Tyson Fury: Court Jester or a Legit Heavyweight Champion?

By Roy “Sharpshooter” Bennett

If nothing else Tyson Fury has brought a sharp focus and heated debate back to boxing’s glamour division. He is the lineal heavyweight champion of the world. But he remains an enigma. Nobody seems to quite know what to make of him. Out there, in the Internet ether, there are countless opinions and attempts to sum him up – most of which are derogatory. But strong self belief can sustain a man through the hardest trials. And Tyson Fury – the boxer from an Irish travelling family steeped in pugilistic fighting tradition – has it in spades.

The first time I sat down to watch a Tyson Fury bout he was struggling mightily with a blown up cruiserweight boxer named Steve Cunningham. Fury did nothing to endear himself to the fans in attendance when, in time honored tradition, the referee ordered the boxers to touch gloves and Fury hit Cunningham’s gloves down hard with his own. He also added insult to injury by shoving the American after the bell at the end of the first round. From that point on the fans were firmly in Cunningham’s corner.

At the beginning of the second round Cunningham unceremoniously deposited Fury on the canvas flat on his back, legs kicking, with an overhand right. Fury lay there cupping his head between his gloves as if searching for some comfort while thinking about what do next. He got up. And the look on his face was telling. He was calm. He knew an onslaught was coming and he didn’t seem in the least bit bothered. They rumbled on. They say you can tell a lot about a boxer when he’s been knocked down and hurt. One thing about the Irishman became abundantly clear in his moment of adversity. Underneath all the bluster Tyson Fury is all fighter.

Any interest I had in the unbeaten Irishman – or was it curiosity – evaporated at that moment. Ungainly and awkward, but surprisingly well coordinated for a fighter who stands 6 feet 9 inches tall in his socks and tips the scales around 250lbs, Fury was not going to capture my imagination the way some heavyweights of the past had done.
To my surprise Fury – mauling, grappling, and clubbing his way forward – went on to knock Cunningham out with a huge right hook to the jaw after trapping the American against the ropes in the 7th round.

Maybe there was something there after all but based on what I had seen I decided that it was only a matter of time before a genuine heavyweight contender separated Fury from his senses and his ambition in the process of derailing his career. But the burning wreckage of crushed title dreams I expected did not materialise. Fury kept winning. Slowly, insistently, inexorably, eventually working his way into heavyweight world title contention with wins over the likes of Dereck Chisora and Christian Hammer. And before I knew it an eventual shot at the lineal championship – held by the long reigning champion Wladimir Klitschko – beckoned.

I remained convinced Fury’s heavyweight joyride was about to come to a bitter and painful end. His antics before the fight at the press conferences left me cold. And the Batman costume was the final straw. I wasn’t in the least bit amused. This was not the way a challenger for the richest prize in sports should behave.

My mind flashed back through decades to a long line of esteemed heavyweight champions of the past. Fighting men who were products of a different time whose exploits became legendary in and out of the squared circle. Intense heat and pressure deep in the mantle of the earth creates diamonds. These conditions create something of quality and beauty. Similarly in boxing some of the champions of the past were subject to the kind of pressure – in life and in pugilism – which forged iron will and ferocious fighting skill.

John L. Sullivan, aka The Boston Strong Boy, was the terror of a thousand bar rooms. He boasted that he could lick any son-of-a-bitch in the house. And he could back it up. For a ten year period he was the epitome of the fighting man, a brawler who battled for pleasure as much as for cash, who had never even come close to defeat. Sullivan won the heavyweight championship in 1889 under the old London Prize Ring rules by beating Jake Kilrain in 75 rounds in a bout fought with bare knuckles.

Jack Johnson – he of the golden smile – was the first black heavyweight champion. He annexed the title from Tommy Burns down in Australia in 1908 when police intervened to save Burns from further punishment, stopping the fight in the 14th round.
Revered and hated in equal measure he was a beacon of what was possible even when the establishment wanted to keep a black man in a downtrodden place. Johnson enraged some with his refusal to accept anything less than equality and, by the sheer weight of his talent and intelligence, he forced his way to top despite every obstacle.

