Pimping
Mike Tyson
By Dave Zirin
23 November, 2006
Counterpunch
Former heavyweight boxing
champion Mike Tyson began life in the condemned projects of Brooklyn,
and condemned he has remained. His American journey has included stops
in homeless shelters, reform schools, bankruptcy courts, and prison.
Along the way, he earned and lost more than $100 million.
Now a completely bogus news
story is out that Hollywood madam Heidi Fleiss has hired Tyson as the
main attraction for her 60-acre Nevada brothel for women called "Heidi's
Stud Farm. In a press release, the parasitic Fleiss said, "I told
him, 'You're going to be my big stallion.' It's every man's fear that
their girlfriend will go for Mike Tyson." She then quoted Tyson
saying, "I don't care what any man says, it's every man's dream
to please women . . . and get paid for it." Tyson had this to say
about the subject: "I am not working with Heidi Fleiss nor have
anything to do with her new business. There is no truth to these rumors."
His lawyers have threatened to sue if she uses his name for further
promotion.
No doubt this will all become
more fodder for the "Tyson as freak show, Tyson as beast"
jabber on sports radio. That line goes down easier than discussing his
bi-polar disorder; his attempts at suicide; his clinical depression;
and how the SportsWorld has spent the last decade poking him with a
stick, waiting a-titter to see what "Crazy Mike" does next.
They won't discuss the sad
truth that every inexcusable act of aggression towards women, every
facial tattoo, every threat to "eat the children" of opponents,
every bitten ear lobe, every public utterance, was a cry for help that
never came.
But Heidi Fleiss wouldn't
have been his first pimp. Managers like Bill Cayton, Don King, and a
throng of others have all taken turns using his physical prowess and
picking his carcass clean.
Yet Fleiss' "Stud Farm"
with Mike as "stallion", even though false, also carries a
devastating historical echo. The first prizefighters in this country
were slaves, owned by competing members of the plantocracy. They were
the heroes of the plantation, greeted by whites and Blacks with both
resentment and awe. These boxers in bondage were literally handed women
slaves for sexual gratification but would be lynched if caught looking
twice at the master's wife, no matter how successful. In the 20th century,
all African-American heavyweight champs have faced a similar vice between
their race and sexuality.
Heavyweight champion Jack
Johnson went to jail for "transporting women across state lines
for immoral purposes" by sending his white girlfriend a railroad
ticket to travel from Pittsburgh to Chicago. In an era when the KKK
executed Southern Justice and the Klan-film "Birth of a Nation"
was screened by a rapturous President Woodrow Wilson, Jack Johnson's
insistence on flouting the rules of white supremacy made him deeply
dangerous, as his FBI file attests.
The backlash against Johnson
meant that it would be 20 years before the rise of another Black heavyweight
champ "the Brown Bomber" Joe Louis. Louis was quiet where
Johnson was defiant. He was handled very carefully by a management team
that had a set of rules Louis had to follow, including, "never
be photographed with a white woman."
All Black boxers were seen
as either neutered or potential rapists until Muhammad Ali said, "I
don't have to be what you want me to be" and infuriated the sports
writers of his day. One contemporary of Ali told me, "One of the
things that made reporters so mad about Ali was that he told people
how 'pretty' he was. The champion is supposed to be a stud, not pretty."
Even progressive examinations
of athletes can't escape this trap of eroticizing their subjects. In
Ken Burns' otherwise stellar documentary of Jack Johnson, "Unforgivable
Blackness", Burns spends so much time gazing at the fighter's crotch
and tight pants, that Johnson's bulge should be submitted for Emmy consideration.
In David Kindred's wonderful
recent book about Ali and Cosell, "The Sound and the Fury",
he unfortunately takes time to let us know that the naked Ali earns
his title as "the greatest."
Granted, it's tough to find
the humanity in a sport like boxing, that so relentlessly dehumanizes
its subjects. But Mike Tyson is the scarred reflection of this ugly
corner in the SportsWorld. Instead of stopping to sneak a peek, and
cop a thrill, we should force ourselves to stare and think. Instead
of laughing at Mike Tyson, we should take time to weep.
The tragedy is that Tyson
is no animal. Trained by the legendary Cus D'Amato, the young Tyson
was a student of the game. He watched grainy films for hours on end.
He possessed beautiful lateral movement, and thunderous blows to the
body. Only an intelligent boxer understands the demoralizing nature
of body shots, and Tyson went to the torso like no fighter this century.
He was also a scholar of the psychology of the sport. In the mid '80s
when fighters routinely came to the ring in flowing sequined robes like
they were extras on George Clinton's Mothership, Tyson would walk to
the ring clad only in black trunks. While other fighters walked down
the aisle to cheesy party songs, Tyson's tune was "In The Air Tonight"
by Phil Collins. I saw Tyson live when he was 20 years old, and trust
me: Phil Collins was never so badass.
But the young Tyson, despite
all the menace, also showed a real compassion for the people he knocked
out. He exhibited smarts, charisma, and concern. Now he is just an exhibit.
Dave Zirin's
new book "What's My Name Fool? Sports and Resistance in the United
States" is published by Haymarket Books. Check out his revamped
website edgeofsports.com.
You can receive his column Edge of Sports, every week by e-mailing [email protected].
Contact him at [email protected].
Leave
A Comment
&
Share Your Insights