Cult Heroes: Lennox Lewis

Born in London to Jamaican parents before moving to Canada at the age of 12, competing for Canada at the Olympics, and eventually swapping maple leaf for Union Flag for his professional career – Lennox Lewis has always considered himself a multinational.

“I have always been English, ever since I emigrated from England and since the kids in Canada beat me up at the age of 12 for having an East London cockney accent. I thank them for the cockney taunts because the beatings turned me on to boxing. But on a serious note, Canada has been kind to me.”

In the end we gratefully accepted him as one of our own, but along the way there were plenty of people who questioned whether the final switch was prompted by the simple realisation that pounds are worth more than Canadian dollars, especially in boxing.

Still, we had good reason to accept him as one of our own – he was an Olympic gold medallist, the last undisputed World Heavyweight Champion and, along with Gene Tunney and Rocky Marciano, one of only three World Heavyweight Champions to have retired with no defeats unavenged. Lewis beat Frank Bruno, Gary Mason, Oliver McCall, Ray Mercer, Andrew Golota, Evander Holyfield, David Tua, Mike Tyson and Vitali Klitschko. He had a virtually unblemished record, dominated the division for nearly a decade and gave us what we all said we wanted; an undisputed, unabated, world class, dominant fighter.

Yet despite all this he managed to attract a legion of criticism. Some said he boxed too defensively, some said he didn’t have a strong enough chin; some simply called him a very talented Canadian.

American boxing historian Budd Schulberg said of Lewis, “For someone so physically well endowed, he is curiously and annoyingly lacking in fistic passion. He is not a fighter who throws caution to the wind. Indeed he seems to embrace that doubtful quality like a seductive mistress.”

Because of his size and suspect-chin Lewis inevitably opted for a defensive approach in the ring – meekly pawing his jab out for rounds on end until finally his opponent saw it safe to come inside, the heavy hands of the self-named ‘pugilist specialist’ were revealed if only shown for a few fleeting seconds.

Indeed, there were times when trainer Emmanuel Steward would be screaming in the corner for him to be more aggressive; to let the Lion’s roar out – and every three minutes Lewis would stagger back to the chair with the impassiveness of a schoolboy knowing he’s about to be told off again, nodding and promising to make behavioural improvements but never fully convincing of

commitment.

It was not pure boxing skills that stood Lennox Lewis apart, though his were rather formidable. Lewis’ best attribute was his willingness, and even desperation, to defeat anyone of even remote respectability in the division. Both Mike Tyson and Riddick Bowe were percieved to have dodged him in the late nineties – one of the reasons that much-coveted ‘undisputed’ part of the title took so long to be granted. But when Lewis did finally get his hands on a cash-strapped and hyped-up Tyson in one of history’s most anticipated heavyweight contests, the result was a bloody, gruesome, ugly work of genius.

In Tyson he had to overcome a type of personality that is particularly unnerving, even and perhaps especially for a boxer. “I want his heart! I want to eat his children! Praise be to Allah!”

Most members of the media listened and laughed at the time, but Tyson’s crazed rush at the pre-fight press conference towards Lewis suggested he might actually mean every word he said. After the mini-brawl Tyson came to the edge of the podium and launched a several minute-long, profanity-laden tirade towards journalist Mark Malinowski, who had suggested that Tyson should be put in a straitjacket. Tyson concluded his monologue by vowing to introduce Malinowski to the concept of prison romance.

The fight itself was largely disappointing in its one-sidedness, but satisfying for those tuning in hoping to see the self-proclaimed ‘Baddest Man on the Planet’ dismantled by Lewis, who did so round by round until by the eighth. Nothing was left of the animal that once existed; in its place was a maimed and bludgeoned ex-convict.

After being picked off the mat and checked by medical staff, Tyson stumbled over to Lewis’ corner as fast as he could to congratulate the champion. The nastiest of pre-fight verbal wars was forgotten quickly in a shower of compliments from both sides in the post-fight interview. Tyson showed a degree of compassion in the public eye for the first time in years: “Everything I said was in proposition for promoting the fight. He knows I love him and his mother and if he thinks I don’t have respect and don’t love him, he’s crazy.”

We were all left to wonder whether his manic, venomous words had been part of some misplaced but effective promotional strategy, or if Tyson was just a lunatic.

The Tyson fight showed Lewis’ raw pugilistic abilities and champion quality, but the final proof of his willingness to conquer all-comers came just under a year later. After an originally scheduled bout with Kirk Johnson was cancelled when Johnson suffered an injury in training, Lewis took a fight with a young, game and extremely dangerous Vitali Klitschko.

“In my mind he’s biting off more than he can chew” said a confident Lewis before the fight. It turned out to be the other way around – both inside the boxing ring and at the dinner table. He came in weighing a career high 256 ½ pounds – plumped up and ready to roast it seemed.

With Doctor Iron Fist up on the scorecards and giving somewhat of a beating to an exhausted, flabby-looking Lewis, the fight was stopped in the seventh due to a nasty cut caused by a punch from the Brit, handing him a dubious TKO victory… it left a bitter taste in the mouths of many Klitschko fans. The decision, however, was a fair one; the gash was three inches long and about one wide – one of the ugliest this writer has seen in boxing, and it was opened up by a highly detectable roundhouse right from the champ at the beginning of the third.

Lewis escaped – battered, bruised, and shaken – and there was no way in hell he wanted a rematch. Not with the scary Ukrainian; not with anyone. He retired in February 2004 with his legacy still intact as an undisputed heavyweight champion who avenged the only losses he ever received.

Despite the refusal of a rematch, drawing boos and cowardice calls from the majority of boxing fans eager to bear witness to more elite heavyweight action, the decision to retire was a sensible one.

Nearing his 38th birthday and having accomplished pretty much all there was to accomplish in the sport, there was simply no need to go back for brutal second helpings. How many times do we sigh and disapprovingly shake our heads as fighters extend their careers far beyond evolution’s peak capability and into an unknown of beat-taking and purse-grabbing?

In the end Lewis retired in just the same manner as he did everything else throughout his long and successful career – with thoughtful understanding and class. One predicts that his smooth voice, slick suits, shades and dreads will live long in the memories of boxing fans the world over.