Mike Tyson fights Jake Paul at AT&T Stadium in Arlington, Tex., on Nov. 15.Kevin Jairaj/Reuters
You know it’s bad when your own commentary crew can’t contain their dismay.
Most of the talent working Friday night’s Jake Paul-Mike Tyson fiasco had got the memo – if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything. As a result, there was a lot of dead air in the broadcast.
Only one person missed the memo – actress and fights aficionado Rosie Perez. As part of the ringside crew, Perez landed the hardest shots of the evening.
After play-by-play man Mauro Ranallo said, “We’re trying to tell the story of the fight.”
Perez: “It’s a hard story to watch.”
Or later, apropos of nothing, “It’s incredible to see how stunned the crowd is.”
I’m sure they were, though they shouldn’t have been. If Tyson – 58, flat-footed, immobile, sucking wind – and Paul – 27, an annoying combo of showboating and timid, landing the occasional sloppy punch – proved something on Friday, it was that boxing professionally is incredibly hard to do.
The fight was fixed beforehand to make it as easy as possible for the unable and the unfit. Eight rounds, two minutes each. A generous officiating approach that allowed for clinches stretching on into eternity.
During great fights, the ring seems to shrink. This one felt like they were chasing each other in slow motion around a warehouse.
By the third round, Tyson had stopped moving altogether. Like an old dog, he waited to see if Paul would get close enough for a mauling.
For all his prefight clowning, Paul displayed a businessman’s good judgment. He didn’t intend to box Tyson. He was there to shuffle just beyond his reach. The strategy was so successful that there were stretches in the middle where you worried Tyson would drop from exhaustion.
Both men were so blown at the finish that they ended the fight 10 seconds early. Per tradition, Paul elaborately feted Tyson, bowing and scraping while the referee stared in disbelief. Tyson seemed relieved to have survived without popping an artery.
Afterward, all was forgiven and the truth could be told. Former champ Andre Ward captured the essence of the evening: “C’mon, he’s 58 years old. What you expect?”
The most stunning moment of the evening? Asked if this was his last appearance in a professional ring, Tyson said, “I don’t think so.”
Few cultural protagonists have gone through as many iterations as Tyson. He’s been every sort of guy, both good and bad. His most convincing role these days is as autodidact philosopher.
There is a clip circulating of his prematch one-on-one with a child journalist. The poor kid asks Tyson about his “legacy.”
Tyson launches into a minute-long screed about the meaninglessness of life: “We’re nothing. We’re dead. We’re dust. We’re absolutely nothing.”
This is a guy who has said many times that he would like to die fighting. Maybe we should take him at his word.
On the other side, Paul was tumescent with his own glory. He beat a shadow of a great fighter, but the shadow still belonged to Mike Tyson.
In summation, a dreary display of technique by one man who should know better, and another who doesn’t know what he doesn’t know. In other words, a complete success.
Seventy thousand paying fans showed up in Arlington, Tex. Paul claimed in the postfight that “over 120 million people” had watched it live on Netflix. That would make it the most watched fight of the 21st century, and by some distance.
This boxing match wasn’t really about boxing. It was about media disruption. Boxing has wasted decades trying to lure in new fans with better displays of pugilism. Only a few niche fans were interested.
Paul and his brother, Logan, a pair of hucksters who understand what the kids want these days, have proposed a new model. Create an irritating online persona; then ask people to pay to see that person get hit repeatedly in the face, and maybe even die.
Afterward, Paul was also asked about his next move. Too canny to hem himself in now that he has options, he refused to name a name.
“How about Canelo?” suggested interviewer Ariel Helwani.
Canelo Álvarez is the most accomplished boxer of his generation. He’s held belts in four weight classes. In a sport without real stars, he is a household name. In Mexico, he is a secular saint.
A year ago, the idea that Álvarez, 34, might stoop to fight Paul would have been laughable.
Now?
“Canelo needs me, so I’m not even going to try and call him out,” Paul said. “He knows he wants the payday, so he knows where the money man’s at.”
Álvarez should not need the payday. He’s earned more than a half-a-billion U.S. dollars in purses and pay-per-view during his career.
But can Álvarez resist the opportunity to wipe the smirk off Jake Paul’s face? Forget about 120 million viewers overall. A hundred and twenty million people in Mexico and the Mexican diaspora alone would watch that fight. That is now 100-per-cent guaranteed to be the biggest fight in history.
It won’t be a good fight. It won’t even be a decent fight. It will more than likely be an embarrassment to everyone involved in the sport.
But on Friday night, Jake Paul revealed boxing to itself. It doesn’t have to be good to work. It just has to have a hero and a villain and give people a reason to care about seeing one win, or the other hurt.
Editor’s note: A previous version of this article incorrectly stated that the Jake Paul and Mike Tyson match occurred on Saturday. It was on Friday. This version has been updated.