Surrendered to the care of a single-mother at age 2, Mike’s road to glory would take nearly two decades before its paths became clear. The move to Brooklyn’s infamous neighborhood, Brownsville, at age 10 only further blurred the map Mike was to follow, in his journey to make history by becoming the youngest fighter to win the World Boxing Council, World Boxing Association, and International Boxing Federation heavyweight titles. Mike did all this by age 20.
While most fighters bob and weave their ways through matches, Mike knocked-out his opponents fearlessly, rendering whoever he came across dead-on-arrival. With his record-making debut at the Junior Olympic contest, knocking out his opponent in 8 seconds, it was clear Tyson wasn’t the average kid around the block. He would build on this new-found confidence throughout his legendary career, winning 50 out of 58 games, 44 of which were by knockouts.
But before the glory came, he would have to confront the death of his mother at age 16, leaving the future heavyweight champion emotionally distraught. Tyson later recalled how much this loss partook in the knockouts he became famous for: The bodies of his opponents symbolized a receptacle, into which he deposited his pain, sorrow, and anguish.
As one who grew up entrenched in gang deathstyle, Mike was naturally mean with his hands. But boxing hardly consists of strength alone. The discipline, alertness, and psychological skills he needed to survive in the world of professional boxing would take years to develop, under the tutorship of renowned boxing manager and trainer Constantine “Cus” D’Amato.
Mike credits Cus with equipping him with the technical skills that proved successful later on. Cus became the father he never knew. Nonetheless, the death of Mike’s mom triggered a fit of erratic impulses, which put at risk the lives of many around him. Cus was aware of this, but failed to act appropriately. No other is more willing to acknowledge that Cus was an honorable man, than Mike himself. On several TV appearances, when asked, he never fails to mention the large emotional gap Cus filled in his life, more so with the untimely passing of his mother. Mike was alone in this world. And the only friend he knew was Cus. This friend, unfortunately, had ulterior motives that, though meant well, played a part in the unremarkable events that have since blemished Mike’s reputation.
Cus failed to address adequately the wounds Tyson’s troubled childhood still left opened. Seeing the potential for a future heavyweight champion in him, Cus could hardly control his expectations. Tyson was drilled, drilled, and drilled. This drilling process, helpful as it was later on, only stimulated the pent-up rage embedded in the young boxer’s soul.
Cus permitted Tyson’s character flaws. When he most needed discipline, drills were instead suggested. But the professional is hardly personal. And none other knew this better than Cus, himself, who had mentored many young men into becoming well-groomed adults. The problem: Tyson was different. As an old man, whose long and wavy life was slowly coming to an end, Tyson was his last hope for success—an ATM machine into which he could deposit his last change of advice and athletic investment, and reap an handsome payback.
Cus was Tyson’s first encounter with a world filled with opportunists, many of whom would sell their birthright for a mess of pottage. His death in 1985 only further complicated life for Tyson, leaving him helpless, alone, and vulnerable.
It’s a strange existence when 90% of those with whom you cross paths are endlessly seeking ways to exploit your fame, fortune and future. Though Tyson’s world wasn’t always filled with Don King clones, the degree of selfishness with which his confidants shamelessly stole to fill up their coffers, made sure he was bankrupt by 36.
But even with the luxurious lusts of losers like Don King, and the emotional scars his traumatic childhood afforded him, none of Mike Tyson’s opponents could deal bigger blows than that the sports, news, and all around oppressive, media meticulously landed on his iron-like, though fragile, body. The media, having failed with Ali a couple decades before, had learned their lesson: The key was to start early. That way, full control over the athlete’s psyche would be attained.
By age 20, Mike was already being described, by commentators, as a “beast,” “monster,” and “animal.” Those primatial nouns were cautiously used to define and determine the parameters under which viewers and boxing fans were to judge the budding fighter. Unenlightened observers might defend the commentators, explaining that no harm was meant, and, in fact, it was a testament to the hitherto unforeseen intensity Mike brought to the ring. But such arguments miss the mark. They also excuse, and lend credence to, a media which sees wealthy Black male athletes, who defy the odds (mainstream society), as objects worthy of scorn, hate, and antagonism.
