Thursday, Aug. 31, 2006 | 7:28 a.m.
The 230-pound - er, better make that 250, judging from the bulge in his gray T-shirt where his rock-hard abs used to be - magnet known as Michael Gerard Tyson was back in Las Vegas on Wednesday.
And as usual, a few hundred boxing fans, passers-by and curiosity seekers - heavy on the curiosity seekers - were immediately drawn to him.
They were standing five- and six-deep around a boxing ring set up in the mezzanine of the Aladdin/Planet Hollywood Hotel to watch Tyson pound the bright red sparring mitts of Jeff Fenech, the former world bantamweight champion who is considered Australia's greatest fighter. That is, if you don't count the Essendon Bombers and Geelong Cats and anybody else who plays Australian Rules Football for a living.
This was the first day of "Tyson Training Camp" in Las Vegas, as the placards around the under-construction mezzanine proclaimed. Training for what, nobody seems to know. Not the Aladdin. Not Fenech. And certainly not Tyson.
"I'm not a fighter no more. I don't even have a fighter's license. I don't have the ideology of a fighter," Tyson said to three Las Vegas reporters in a voice so low that we had trouble hearing him, even from ear-biting distance.
"People just want to see me. And I'm always looking to make a buck, like anybody else."
That's probably what this sideshow is about. There is talk about Tyson fighting a series of exhibitions that would help him pay some bills. He's 40 now, hasn't been a legitimate force in the heavyweight division in at least 10 years and has lost three of his last four fights. The last time out, in June of 2005, he got knocked out by a guy from Ireland.
That wouldn't be a disgrace if it happened in the alley behind a bar. But this was in the boxing ring. Against a guy named Kevin. The Baddest Man on the Planet doesn't lose to guys named Kevin. But the Baddest Men on the Planet - you know them as the IRS - has heard every sad story in the book, although Tyson's, it can be assumed, might even make the Tax Man recoil in sympathy. Temporarily, anyway.
This explains the rumors about Tyson getting back into the ring with tomato cans; Tyson getting into the ring with mixed martial artists; Tyson getting into the ring with wrestling bears at county fairs.
If that is a vision that makes you laugh, don't. Based on the crowd that turned out to watch him waddle around the ring and throw an occasional left hook - that, I must confess, I am eternally grateful wasn't targeted for my rib cage - his handlers could have advertised Tyson walking and chewing gum at the same time, and thousands would have paid $49.95 to watch on pay-per-view.
Boxing fans wouldn't pay $49.95 to watch Oleg Maskaev, or one of the other Russian comrades currently masquerading as a heavyweight champ, fight from the Michael Buffer seats at ringside.
I don't know what it says about the state of the heavyweight division when construction workers, tourists, bellmen and cocktail waitresses stop what they're doing to snap a photo of a guy who hasn't held a title since the Spice Girls ruled the Billboard Top 10. But it can't be good.
On Wednesday, it was hard to tell if the crowd had gathered to pay respect to a man who was once, well, if not a great champion, then at least an intriguing one. Or to show their support for a man who, somehow and against all odds, has become something of a sympathetic figure. Or had his pseudo friends, Romans (that would be the guy with the Italian World Cup jersey) and countrymen come to witness a train wreck, on the outside chance that Tyson forgot to swallow the chill pill in his Dixie cup and might jump the track again?
Maybe it was all three.
"He was a very, very special fighter in his prime," said Patrick Jones, who owns a clothing store in Milwaukee, which, I kidded him, sounds about as incongruous as Tyson launching a comeback at 40.
"But look at all the old ladies here. They're here because he's so unpredictable."
A few minutes earlier, Tyson had told us he was here only to get in shape for these exhibitions that were "being arranged." He said he wasn't looking forward to it because the thought of being back in front of crowds misrepresenting himself made him feel more uncomfortable than Evander Holyfield's left jab.
Yet, he mentioned he now had something in common with the masses who had come to see this shell of his former self. He spoke about joining the workforce and taking the bus or a taxi to work instead of jetting around the world to separate grown men from their senses.
"In other words," he was asked, "you're driving a Chevy instead of a Maserati now?"
Tyson didn't pick up on the analogy.
"No, I'm driving a BMW now," he said.
"But normally I would drive a Ferrari or a Bentley."
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