Mike Tyson gets back into a boxing ring again.

 Mike Tyson gets back into a boxing ring again. 

The world of heavyweight boxing has probably seen this before but once again it finds itself exposed to the kind of freak show that it may have thought it had left behind years ago. There can be no more shameful sight than that of one of the most controversial and explosive boxers climbing back into the ring. In the general scheme of things this may not be entirely medically advisable but nobody said it couldn't happen so it will and we'll just have to look at this most grotesque spectacle and take it for what its worth. 

Mike Tyson, one of the most technically brilliant fighters in the modern era, will once again step into a boxing ring at the ripe old age of 54  and you can only but help admire the audacity of the man. Tyson's opponent will be one Roy Jones Junior who now belongs in a museum rather than a boxing ring. Should both men be utterly ashamed of themselves or do we just let them get on with it and just allow them to get it out of their system? 

In the glittering, magical, cabaret, gambling casino, showbiz capital of the world Tyson and Jones Junior will clamber back into a Las Vegas ring and blink good-humouredly in the dazzling lights. Las Vegas will indulge the two men with perhaps a hint of sarcastic cheering and a smattering of ironic applause. The girl cheerleaders will twirl the board numbers indicating the respective rounds and most of us will either be appalled, deeply offended or just highly amused. 

In the small hours of Sunday morning an incredulous, barely disbelieving crowd will be perplexed at the sheer futility of this exercise, questioning the sanity of two prize-fighters who should be making a vastly profitable living on the chat show and reality TV circuit. But Tyson still wants a piece of the action and for all we know, may still retain a fondness for biting the ears of his adversaries. The cannibalistic instinct that drove Tyson to such barbaric actions could be tucked away deep in his soul because Tyson could be ruthless, brutally destructive when the mood took him and lethally quick.

In fact there were times throughout an illustrious career when Tyson had the capacity to knock out his opponent in a matter of minutes rather than the standard 10 or 12 rounds allotted. When Tyson sent in an artillery of punches to both head and midriff the lights would invariably go out and the fight was over in no time at all. Tyson was powerful, ferocious, built like a bulldog, pinning his men into the corner with low blows to the midriff before progressing to the head with cleanly executed rabbit punches and those cruel, sadistic upper-cuts which ultimately ended up with a couple of paramedics and ambulances ready and waiting. 

Then Tyson would launch a fusillade of swift, clubbing hooks across his opponents ears and neck that would result in a chaotic flurry of punches that ensured victory in the blink of an eyelid. Towels would be thrown into the ring, a microphone would drop down into the ring and the referee would intervene quite mercifully. Those thick, bullish and ridiculously muscular arms would be raised and Tyson would bathe in the euphoric glow of triumph.

 No fighter who dared challenge Tyson's supremacy at heavyweight level ever went back to their dressing room with any sense of relief. They'd been battered relentlessly, completely demoralised, realising that the very thought of facing up to Tyson had never been a good idea. Tyson was bloodthirsty, almost primitive at times and when his defeated pug had been thrashed about like a child's toy, Tyson would blurt out something so incomprehensible that you'd have thought he'd just eaten a hot potato. 

In Britain we've also had our heroic pugilists, our bare-knuckle fighters a couple of centuries ago but then gallant, charming characters such as our Henry Cooper, the equally as lovable Frank Bruno and the formidably brilliant Lennox Lewis, a Canadian- cum British brawler who would just wear down his opponents before toppling them. British boxing knows exactly how to treat their boxing beefcakes and years later the images are still vivid, the memories enshrined forever.

More recent times have seen Chris Eubank, one of the cleverest and most streetwise boxers in the history of British boxing. Eubank was almost a merciless destroyer, moving his challenger around the ring like an accomplished chess player and then delivering checkmate. He would become unstoppable, unbeatable at times invincible. When retirement beckoned Eubank would embrace the TV celebrity round and took that impressively built lorry across his hometown of Brighton.

And now Britain can rightly acclaim Anthony Joshua, now the subject of a TV advertising campaign and promoting his Golders Green home in North London. Joshua is a superbly built boxer, seemingly unbeatable but genuinely down to earth. Of course Joshua remains the confident, boastful, gloating prize-fighter since there are tickets that have to be sold and the public, now denied their fix of boxing, can hardly wait to see Joshua bouncing back into a ring before his adoring fans. 

But now a craggy, weatherbeaten, tired-looking veteran will be dusting off the cobwebs, chubbier and podgier around the waist and a pale caricature of his former self. But both Tyson and Jones Junior will be heaving those creaking limbs back into the fray, shuffling painstakingly across the canvas, arms swinging reluctantly, greying hair covering their heads like wintry snow and we'll all be entitled to a good, old fashioned belly laugh. It will be an embarrassing apology of a fight and we must hope that both men never carry out a threat to do it all over again. May the best man win with pride intact. Iron Mike Tyson though is taking this one deeply seriously. Now that's a certainty.