MIKE TYSON: THE LEGACY OF CUS D’AMATO
Tyson’s whirlwind march through the John Does of the heavyweight division was hardly interrupted by the recent death of D’Amato. Although Mike was one of Cus’ pallbearers, he was back in the ring a week after the funeral. “I don’t know who made up the saying, but ‘the show must go on,’” said Mike softly. “That’s what Cus believed.” Nevertheless, D’Amato’s death was a staggering blow, one that still brings a quiver to Mike’s voice when he speaks of his beloved mentor. “Cus was more than a father to me. Anyone can be a father and it doesn’t really mean anything. Cus was my backbone. I’m not over it (D’Amato’s death) at all. The things we practiced (in the gym) for years and years … now I’m starting to do them and he’s not around to see it. “As a person, I’m just not happy. I’m not in a state where I hate the world and want to commit suicide. Far from it. It’s just that although I’m somewhat successful, the people I enjoy the most, like Cus and my mother, aren’t here. I know life goes on, but it’s tough when you lose two important people.” The heavyweight dreadnought seemed paradoxically vulnerable in his grief, but Tyson didn’t always have such faith in D’Amato. It took time. When the State of New York first released Mike into Cus’ custody, he couldn’t quite figure out where the old man was coming from. “I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t trust him,” recalled Tyson when asked about his early days in D’Amato’s Catskill Mountains retreat. “The real objective for me was to get out of that place I was in (Tryon School in Johnstown, New York, a penal institution for incorrigible boys). I wanted to get the hell out of there.” Tyson downplays his wild years on the streets, saying: “I wasn’t really a bad kid. I used to rob and steal. Other people may consider that bad, but in my atmosphere and neighborhood, it wasn’t shit. Other guys did worse things. They murdered people.” At first, D’Amato’s home was just
another prison to Tyson, but slowly the child of the ghetto was won over by Cus’ kindness and understanding. According to Mike, it took the better part of two years, but eventually, he grew to trust and love the man who had, in a different era, taken Floyd Patterson and Jose Torres to world championships. “He did everything for my best interest,” said Tyson. “It sounds funny, but when I was late for dinner, he’d always make sure nobody touched my food. And he wouldn’t let anybody go in my room. We used to talk all the time. I was young, 14 or 15 years old. The things he was saying didn’t always mean that much to me. Then an hour after we would finish talking, he would ask me, ‘Mike, do you remember anything that I told you?’ And I would say, ‘Yeah, yeah,’ and go outside. He told me so many things I would forget them. But then, I’d be walking down the street later and I would remember. “Cus used to tell me mostly about how to be a successful person. I used to tell him how I would like to meet famous people, like actors, and he would tell me to keep doing what I was doing and one day they’d be breaking their necks trying to meet me. And he was right.” One of the things D’Amato strongly believed was that boxing was a form of entertainment, and that in order to be successful, a professional fighter has to also be entertaining. About six months before his death, Cus told The Ring, “From the beginning, Mike has been taught to be exciting.” In an effort to show exactly how well Mike learned this particular lesson, we recently traveled to Albany, New York – the site of his 13th consecutive victory. IT WAS A COLD RAINY NIGHT, but almost 3,000 fans braved the elements, filling the Colonie Coliseum to capacity. Many among them proudly wore their Mike Tyson t-shirts. Basketball may have its “Dr. J” and baseball its “Dr. K,” but a couple of kids at the Coliseum had a handmade sign
