Thomas Hopes He Has Hit His Last Sour Note

Until 1986, Pinklon Thomas’ idea of a hit parade was his ring record: 26-0, 22 knockouts. He was heavyweight champeen, master of all he surveyed. Best boxer in the division, by far. If there was a song in the air, it must have been the national anthem.

But then a funny thing happened. He noticed he had some pipes, thought, “Who wants to be a boxer forever?” and, “Wouldn’t it be nice to make American Bandstand on my way to boxing’s hall of fame?”

He began a singing career. Up to then, his idea of a C note had been an undercard purse in Seattle. Suddenly, he’s doing scales that don’t have Toledo embossed on them.

What is it that gets into fighters? Oh, it was a good enough song--”Hanging on to Promises”--sung in a husky voice. Appealing, all right. But what in the world was the heavyweight champeen of the world doing in the lobby, two hours before a title defense, handing out copies of this tape, a portable boom box--portable providing a hydraulic lift was handy--booming out his sexy vibrato?

He wasn’t doing either career much good as it turned out. Next thing we knew, Thomas was in the ring, performing more like Jerry Lewis than Joe Louis. Trevor Berbick beat him on a decision for the World Boxing Council title. And the only songs Thomas could sing were very sad ones indeed.

A year later, after a seven-month exile in Puerto Rico and three quick comeback fights, Thomas is matched with Mike Tyson for the title he lost and then some. Today’s match at the Las Vegas Hilton also is for Tyson’s newly acquired World Boxing Assn. title.

This time, Thomas has left the sound track at home. “I put that on a hanger and hung it up,” he said.

For the time being, Thomas has decided he prefers a top 10 ranking to the top 40.

Except for the particulars about a singing career, Thomas shares a career path with about 12 other boxers. At Wednesday’s press conference, there were no fewer than three former heavyweight champions on the dais.

Some of them fell after a dalliance with drugs, others with food, others girls, others, to judge by the sheer amount of jewelry on the dais, fell with the price of gold. There’s a lot out there to tempt a fighter from his Spartan regime. Thomas is different in that he’s getting a second chance.

And he is not, apparently, doomed to repeat history. He has been out of the recording studio ever since he lost his title and has rejoined forces with trainer Angelo Dundee, the master motivator, the man who hustled Sugar Ray Leonard to an upset of Marvelous Marvin Hagler. Dundee was kept out of the Thomas camp for the Berbick fight, or else history might have been worth repeating.

It was two weeks after the fight, Thomas’ only loss, when the fighter called Dundee and admitted his mistake. It is believed that Thomas had been trying to pinch pennies more than anything else in keeping Dundee out of camp. Penny wise, pound foolish and all that.

“Now I understand why he gets paid like he does,” Thomas says.

Of that Berbick fight, Thomas remembered: “I had a very quiet corner. Wasn’t getting no instruction. I was already in a confused state (because of divorce proceedings), and I had no boost, no electricity. I felt by myself, no strategy, no nothing. In the middle rounds, I realized I made a big mistake.”

The efforts of manager Yamil Chade got Thomas back to No. 1 in the rankings to force this mandatory defense, although Thomas made some sacrifices of his own. Instead of fighting for more money for other promoters, Thomas clung tight to the HBO-Hilton heavyweight tournament format. He didn’t make much money and nobody saw him--he fought on the “walkout” bouts--but he did stay close to promoter Don King.

“It wasn’t the first time I was on a campaign to get the title,” Thomas said. He had battled from obscurity, his tale of being rescued from teen-age drug addiction being his principal promotional value for a long time.

The one thing Thomas knew, that he had learned the first time around, is that you can’t be too proud. He called up boxing writers to plead his case and, on the undercard for Tyson’s last fight here, grabbed the microphone to make an impassioned plea for a title shot.

Not everyone would envy him, now that he has it. Tyson, though just 20, has a curious effect on opponents. The last, former WBA champion James (Bonecrusher) Smith, yielded his title out of sheer fear.

Richie Giachetti, who trained former heavyweight champion Larry Holmes and who now trains former heavyweight champion Tony Tubbs, saw the look on Smith’s face as he got into the ring. Giachetti turned to Sylvester Stallone and said, “Never mind, it’s all over.”

But Thomas says it’s unlikely that Tyson will have anything like that effect on him. “I’m a man, I’m 29,” Thomas said. “I can’t fear another man. Worst thing can happen, I’ll lose. Or die. But I’ll go trying. He’s flesh and bone, that’s all. If he was anything beyond that, I could understand freezing, but no freeze here.”

Dundee doubts that Thomas will be unnerved by Tyson. “He faced tougher kids in Pontiac, Michigan,” he said.

Certainly Thomas stood up to Tyson at a New York press conference, when he promised to remove some of Tyson’s gold fillings, sans anesthesia. As soon as Tyson piped up, in that odd voice of his, Thomas advised him: “Put some bass in that voice. You’re Mike Tyson, not Michael Jackson.”

Well, Bonecrusher was good at his press conference, too.

If Thomas has any motivational advantage it’s that he’s been up and he’s been down and he’s learned that up is better.

Recalling the advice of his first trainer, Joe West, Thomas remembers being told: “There’ll be a time when your dressing room will be so crowded you won’t be able to turn around to wipe the sweat from your face. Then there’ll be a time when you won’t have anybody to hand a towel to.”

Thomas saw his entourage thinned by defeat, many an athlete’s sad lesson. But he seems happy as an underdog here, eager to recover his glory, if not his voice.