Tyson Knocks Out Berbick in Second to Earn WBC Title

Mike Tyson, whose capacity for flash violence was already legend, further secured his reputation for unleashed menace Saturday night when he smote Trevor Berbick, fightin’ preacher, within two rounds. The credentials of this man-child, only supposed as he waded through 27 fighters of disputed qualifications, are now fully acceptable, all the more certified by the concussive circumstances.

Acceptable and certified, and perhaps obvious, although even Tyson was somewhat in awe of the achievement. Following his storybook knockout, which fulfilled the dream and pledge of the late Cus D’Amato, the 20-year-old champion of the WBC, youngest ever to win such a title, said, “Look at me. I’m just a boy and I got the belt on my waist.”

The awe was shared by all in attendance at the Hilton Convention Center. The wonder was not so much that he had won the belt--he was heavily favored--but that he did it with such extreme prejudice. Who will dare to remove that belt? Who is so uncautious, so unmindful of his own mortality to stand before that power?

His power. It had caused 25 previous knockouts, 15 within the first round. The 26th, manifest almost at the opening bell when Tyson punched through Berbick’s hopeless defense, could very well be predictive of a long reign, as few heavyweights will be able to survive a similar assault on the central nervous system.

To get any picture of his horrifying dominance, one need only replay the final minute of the fight, Tyson’s left hand to Berbick’s temple beginning a chain of frightful events. You will see Berbick stand transfixed, as the news of his concussion travels slowly to his legs. Then you will see him reel drunkenly across nearly all the canvas’ available space. Against the ropes and down to his seat, up shakily, sprawled face down in the center of the ring, up and reeling into the opposite ring post where he was mercifully collected by referee Mills Lane, 2:35 into the second round.

It is possible, indeed likely, as Tyson said immediately after the fight, “I’m the youngest champion, and I’ll be the oldest.”

There are few heavyweights to argue the point, although two champions remain before the division can be unified under one ruler. The power and hand-speed promise inevitable results, especially when coupled with Berbick’s ill-advised decision to punch with Tyson.

Certainly it was inevitable from Tyson’s point of view. His melodramatic determination--win it for Cus, the man who rescued him jail and a downward spiraling career of crime--conspired with his fairly recent self-worth produce a kind of arrogance. “I refuse to get hurt,” he explained afterwards, “I refuse to get knocked down, I refuse to lose. I refuse to leave the ring alive, without that belt.”

Much has been made of the ghost of Cus D’Amato, the spirit calling encouragement from the corner. And it is a nice story, the ghost rushing him through a 20-month apprenticeship, and his managers helping to make him a box office attraction in that short span. But Tyson, though mindful that this victory belongs as much to D’Amato’s legend as his own, defused the soppy aspects. “Without Cus,” he admitted, “this never could have happened.”

On the other hand, “He’s probably up there saying, ‘You made a lot of mistakes.”

And had Cus, his legal guardian in the house above the Hudson River, been alive to see his own legacy fulfilled? Tyson tried to imagine it. “He’d be downstairs making my breakfast as always, and I’d be afraid to go down, for all the criticism.”

If so, the old man was a frightful taskmaster indeed, because there was little if anything to fault. Tyson gratefully accepted Berbick’s decision to stand in front of him and delivered hooks of such quickness and accuracy to make the result foretold early on. “I was throwing, what can you say, hydrogen bombs,” Tyson said. “Every punch with murderous intention.”

It was Berbick’s thinking to prove to Tyson that his muscled strength meant nothing. “I fought a silly fight,” he admitted. Tyson’s strength means everything. And anyone who challenges will meet a similar end.

Poor Berbick, 33, whose reign lasted just 8 months (but netted him a $2.1-million purse), didn’t even know what hit him. ‘Gee, I still can’t believe it,” he said. “But I guess I did get caught.”

It is a common complaint. Fight film collector Jimmy Jacobs, who is nursing another chapter of history as Tyson’s co-manager, says he has put together a videotape of post-fight comments and fully a third say they never saw the punch. “I bet Trevor would say the same thing.”

Trevor: “I never saw the punch.”

“People talk about Mike’s punching power,” Jacobs explained, “but it’s his speed. Nobody ever sees the punch.”

Berbick had been determined to surprise the young challenger. He even chose to wear black, as Tyson always does, to intimidate. But the only unsettling aspect of his garb were the black knee-length socks. Tyson wears none. Between them, there was not a decent pair of hose.

But of course it was Berbick who was unsettled. “It’s the Joe Louis syndrome,” Jacobs offered. “Fighters, regardless of their talent, fight differently. They are intimidated by an aura of invincibility. I have watched all of Trevor’s fights and that was not the Trevor I watched. He was locked to the canvas and he looked like he was on videotape slo-mo.”

That, compounded by Tyson’s strange calm, made for an early evening. As for that calm, Jacobs was all the more surprised. “Mike asked me if I were nervous before the fight,” Jacobs said. “He said not to worry, it’s not unusual to be nervous before a world title fight.” Except that Tyson was “incredibly calm. That was a little disquieting to me.”

In the ring, Tyson was implacable. Berbick, stoic in his corner, was rattled quickly. For good enough reason. “He kept coming back,” Tyson said of the game plan, “and he kept running into something.” Although the first round spelled his doom, Berbick didn’t fall until the second when he fell for a flash knockdown early on. The knockout came only a little later. He ran into something.

Winning the title, as predicted seven years ago by “this crazy white dude,” as Tyson remembers the promise, looked easy enough that questioners wondered only if unnatural causes could allow him to surrender it--the night life, the additional temptations of youth. But Tyson, whose strings are still pulled by a 77-year-old man from above, is eerily wise beyond his years.

“I’m a 20-year-old kid,” he explained. “And I’ll remain that way until I get older.”