When It Needs Courage, Boxing Is Toothless

You know what really bites?

That for all its swaggering and swearing, boxing will not have the guts to throw the hook.

That despite its bravado, boxing is just as frightened of Don King’s pit bull as everyone else.

That even though Mike Tyson was disqualified Saturday for gnawing flesh, he will be allowed to fight again.

And soon.

I don’t know what was sicker, watching Tyson’s teeth close around Evander Holyfield’s ear in the third round of their heavyweight title fight . . . or listening to everyone talk about a rematch moments after Tyson lost on a technical gross-out.

A rematch?

When Shoeless Joe Jackson was caught fixing the 1919 World Series, nobody asked when he would start taking batting practice again. He was banned from baseball, which lost a star but saved its soul.

This is the same thing.

A rematch? There can be none. There can be no road back to the top. There can be no more fights for his life.

Tyson needs to disappear forever, to somewhere he can privately receive help, to where his personality will not be applauded but treated.

The only way boxing can recover its lost credibility is to sign these discharge papers, and enforce them.

All of boxing. From the World-Whatever-Assn. to the International Something- Or-Another-Federation, from Las Vegas to that abandoned church in East L.A.

Think about it.

In what was touted as the biggest heavyweight fight in history, in an event that gained credence on the covers of national magazines and sports pages throughout America, one of the participants fought with his teeth.

In terms of behavior, this is like Michael Jordan receiving the ball for the final shot in an NBA championship series game . . . then stuffing it under his shirt and running in the other direction.

Players claim biting happens occasionally in the NFL, but it is almost always impossible to verify because it happens at the bottom of piles.

Saturday night’s incident was direct, purposeful, and happened not just once, but twice.

The first time Tyson bit Holyfield, that was bad enough, even though Tyson says he was retaliating for a head butt.

But the second time? After a referee’s warning? Either Tyson was attempting to end the fight by disqualification, or he just lost his mind.

Tyson has been accused of many things, but being a wimp is not one of them. I’m going with the mental explanation, with a twist.

He didn’t lose his mind. That is his mind. This is just the first time anyone has seen it inside the ring.

Pleasant, wasn’t it, to watch him fight the police at ringside afterward? That sound you heard was TV viewers across America locking their doors.

Perhaps the question is not whether he should be banned from boxing, but why he didn’t spend Saturday night in a Las Vegas jail.

Oh, some will say, chuckling, that’s just boxing.

Which is an insult even to boxing, a sport that routinely disappoints with low blows, and alleged early flops and fixes.

This was not that. This was a reaction that goes against a basic human value that everyone is taught by their second year on Earth.

No, no. You do not bite.

Oh, some will say, chuckling, he didn’t kill anybody.

A couple of inches lower, and he could have.

Think about it.

What happened Saturday was not about boxing, it was about the mottled mind of a convicted rapist.

Don’t ban the sport, ban the fighter.

Show that the sport can really be worthy of Final Four nights, of Olympic-type moments, of the occasional legitimacy that shone brilliantly in the first meeting between these two men.

If only this game of courage had the courage.

For boxing, banning Mike Tyson would be like Playboy ordering its models to get dressed. McDonald’s would have better luck banning Big Macs.

For the common sorts who plunk down pay-per-view money--the lifeblood of the sport--there are only two boxers on the planet:

Mike Tyson, and the guy he is fighting next.

Without Tyson, there is no legend of Evander Holyfield. Without Tyson, there is no comic relief of Buster Douglas.

When Tyson went into prison for rape, it seemed as if the entire sport was assigned an adjoining cell, returning to our consciousness only when Tyson did.

No offense to Oscar De La Hoya fans, but east of Las Vegas, the average fan still confuses him with Oscar Madison.

The truth is, the boxing establishment feels it needs Tyson more than he needs it.

The irony is, lacking the strength to throw him out, the boxing establishment is right.

So here’s what to expect:

Tyson will take at least $27 million of his $30-million purse--officials can’t touch it any further--and go into hiding for three months.

In September, after taking some time to deal with his emotional makeup, he will emerge on a couch opposite Barbara Walters with a box of tissues and tales of therapy.

In December, he will take a sultan’s plane to the Middle East for his comeback bout.

This time next year, he will step into a ring opposite Holyfield again.

And we will step in there with him.

This and other newspapers will cover it like a war. Millions worldwide will watch it like a moon landing.

We will gawk and cheer and not realize until later that the beast has won.

Not just the one that occasionally occupies the heart of the sport and the whole of Mike Tyson, but the one that sometimes lives in us.

Anymore these days, it seems the beast always wins.

* ANALYSIS

Tyson’s stature among all-time greats seems sure to fall. C1