The Cult: Mike Tyson

So there you are, standing in your corner, habitually flicking out shadow punches. The bright lights of the town hall burn down on to your shoulders, throwing everything outside the creaking ring into vague shadows. Though you can't see them, you know they're out there watching: Tammy and Hank Jr, your two biggest fans. Still, something nags at the back of your mind. Tammy hasn't been looking at you the same as she used to, and little Hank's been getting bullied in school. The kids are calling his Pops a bum, a deadbeat, a loser.

Well, not any more. This is your chance to show Hank, Tammy – all the doubters out there – that you're ready to get back to the big time. You don't just want to win this fight, you need to win this fight.

You look over at your opponent. Something seems different. His face looks like a hammerhead shark surveying its next victim. His body looks like the most taut, compact and gosh-darned threatening bag of almonds you've ever seen. His beady eyes never flinch. Even when Coach steps between you and his line of vision, you feel the dark pits of those eyes burning into your soul. They just… they never flinch.

The bell rings. You step out, confidence drained. You muster a weak jab that this animal deftly ducks beneath, then counters with the strongest hook you've ever felt, right on your jaw. Down you go, lights fading. Sorry Tammy. Sorry Hank Jr.

But don't feel too bad: in truth, you never had a chance. You were facing a man who, in his prime, was the fastest, fiercest and most feared heavyweight the division has ever known. You'd had the misfortune to share a ring – albeit very briefly – with 'Iron' Mike Tyson.

If you scroll down the long list of great American heavyweights, you'll notice a trend at odds with (or perhaps owing to) the country's segregated past; namely, that most of them are of African descent. Were they at odds with white America? Jack Johnson, the first black heavyweight champion, regularly endorsed products and starred in advertisements. Some saw Joe Louis as the first African-American to achieve true nationwide hero status, and he broke down racial boundaries because of it. Muhammad Ali – as contentious as his views were at the time – was at heart a natural entertainer both in and out of the ring, and much of white America warmed to him regardless of the controversy he courted.

But Tyson didn't really seem to give a fuck about any of that. Tyson was a new breed of African-American, one who quite frankly scared the shit out of white people nationwide, one born out of the crack epidemic, who'd seen the lavish expenditure of the '80s and wanted some of that success for himself, at any cost.

His dazzling ascent to unify the WBA, IBF and WBC titles and become 'Lineal Champion' of the heavyweight division mirrored the intimidating rise of Gangsta Rap. While Mike was busy lisping insanely eloquent and chilling threats at whoever would listen, artists like N.W.A and Ice-T were topping the charts, extolling the virtues of a life of crime that Tyson – who'd been arrested 38 times by the age of 13 – knew well. It was a side of black culture that America hadn't seen before: confident, brash, and seriously pissed off.

Mike Tyson's whole aura was based around intimidation and fear. Look at the state of these knockouts:

If you fast forward to the Mark Young knockout (about 1:56 in) you can see him land a punch that throws poor Mark comically across the ring, as if he'd been hit by a cartoon rocket launcher. Tyson in his prime was essentially the final boss of any given beat 'em up computer game brought to life. In fact, he actually was the inspiration for Balrog, an end boss in Street Fighter 2.

A lot of his fights were won before he'd even stepped in the ring. Yoda once said: "Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering," and it's true of any Tyson fight. The opponent's fear lead to Tyson's anger, which lead to Tyson's hate, which ultimately lead to the opponent's suffering. In the tiny moments of which boxing is made up, any doubt or questioning of one's self can lead to an opening, a gap, or in Mike Tyson's case a chance to chin you into the next century.

When he started to lose a few fights, he lost that aura. First to Buster Douglas; then, after his rape conviction and imprisonment, to Evander Holyfield (including his infamous ear-biting incident). Later he lost to various journeymen, his ability declining with age. Other fighters saw he wasn't invincible, wasn't the monster he used to be. In fact he was fallible, human, nothing to be scared of.

But these are not the words used to remember Mike Tyson the boxer. Do you remember Ali for his failed attempts at a comeback? No. Similarly, history will never remember Tyson as the slow, old man with facial tattoos ambling around rings in the early 2000s. It will remember him in his youth, when his speed, power and sheer dread made him the greatest heavyweight the world has ever seen.

Have a butcher's at this video. Don't worry, it's Tyson so it doesn't last long:

Mike was a relative child here in heavyweight boxing terms – at 20 he is still the youngest to ever hold a heavyweight title – yet you can see the absolute terror running through Berbick, whose fragile performance led to a second-round TKO. This is the boxing equivalent of your little brother stepping in to beat the shit out of the bully two years above you whose been giving you grief all year: embarrassing and amazing all in one go.

"Everybody's got a plan 'til they get punched in the mouth."

Amen Mike. Amen.