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TIME: Almanac 1995
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TIME Almanac 1995.iso
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1994-03-25
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<text id=90TT0528>
<title>
Feb. 26, 1990: Just Like In The Movies
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1990
Feb. 26, 1990 Predator's Fall
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
SPORT, Page 62
Just Like in the Movies
</hdr>
<body>
<p>Buster Douglas was worthy of Rocky in his stunning defeat of
Tyson
</p>
<p>By Richard Corliss--With reporting by David E. Thigpen/New
York
</p>
<p> A come-from-nowhere pug gets a shot at the heavyweight
title. His beloved mother has just died; the mother of his own
son is suffering from a severe kidney ailment. His body is
depleted by penicillin shots and antihistamines taken for a
nagging infection. And now he must step into the ring against
a champion who has destroyed every opponent with awful
precision. The odds against an upset are so high that most Vegas
casinos don't even lay down a betting line. But our plucky hero
surprises everyone by carrying the fight for the first seven
rounds. Then, in the eighth, he is knocked down and staggers to
his feet at the end of an agonizingly long count. Somehow he
rallies to reclaim dominance, and in the tenth round he crushes
his foe to the canvas for an even longer count. Eight...nine...ten! The winner and new heavyweight champion of the world!
</p>
<p> That's the way it went, as the lightly regarded James
("Buster") Douglas, 29, knocked out Mike Tyson, 23, in Tokyo
last week, ending the champ's four-year reign. The papers called
it "the biggest upset in boxing history," but they could just
as easily have said cinema history: a story like this happens
only in the movies. To be exact, it happens only in Rocky
movies. Douglas' shocking victory over the previously undefeated
annihilator provided all the improbable thrills of a Stallone
fist film. And more. Rocky never got the benefit of a long
count, so that his opponent could later complain, as Tyson did,
"I knocked him out before he knocked me out." Rocky never had
his championship belt stripped from him, as Douglas had, hours
after the fight, when boxing authorities declared the title
vacant pending a review of the Douglas knockdown.
</p>
<p> And Rocky never ran into Don King, the Boss Greed of boxing
promoters. King's electrified hair stood on end when he realized
that Tyson's match with top contender Evander Holyfield, a huge
payday slated for June, would now be a fight between two
nonchamps. King soon came to his senses. He proposed a
Tyson-Douglas rematch, with Holyfield to meet the winner and
ageless challenger George Foreman lurking like a threat behind
Holyfield. By midweek the boxing commissions had dropped their
charade and acknowledged what every viewer knew: Douglas had won
the fight. The underdog was the champ.
</p>
<p> "I don't want them to stick me with Rocky," Douglas told
David Letterman. Still, this mild man from Columbus is stuck
with a hero's biography. His father Bill was a sparky
middleweight who funneled his dreams into young Buster. Another
inspirer, Buster's manager John Johnson, helped steer his
fighter through recent family tragedies--especially the death
of his mother Lula last month--and toward a bout with Tyson.
Boxing savants expected it to be one more anonymous sacrifice to
the Kong of sport. But Douglas had strength, stamina and grace.
And he lacked what other Tyson victims have brought into the
ring: fear of an "Iron Mike" mugging.
</p>
<p> Like many a great fight, this was not always a good fight.
It was not so much a spectacular display by the challenger as
a mediocre one by the champ. Tyson looked stolid, muzzy,
otherwise engaged. He stood around like a fire hydrant in black
shorts, an easy target for Douglas' advantages of height (5 1/2
in.) and reach (12 in.). The champ threw few punches, and fewer
of his lethal paradiddles--left-right-left-right!--that turn
his victims' heads into punching bags and their guts to soup.
</p>
<p> In the waning seconds of the eighth round, a Tyson uppercut
with a lot of steam on it rang Buster's bell just before the
timekeeper could ring his. Douglas collapsed and skidded on the
canvas. Referee Octavio Meyran Sanchez glared Tyson into a far
corner and began his count, so that Douglas had a few extra
seconds to rise to his feet. He was still genuflecting at the
count of nine, but he seemed ready to continue.
</p>
<p> Two rounds later, Douglas returned the punishment, and then
some, to Tyson: an uppercut followed by a sturdy combination
that felled the champ. Another slow count could not save Tyson.
He rose to all fours, grabbed for his mouthpiece and
pathetically placed its end between his teeth, like a dazed dog
with an old toy. The war was over. For Douglas, it was time to
celebrate and mourn. In a TV interview, he told his dad that he
loved him. Douglas said he won the fight "because of my mother,
God bless her heart." And then the new undisputed heavyweight
champ dissolved into manly tears.
</p>
<p> In Columbus the citizenry prepared a triumph for a good
fighter who knows how to be hard in the ring and human outside
it. In Houston, Foreman said he was ready to dispatch all comers--including Don King. And in Philadelphia, Stallone was
shooting Rocky V. He must feel about his boxing movies the way
John le Carre does about cold-war novels after the communist
thaw: What do I do to top real life?
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>