In Mike’s case, the threat level was amplified: He was a fighter knocking-out everything that got in his way, dismantling the will and strength of his opposition, and clearing out the bodies of opponents who failed to recognize his superiority in the ring. The media was alert. It knew the threat Mike posed. The “animal” descriptor would lay the foundation for a plot ready to yield fruition later on. As Mike contended a few years ago, “they build us [Black male athletes] up just to break us down.” It was all part of a scheme to paint him as the new “evil Black monster.” Ali was struck with Parkinson’s Syndrome—wasn’t a threat anymore. There was a new N***r in town—a new specimen to operate on, and oppress, in the laboratory of mass media.
When Mike Tyson walked into the ring, the media went with him. When taking a bathroom break, the media was nearby. When out for launch, the media stayed as close as possible. Far from modern-day paparazzis who innocently—most of them self-employed—infringe on the privacy of celebrities, the media’s hyper surveillance of Tyson was deliberately nefarious.
The intent was to prove they were right all along. They were right that he was a “beast,” a “monster,” an “animal.” But this time, the beast was untamable. Far from the adorable beast who knocked out adversaries, this beast went on rampages, raped women, and devoured anyone looked at as threatening.
Mike fought back, but lacked the sophistication to do it productively. His counter-attack, unfortunately, began validating those assertions the media had made—the foundation it laid. Mike became “an actor, an entertainer,” in the ring. He took up the persona of Iron—impenetrable. He became “impetuous” and “impregnable.” Sadly, iron was melting and Mike couldn’t show it. It would take years before he concluded that “Nobody is invincible. Nobody is the greatest fighter in the world.”
Tyson’s brutal honesty is nowhere else more appreciated than in the Hip-Hop community. As such, it was a no brainer to form an alliance with the late West Coast warrior, Tupac, who Tyson described as “brutally honest,” and a “loving guy.” Tyson found the same thread of lies previously woven about him being recast in the media’s portrayal of Tupac as “time-bomb, racist, dysfunctional, single-parent.” Their friendship was, of course, cut short on Sept. 13, 1996, six days after Tupac was gunned down in Las Vegas, following a Mike Tyson v. Bruce Seldon fight, but the bond the two cultural icons shared was, in many ways, inevitable.
Beyond being indicted on rape charges they vehemently denied, both emerged from troublesome backgrounds which very few could overcome. They did. Both were also fatherless at young ages, but found father surrogates whom they credit as lifesavers. It was after getting to know Tupac better that Tyson found in him a rare jewel. Tyson saw that Tupac was able to articulate the pain he felt, in ways not only productive but constructive—lyrically and musically. Hitherto, both had relied on physicality to prove their worth. But Tupac’s rhetorical prowess on the mic was having far-reaching impacts than hand-dealt jabs did. Tupac would go on to record many songs specifically for Tyson’s fights (“Ambitionz Az A Fighta,” “Ready to Rumble,” “Road 2 Glory”).
Many rappers also found similarities between their struggles and Tyson’s. His name soon garnered notoriety on Rap records, with artists ranging from DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince and Too Short, Canibus and Ginuwine, LL Cool J and Biggie, paying homage to his greatness.
Throughout his glorious career, Iron Mike effortlessly fulfilled the six qualities Nas mentioned—Speed, Strength, Skill, Power, Accuracy, Victorious—as requisite for a legendary legacy. At a recent screening of his new documentary, “Tyson,” Nas explained how much he “meant,” and means, to the Hip-Hop generation: “Just go back on what Mike has meant to us throughout all the years. Mike has been the first baller of our generation, the first champion of our generation that stood for the common man.”
And even after living a life most couldn’t stand a day of, Iron Mike, our heavyweight champ, keeps fighting on. Keep fighting champ! We love you!
Tolu Olorunda is a cultural critic and a Columnist for BlackCommentator.com. He can be reached at Tolu.Olorunda@gmail.com..
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