An Ear-ie Dream, a Nightmare Cast

Don King enters the room first, followed by Mike Tyson, followed by Evander Holyfield, followed by George Foreman. This is how my dream begins.

They lock the door. They are meeting in secret, to discuss how to promote their next heavyweight fight. Boxing is a hot subject again, but Tyson is in hot water, Holyfield is a half-ear short of a pair and Foreman keeps saying things like, “And you all thought I was hungry.”

In my dream, I am a room-service waiter. I am the only one who can overhear King and the fighters. As I set up their table, Holyfield says he hopes Tyson ordered something vegetarian. Foreman tells Tyson if he has to have ears, try the corn on the cob.

Everybody is in a good mood.

Boxing has not been hurt. Boxing is back in the news. Any publicity is good publicity. King is so thrilled, his hair stands on end. All he needs now is a plan, a stroke of genius on how to promote the next fight. Something classy. Something clever. Something suckers would pay $49.95 to view.

“I got it,” Foreman says. “Mike fights me in Las Vegas, and we call it: ‘$49.95! ALL YOU CAN EAT!’ ”

Tyson looks uncomfortable. He thinks maybe they should downplay the bite-me angle.

King says, “You nuts? I’m thinking of asking the MGM Grand to change their symbol from a man-eating lion to you.”

He tells me, the waiter, to bring Tyson some appetizers.

I suggest a lightweight and a middleweight. Everybody but Mike thinks it’s funny.

Holyfield says, “I just bought a new hearing aid.”

King asks, “What kind is it?”

“Around 12:30,” Holyfield says, looking at his watch.

Old joke.

I set up trays of, if you will pardon the expression, finger food. Foreman gobbles up everything but the thumb. Tyson says no thanks, he’s full.

King says, “OK, let’s get back to business. Where do you think we should hold our next fight?”

“Wendy’s,” Foreman says.

Come on, let’s get serious, King says. If Tyson is banned from boxing in Nevada, he might be banned in America, which means he might have to fight in Africa or Asia, or some place that still appreciates a heavyweight with a big appetite.

Foreman says, “Whatever you do, avoid Zaire.”

“Why?” Holyfield asks.

“Good people, bad food,” Foreman says. “The only thing that rumbled in the jungle was my stomach.”

Tyson reminds them that he already has fought in Asia. He lost to Buster Douglas there. He says, “I would rather not go back to Japan to bite Holyfield.”

Holyfield says, “You mean fight me.”

Tyson says, “That’s what I said. Can’t you hear?”

“No.”

King proposes the Philippines.

My greatest promotion was there, he says. We could call this one: ANOTHER THRILLA IN MANILA. Or maybe: TWO SCOOPS OF MANILA.

Holyfield says he doesn’t care where they fight, as long as Tyson brings a mouthpiece.

“And I don’t mean his lawyer.”

Foreman still demands to fight the winner. He says his 75th birthday is approaching, so he has to think about retirement. Foreman says if he waits much longer, the only way he could bite Tyson back is with false teeth. He says, “I’ll have to gum him.”

Tyson says he is tired of all the tooth jokes.

“Then you better not fight in England,” King says.

Tyson asks why.

“Because over there, they’ll call you the ‘heavyweight chomp.’ ”

I laugh, but Tyson gives me a look, so I hold my tongue. (Before he can.)

King calls the meeting to order. He says there must be a rematch, and right away.

He needs to take advantage of all this free publicity. He needs to take promotional photographs, with Tyson’s hands over his mouth and Holyfield’s hands over his ears.

Maybe add an ad-line: PAY PER CHEW!

YOU ARE WHO YOU EAT!

EAR-MAGEDDON!

Something like that. Maybe hold the fight in Missouri, call it: “Eat Me in St. Louis.” Or maybe hold the fight in Paris, call it: “Bout Cuisine.” Or hold the fight in Tripoli, call it: “I’ll Nibble Ya in Libya.”

Foreman vows to do the TV commentary in a tuxedo and a chef’s hat.

“Let’s do lunch,” Tyson says.

Holyfield covers his good ear.

King asks, “What are we having?”

“Cauliflower,” I say.