proclaiming Tyson “Dr. Knockout.” The posters already billed him as the “Future Heavyweight Champion.” The customers tolerated two inept prelims, and then it was time for Tyson to do his thing. Whenever possible, Mike’s bouts start around 9 p.m. so that the tape of his latest triumph is ready in time for the nightly newscasts across the nation. The designated victim was Canadian Conroy Nelson, a tall lanky boxer who entered the ring amidst a scattering of boos. When Mike came down the runway, the arena erupted into a wall of noise that seldom subsided until the hero was on his way to the shower. It was a typical Tyson fight. Mike exploded from his corner and immediately took the fight to Nelson, who meekly covered up and retreated. Seeing that Nelson was protecting his head at all costs, Tyson wisely concentrated his attack on the body. As wicked hooks from both hands sunk into Nelson’s sides, he grimaced and tried his best to survive. Midway into the round, Tyson paused momentarily, and Nelson landed his only decent punch of the evening – a sharp right uppercut to the chin. The punch brought no adverse effects and Mike quickly resumed his assault. On two occasions, left hooks to Nelson’s body almost ended the fight, but Conroy was still on his feet when the bell signaled the end of his three minutes in Tyson’s meat grinder. Thirty seconds into the second, it was all over. It took just one brutal left hook to the head to take the rest of the fight out of the shell-shocked Canadian. The punch caught Nelson on the side of his nose, sending him tumbling to the floor. He rolled towards the ropes where he lay, one foot and arm draped over the bottom rope. When referee Sidney Rubenstein’s count reached seven, Nelson made an attempt to struggle to his feet. He appeared to just beat the count, but Rubenstein counted him out anyway. There was no argument from any quarter.
Shortly after his easy win, Tyson was seated on a couch in the trailer that served as his dressing room. Surrounded by the flower of the provincial press, he politely answered the same old questions he’s already answered a hundred times before, but it was co- manager Jim Jacobs who really shined during the question-and-answer session. Jacobs parried probing questions into the quality of Mike’s opponents with the skill of a career diplomat. When asked about Tyson’s next scheduled opponent (the hapless Sammy Scaff), Jacobs made sure to emphasize his size (around 250 pounds), but astutely avoided mentioning just how many of those pounds were pure blubber. It was a virtuoso performance by all concerned – and another step along the trail that Cus D’Amato had so carefully laid out for both manager and fighter. It is the relationship between D’Amato and Jacobs that ties the Mike Tyson story together in such a neat package. Jacobs, a precise man who chooses his words carefully, is highly respected in boxing circles for both his knowledge of the sport and his association with outstanding fighters. Jacobs and his partner, Bill Cayton, have already handled two world champions in Wilfred Benitez and Edwin Rosario. The fact that they are also partners in the fight film business is another bonus. When it comes to researching opponents or marketing a fighter, they have few peers. But it was Jim’s almost lifelong friendship with D’Amato that brought them together with Tyson. “There is no one in the world whose judgment I trust more than Cus D’Amato’s,” said Jacobs. “If a thousand people, and I mean this literally, told me a fighter was ‘A,’ and Cus told me he was ‘B,’ he was ‘B.’ And Cus D’Amato told me in his opinion Mike Tyson was going to be the heavyweight champion of the world. That’s all I had to hear.” What has ensued goes far beyond the normal fighter/manager relationship. “There is an incredible difference between our relationship with Mike
At 19 years old, Tyson was already a seasoned interviewee.
of the ordinary. Mike looks more like an NFL fullback than a fighter. He is 220 pounds of muscle crammed into a 5-foot-11 frame. His 19½ inch neck is larger than any heavyweight champion’s this side of Primo Carnera. He is, in a way, boxing’s equivalent of William “The Refrigerator” Perry – sans fat. And he’s only 19 years old. But numbers, whether they are related to knockouts or biceps, are not the stuff that legends are made of. No, what makes Tyson something special is his lasting relationship with the late Cus D’Amato. It is the story of how D’Amato took a troubled young man under his wing, delivered him from the mean streets of New
York City’s Brownsville section, and gave him an opportunity to fulfill his destiny. A destiny that D’Amato was positive would lead to the heavyweight championship of the world. However, the road to sport’s greatest prize is not paved by wise old men, anxious to pass on their knowledge. D’Amato could only show the protégé of his waning years the path to glory. Mike had to do the fighting. And fight he has, averaging a match every couple of weeks since his pro debut.
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