Boxing Day

Modern Miscellanea 001: Mike Tyson vs. Jake Paul

Yes, I watched the big thing this past Friday. Well, I watched at least a good portion of the big thing this Friday. No, I didn't necessarily look forward to it, but I did it anyway.

And weirdly enough, it felt ok.

If you're tired of my coded language and have not been living under a rock, you know that boxing legend Mike Tyson faced internet personality and gnome-injected-with-steriods-produced-by-7-11 Jake Paul in a pride match, with the young lion (is that term used outside of wrestling?) seeking to prove himself as more than just a YouTube sensation, but someone who's got the chops to make it as a boxer.

Well, at least that's the more optimistic way of putting it. It was actually just a shitty YouTuber making buttloads of money for challenging an aging boxer who doesn't quite have the in-ring capabilities anymore to withstand a full match. It was a spectacle, not a feat to be admired. Sports Entertainment, as Paul’s brother is so acquainted with if you will.

It was also a major deal because it was Netflix's first foray into hosting a live sporting event. And the results were... they were... hang on a minute... just one moment... sorry, it's buffering, ok, I can't get you the results right now. But it was a big deal.  

This event quickly grew from something in my peripheral to something that everyone I knew—even people who had never taken an interest in boxing or any form of sports at all—were gearing up for. Local bars were charging at the door to view it, friends were attending fight watch parties, and it was suddenly being talked about like it was the Super Bowl, but more people were at least somewhat aware of who each participant in the main event was.

I had no intention of viewing, so I was surprised when my husband said he wanted to stay home to watch the fight.

"Really, et tu?"

But as I was looking forward to a cozy night in, I accepted it as background noise while I wrote. There were worse fates I could endure.

We didn't watch the full event, and I missed the first match entirely, but I reluctantly joined in during the second. To my surprise, I was pretty enthralled, Ramos' surprising comeback that leveled the playing field between the two young boxers made it feel like something real, something authentic, an actual fight. I found myself, someone who had no clue that there would even be other matches aside from Paul/Tyson, and definitely no knowledge of who any of the participants would be, rooting for an upset victory in Ramos' honor. I liked both contenders well enough, but who doesn't love an underdog story?

Katie Turner vs. Amanda Serrano continued to captivate me. The two women had a barn burner that proved that playing dirty is sometimes the key to winning.

And then, the main event... need I say more?

Actually, I can’t really say more, because I opted to retreat to my bedroom to begin my fifth rewatch of Don’t Trust the B---- in Apartment 23 instead. But, from what I’ve gathered, Tyson’s age showed as he stumbled, threw a few jabs, bit his glove a whole bunch, and then Paul was declared the winner in a unanimous decision.

I chose to decline watching the main event for several reasons. I was tired, I didn’t need to see how things shook out, and the one I’m the least happy to admit, I was actually kind of worried.

In the post-election landscape, I’ve become accustomed to expecting the worst. Ok, I felt that way pre-election too, but now even more so. This, to me, felt like election night part two, where many of us hoped the bad guy would get taken down by the person with more experience, that just for once we would see a shitty white man have to take a public L instead of continuing to amass wealth, notoriety, and power.

Except, of course, Mike Tyson isn’t a guy anyone should root for. There were no real winners in this match. On one side someone out-of-touch proved they don’t have what it takes to win in a competitive, vastly changing landscape, and on the other a shitty rich white dude with equally crappy family members who continues to fuel the fire for the worst in “alpha male” personalities.  

Ok, I take back what I said: it was election night part two. Except, the hangover wasn’t as bad.

The next day I was surprised by how many people were recapping the Netflix spectacle—both in the memeverse and in real life. At some point, the upset of Paul’s win had stopped feeling important—both men were getting paid in the millions, and no outcome was going to change that—into something I hadn’t expected—a strange, shared, communal experience. Everyone was talking about it, both mocking the funnier parts of the main event and giving proper respect to the other fighters who had put in their dues. There was even something to be said about Paul allowing Tyson to go the whole match instead of just knocking him out by the fourth round.

Despite the absurdity of the event and the less-than-stellar entrants and outcome, it gave us all something relatively light to talk and laugh about the next day. For just one moment, I felt the joie de vivre and aura that surrounded “prime time events” of my childhood, whether they be magic specials or, well, boxing matches. Whomst amongst us of a certain age didn’t watch Tyson bite Evander Holyfield’s ear in real time?

Television has a weird power in that it can unite us if we let it. And in this divisive world, I’ll take whatever dumb distraction I can get. If we can all share a good chuckle over Mike Tyson’s bare ass and Mauro Ranallo’s stream of dad jokes every now and then, I’ll accept them as the tiny spoonfuls of medicine we need in a time where all we’re ingesting is poison.

…But it sure would be nice if we could do that without continuing to line the pockets of awful people.