Jack Dempsey became a blue collar hero and an iconic symbol of The Roaring Twenties. A former hobo who rode the rods and worked as an itinerant miner and fruit picker Dempsey embodied the American frontier spirit which believed anything was possible if a man was willing to roll up his sleeves, get his hands dirty, and wasn’t afraid of hard work.

In the 1930’s Joe Louis, aka The Brown Bomber, became famous for his tremendous punching power and skill. When Louis served in the US Army during World War II, the authorities ordered him to perform to segregated crowds of American servicemen. He refused. With humility, great grace, and dignity he became a uniting symbol for both black and white Americans in the war against Nazi Germany. The great sports journalist Jimmy Cannon famously said of Louis, “He is a credit to his race, the human race.”

Rocky Marciano – a cruiserweight by today’s juggernaut heavyweight standards – was a humble man who trained his leaden fists on a 300lb heavy bag. In the 1950’s America was a land of plenty but Rocky fought like a man who needed to win to eat. He was a concussive puncher, especially with the right hand, which he nicknamed “Suzie Q,” and he displayed unlimited courage and determination.

Muhammad Ali, the most graceful, original, and entertaining heavyweight champion of them all, revolutionised boxing in the 1960’s. In the process he became one of the most beloved and controversial figures in sports, and wider American society, when he joined the Nation of Islam – a black Muslim group. An open and vocal critic of the Vietnam War, Ali also became an icon of the black Civil Rights movement alongside such notable black leaders and activists as Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, Huey P. Newton, and Rosa Parks.

All these champions had a kind of romanticism surrounding their exploits which grew into legend. Such is, or was, the power of the man who held the lineal heavyweight championship of the world, but as the title became fragmented its power waned.
When a fighter comes along who has the ability to put those pieces together again the title once again bestows its magic on the holder and his aura grows exponentially.
Mike Tyson was a prime example, but Tyson also brought a creeping dread to ownership of the title. He was feared but, with his life careening out of control in full view of the media’s unflinching glare, he was never loved and respected to the same degree as some previous holders of the championship.

Which brings me full circle back to the current champion. What does Tyson Fury define about our times? That the heavyweight division is probably at the weakest it’s been for a very long while is no secret. But you can’t blame Fury for that. The boxer can only beat who is put in front of him and so far, in amassing an unbeaten win loss ledger of 25-0, 18 KO’s, the Irishman has done just that. And while you can’t fault his work ethic, ambition, or desire, the true depth of his talent is somewhat harder to determine. The fact he won the title fair and square on foreign soil against a long reigning and dominant champion should not be waved off as an aberration. Normal service may not soon be resumed. And let’s be honest here. Who wants it? Wladimir Klitschko is about as exciting as watching paint dry.

It is said winning a title makes a fighter twenty percent better. If this is indeed true Fury might prove hard to unseat from the heavyweight throne. His physical stature and size, awkward style, fast hands, and mental strength may conspire to turn back the hardiest challenges at the gates of his heavyweight kingdom. Should any insolent warlord manage to get close enough to the crown those long arms and big body will prove a valuable asset for tying him up, leaning on him, and running down the clock.
Say what you like about him – and many people are doing just that – Tyson Fury has left his mark on history. Like it or not, in reciting a roll call of heavyweight title holders, you will have to mention his name in close proximity to Lennox Lewis, Evander Holyfield, and Mike Tyson.

He has added his name to the pantheon of heavyweight kings through his own hard work and strength of belief in his own abilities. For that he should be commended. Not pilloried. You don’t have to be a fan of his to respect his considerable achievement. I for one am not. But there is no denying the reality of the situation and all the bleating disapproval will do nothing to change it.

Regardless of whether it rolls off the tongue easily or not Tyson Fury is the lineal heavyweight champion of the world. But he is worthy. Why? Because he beat the man who beat the man. And until a big punching challenger comes along to dethrone him we won’t get the chance to chant,

“The King is dead! Long live the King!”

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