Ex-Cons Are ‘Kings’

A convicted rapist earned $10 million by knocking out a fat man in a mismatch promoted by an ex-con who remains under indictment for insurance fraud.

As Don King would say, only in America.

Boxing, which is beyond blushing, staged another laugher Saturday night. The kindest thing one can say about Mike Tyson’s second victory in his quest to regain the heavyweight championship is that his victim managed to remain upright longer than his previous opponent - which isn’t saying much - and left the ring without being roundly booed.

I didn’t think it would last three rounds.

Or even two.

When Buster (rhymes with Custer) Mathis Jr. climbed through the ropes and shed his gold satin robe, exposing an ample waistline, and jiggling flesh, I bet the guy sitting next to me at ringside he wouldn’t survive the first round. A 25-to-1 underdog, Buster might not even last as long as the embarrassing Peter McNeeley, whom Tyson dispatched in 87 seconds, less time than it took to sing the national anthem.

Tyson needs to be tested. He needs the work. But he is not a fighter who will “carry” an opponent. He is unlike Ali in the ring. No soft-shoe. No showboating. No mugging. No nonsense.

Tyson works with the economical efficiency of a butcher. He speaks with his fists, and he’s not much for small talk. Last week the former champion sent one sparring partner to the hospital with broken teeth. He knocked out four opponents in four days.

A member of Tyson’s camp tells the story. “One day Mike knocked out a guy and then turned and just walked out of the ring and nobody said anything. Then, as he was leaving, one of the big guys bellowed out, ‘Nice punch, Mike.’ And in his little squeaky voice, Mike said, ‘Thank you” and just kept walking.”

In Las Vegas, the odds were 2-1 Mathis wouldn’t make it to the second round. Asked if he was disappointed he couldn’t watch the fight because the Suns would be playing Saturday, Charles Barkley, a big boxing fan who also has fought at the Spectrum, joked, “We could take a 20-second timeout and see most of it.”

Mathis is a better and more experienced boxer than McNeeley, but he can’t punch. Buster couldn’t hurt Tyson if Iron Mike’s chin were made of fine crystal. Mathis has nothing in his arsenal to dissuade Tyson from wading in, fists flying.

During the referee’s instructions, Tyson solemnly surveyed his flabby opponent and contemplated the violence that was about to come pouring out of him. Ringsiders sat on the edge of their $500 seats. They pay to watch Tyson for the same reason some viewers of Wild Kingdom like to watch footage of a tiger pouncing upon a zebra.

“A good fight does not involve longevity,” King, boxing’s carnival barker, reminded. Nor does a bad one. If the Tyson-McNeeley fight were a frozen food, it would be turkey a la King.

Mathis unveiled an interesting strategy. As the bell clanged, he rushed to center ring and tried to tackle his opponent. Tyson threw a vicious left hook over Mathis’ lowered head, bruising the air. As Mathis bobbed, trying to smother Tyson with his girth, the past and future champion continued to flail wildly. Any one of his punches, had they landed, could have caused the recipient to see a glorious galaxy of stars and hear birdies chirp.

Mathis pinned Tyson against the ropes. He didn’t give him room to throw his jawbreaker. But it was only a matter of time until the self-proclaimed “Baddest Man on the Planet” broke through his opponent’s peek-a-boo defense.

In the third round, Mathis saw the truth, and the light, and it came in the form of an uppercut, that staggered him. A left, then another right and Mathis went down. He lay on his back, his gloves covering his face. Referee Frank Cappuccino couldn’t provide the caffeine to awaken Mathis to continue.

King called it a great show, and Mathis said he would fight Tyson again, of course.

“I enjoy what I’m doing,” Tyson said, before climbing into a limo that whisked him off into the cold night in what his promoter called the city of brotherly, and sisterly, love.