THE JAKE PAUL-MIKE Tyson press conference was the worst event I’ve ever attended, in any context. It made me feel worse about what awaits us on Friday night. It made me feel worse about myself.
All week, I’ve contended that boxers of the gravitas of Katie Taylor and Amanda Serrano should take the circus money and run. But as they bore witness to a ramshackle shit-show from the back of the stage on Wednesday, one couldn’t help but wonder if they felt like escaping from the marquee and booking the first flight home.
Let it never be said again but YouTuber-turned-boxer Paul actually leant the only modicum of levity to an otherwise excruciating promotional exercise.
When Netflix’s MC, mixed martial arts journalist Ariel Helwani, tried to put us out of our collective misery by asking the 12 undercard boxers as to who will win Friday’s main event between Paul and Tyson, nine of them picked the 58-year-old former heavyweight champion.
Paul, clearly conscious that Tyson’s utter disinterest in this media obligation was, as he described it, “f***ing boring”, sprung from his seat at the front of the stage and demanded that eight of his opponent’s backers put their money where their mouths are.
Several of these interactions were, naturally, unseemly. Paul boasts a far healthier bank balance than all of his support acts. He relayed this reality especially plainly to Tyson’s fellow Brownsville native, Bruce Carrington, to whom he claimed (and by God, I’m paraphrasing here) that he earns more money during a stint on the toilet bowl than the featherweight has throughout his entire 13-fight professional career.
It was cheap, childish, and far less witty than Carrington’s response which was, “How much are you willing to lose?”, but it’s worth noting that Paul’s MVP Promotions and co-organisers Netflix will combine to pay virtually every boxer involved on Friday a career-high purse.
Having seemingly made his point, Paul strode back towards his seat. It seemed for a moment that he would ignore the inevitably mortifying exchange with the ninth boxer, who in predicting a Tyson victory had said: “You can never back against a legend.”
Perhaps Katie Taylor was making her own point in saying as much, but Paul eventually pivoted back in the Irishwoman’s direction at the top of the stage.
“Oh wait! Oh wait!”, the 27-year-old shouted, mid-swivel. Speaking for most of the room, Helwani instinctively sighed, “Oh no.”
“I forgot Katie Taylor back here,” said Paul. “How much do you wanna bet?”
Taylor, miles removed from her element, still extended her arm in the shape of a General Election candidate.
“How much do you wanna bet?” she replied.
“As much as you want,” said Paul. “I’m not losing. No shot in Hell.”
“Well”, said Taylor, for whom improv would not count among her greatest strengths, “Do you wanna bet your purse?”
Paul’s mask slipped slightly during their uncomfortably long handshake. He promotes Taylor’s opponent Serrano but for his many loathsome qualities, he mostly treats Taylor with the same reverence as the rest of her sport. He accepted her 40-million-dollar wager in the spirit in which it was intended.
“Deal! And I’m sending out contracts, too!”
That any of this could be construed as a highlight will hopefully help to contextualise the sheer extent of the evening’s horrors.
Chief among them was the emergence from the crowd of England’s former cruiserweight world champion Tony Bellew, who partnered with an Irish betting company to interrupt the press conference by slinging insults at Paul while an ESPN journalist attempted to ask a question of Mike Tyson from the floor.
Among the several problems Bellew faced in his efforts was that this particular company hadn’t extended its investment as far as a functioning microphone. Another was that he was virtually invisible to those on the spot-lit stage, prompting the squinting Helwani to ask on multiple occasions, “Is that Tony Bellew?”
Eventually fed up with whatever bollocksology Bellew was trying to spout, Helwani prodded: “Is that Tony Bellew with an extra 50 pounds?”
It wasn’t a great night for sports journalism, all told.
It also wasn’t even a press conference — they no longer exist in boxing — but a pantomime.
They’re behind you!
And poor aul’ Taylor and Serrano literally were.
The stage had been laid out precisely for video footage and its two female protagonists were given stations on its highest tier, notably detached from the mess with which they have become associated. It’s difficult to believe that there can be any goodness left in the world after Wednesday night but the unrelenting optimist might suggest that Taylor and Serrano were positioned above the rest as a tip of the cap.
Mike Tyson, meanwhile, greeted each question from either Helwani or a member of the media with a shrug of his shoulders and no more than a handful of words.
He was disengaged, quiet and weird, so much so that you wondered if his taking to the ring on Friday night would be an even worse idea than it already clearly is.
Only when he responded to Bruce Carrington’s recital of his famous threat towards Lennox Lewis from the year 2000 did it become clear that Tyson was playing the role of an uncle at a stag do.
“Yeah, he was very eloquent”, Tyson said of his fellow Brooklynite’s impression, “but that day I was off my meds!”
Competitively speaking, there can be no winner of Tyson’s fight against Jake Paul. If bookies’ favourite Paul puts a dent in ‘Iron Mike’, he’ll be demonised for inflicting physical harm on a man pushing 60. If former heavyweight champion Tyson knocks out a YouTuber, it will still rank in the bottom percentile of his 45 stoppage victories.
If it goes to points either way, and rest assured it will, those who have found the means either to take a seat at At&T Stadium or to sufficiently suspend their disbelief from further afield will feel conned.
Tyson’s participation fee of over $20 million will cushion any blow that doesn’t result in actual tragedy. His money is guaranteed. He just needs to show up on the night, which seems to have been precisely his attitude towards Wednesday’s contractual duty.
It was an evening on which you might have initially questioned Tyson’s sanity but you left questioning your own.
After a press conference at which nobody could get a meaningful word in arseways, Netflix’s favourite question feels pertinent:
Are you still watching?
Brilliantly written article Gavan. ‘Sh!tshow’ seems to be the word alright
McGregor has a lot to answer for
Very apt take on it. I’ve been a serious “antipaul” guy from the start. $hit$how.