Earmarks Are Long, Pointed

Don King, the man with the cauliflower head, has done it again.

Who else could turn tragedy into comedy, failure into triumph, nothing into something? Only you, Don. Who else could get away with insisting that his boxer knocked out another boxer before the other boxer knocked out his boxer? Only you, Don. Who else could make us feel sorry for the new heavyweight champion of the world? Only you, Don, you large furry fuzzball. Only you.

Let’s hear it, then. Ten rounds of applause for Don King, the donkey king. This is without a doubt the best thing to happen to heavyweight boxing since the 1970s. Don, you have done more for your favorite sport in the last day and a half than you did in the last 10 years. Go ahead, get out those hedge-clippers, trim those weeds, give yourself a pat on the head.

You’ve got everybody talking about boxing again, in the bars and in the barber shops, in the papers and on the box. You’ve got people actually thinking about spending money on boxing again, at a time when boxing’s stock should have been hitting rock bottom. You’ve got opponents standing in line now to fight your client, less than 36 hours after seeing him take the most terrible beating of his life.

Smart, Don.

Before, you were so desperate for opposition that you talked about arranging a scuffle between the heavyweight champion of the real world and Hulk Hogan, the wrestler-slash-actor. You were so starved for attention, you even talked about putting your 23-year-old lethal weapon into a ring with George Foreman, a bald, 41-year-old fat man.

We knew you’d come up with something else eventually, Don. You haven’t come this far to let a little thing like a knockout stop you.

You took Mike Tyson away from his handlers. Smart. You took Tyson to Tokyo. Even smarter. You took Tyson by the hand and steered him into a ring occupied by one James (Buster) Douglas, the No. 1 contender in the latest ring rankings from Mad magazine. Extremely smart. Give the whole world a show. Introduce the Far East to Mr. Mike Tyson, the Occidental tourist.

Yet that was nothing compared to what you accomplished over the weekend, Don, you devil.

With one stroke of mad genius, you turned the greatest upset in the history of boxing into your latest promotional venture, The Gyp in Japan. We can expect T-shirts and satin jackets in the mail, any hour now.

You actually succeeded in making some people believe that Buster Douglas didn’t really beat Mike Tyson, even though Buster socked the little sucker halfway to Osaka. You actually made some people believe that the only way anybody could have beaten Tyson was to cheat him with a long count, even though Douglas clearly knelt there with a clear head, waiting for the referee to reach “nine” so he could get back up on his feet and fight.

Shrewd, Don.

You made people want to see an immediate rematch between your client, Tyson, and the new champion, rather than a bout between the champ and the perfectly worthy No. 1 contender, Evander Holyfield. You even created a gate for fights we never wanted to see, like the one between Tyson and Donovan (Razor) Ruddick that was earmarked for Edmonton, Canada, but was postponed due to Tyson’s sudden and mysterious illness.

Hey, if Buster can beat Tyson, maybe Razor can, too, right, Don? (C’mon, whisper those romantic three little words: “Pay per view.”)

You are wise beyond your ears, Don.

In fact, you’re so smart, you’re even outsmarting yourself.

Because if you think the general public can’t see through this smokescreen of yours, you’re nuts. You’ve got bats in your plush-carpeted belfry. The public knows who won the fight. The public knows who’s the heavyweight champion of the world now. The public wants--but doesn’t expect--you to be gracious enough to bow before Buster Douglas, hail him as champ and beg him to give Tyson a title shot, the same way Tyson gave him one.

Buster won the fight, fair and square. The only crime or misdemeanor committed in Tokyo that night was the distinct possibility that the judges would have awarded a decision to Tyson had he been able to stay on his feet. Yet by the time Don King gets through with this thing, he will have people believing that it was Douglas who landed a lucky punch after taking savage punishment from Tyson for 10 rounds.

Smooth, Don.

Just one thing: You’re in danger of making a fool out of Mike Tyson, rather than just making a fool out of yourself. We may not have always liked Mike’s occasional misconduct, his automobile run-ins or his dangerous liaison with Robin Givens, but at least we respected his professional stature. Thanks to you, though, Don, some of us today wonder whether Tyson would rather take a miserable win than accept an honorable loss.

You don’t care, do you, Don? We talked boxing yesterday; we’re talking boxing today; we’ll be talking boxing tomorrow. Life is good.