Happy Birthday, Michael Gerard Tyson.
This is just about the perfect photo. And let's not overlook the gentleman behind Tyson's left shoulder: third baseman Ray Knight, probably the best fighter on the '86 Mets. Kevin Mitchell was the most deadly, but Ray Ray's hands were peerless.
Anyway, Tyson is the most compelling sports figure of my time. The all black tunks and shoes, rap music, towel over his head, mouthpiece in before he reached the ring, fast, compact, explosive: he was the animal, the wrecking machine that fight fans dream about. Then he lost to Buster Douglas, went to jail, became a Muslim (sort of), bit Evander Holyfield, went bankrupt, retired, unretired, suffered the loss of a daughter, went to rehab for drugs and alcohol, became a pop culture icon, and now has a one-man show. He is the classic American tragedy.
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