The reality is that most of his dementia came from a severe group beating with baseball bats he received in 1992, for going to a gay bar. He now lives an extremely modest life in New York, where he is taken care of full-time. That Hollywood has not given Griffith the Harvey Milk treatment—now that he is alive and has the chance to see it—when he silently did so much to raise the name of the BGLT community by simply keeping his head high in a man’s world is a travesty.
TOO WORTHY OF HELP
But there are limits to how deep down the boxing rabbit hole the mainstream wants to go to dig out the truly meaningful, and most painful, stories. Because Mike Tyson benefits from the cult of personality surrounding him, his sob story appeals to many in the media that are desperate to veil the fact that they have no interests beyond themselves. Because they know nothing of boxing, they think Tyson’s story is unique or, worse, uncharacteristically unfortunate. They are willing to overlook his sins in order to make a hero out of him once again, but by doing so they also overlook an entire community of fighters—many with better karma than Tyson—who are suffering through times tougher than Tyson could even conceive. Unfortunately for Lockridge, McClellan, or Griffith, their personalities are simply not glamorous enough. No one wants to carry a semi-anonymous drug addict, a vegetable, or a senile old man to an awards show—much better to stick to the crazy man with the tribal tattoo in his face that everyone can ogle at to feel better about themselves. I’m looking forward to watching Tyson perform at the Grammys in a few weeks.
Frances “The Fight Chick” Martel