Fight Night in Barstow

"Hey, Maxey," Big Denny said, "kin ya keep a secret?"

"If it involves a dead body, I don't want to hear about it and become involved," I replied hastily.

"Nah, dis time it's good news. I got da fight fer da Barstow Card Casino."

"Fight, what fight?" I asked, puzzled.

"Da Mike Tyson fight, ya dummy. Barstow needed some good publicity. People t'ink it's some kinda hick town, mostly on account of all dem crummy stories ya been writin', so I talked ta some people I know and got dem da fight."

Made sense, I thought. With all the trouble Tyson had caused, Barstow was probably the only city left that would dare invite him in. "But where will you get the space?" I asked. "There's certainly no room in the casino."

"We're takin' over dat old folks home next door an' turnin' it into an audeotorium."

"Auditorium? You mean you're throwing all those elderly residents out into the street?"

"Serves dem right," Denny sneered. "Dem old geezers been causin' me nothin' but trouble by always complainin' about da noise from da casino."

"And where's the money coming from?" I persisted. "It costs a lot to put on a major fight."

"I got dat figgered too, Maxey. Dey just passed a bond issue here ta build more schools. Da fight's more important, so I talked da city council inta givin' me da dough fer dis t'ing. Da kids kin wait a coupla years."

Denny did have a way of getting things done. But I feared there was trouble ahead. Sure enough, at the press conference to announce the fight, something apparently upset Tyson, because when he stepped before the cameras, he emitted a string of obscenities as long as a freight train, punched out two reporters and the mayor of Barstow, and then threw the speaker's lectern into the audience. Not surprisingly, his opponent threw up his hands and backed out of the match.

"This is terrible, Denny," I said when I saw him again. "What are you going to do now?"

"Aww, no problem, Maxey. I'll fight Tyson myself."

"You fight Mike Tyson? Denny, he'll kill you."

Denny yawned. "Don't worry, Maxey. I kin take care of myself."

I couldn't talk him out of it, but he at least listened to my pleas and promised to train seriously to get into better shape. I pictured those Rocky movies, where Sylvester Stallone rose before dawn, ran for miles, skipped rope for hours, and tirelessly body-punched slabs of cow carcasses hanging in cold storage lockers. Denny's routine was less ambitious. He cut back to five meals a day, walked around the casino parking lot a couple of times, and once tried, unsuccessfully, to do a push-up.

At last the big day arrived. With spectators shouting deliriously, Denny stomped into the ring, cast off his "Big Denny's Barstow Card Casino" robe, and waved to the audience. The hall fell silent as everyone stared stupefied at the huge, hulking, and hairy creature that was described in the next day's newspaper reports as looking like a "Neanderthal Man," "Big Foot," "Godzilla," and a "Gorilla in Gym Shorts." Even Tyson's jaw dropped, and in a moment of panic he attempted to climb out of the ring, but was pushed back by his handlers.

The two fighters came to the center of the ring for the referee's instructions. Tyson tried to gain a psychological edge by glaring malevolently at Big Denny and mouthing deadly threats. Denny, unfortunately, was too busy eating a chicken drumstick to pay any attention to either Tyson's attempted intimidation or the referee's pleas for a clean fight. The two fighters then returned to their corners for last-minute instructions. Tyson's seconds told him to storm out and annihilate Big Denny. Big Denny's camp urged him to fall down and stay down the first time he took a punch.

The bell rang. Tyson, wanting to make it a quick evening, rushed toward Big Denny and began pummeling him with blows powerful enough to fell an ox. Denny, now nibbling daintily on a pork chop, barely took notice. Finishing his snack, he tossed the bone over his shoulder and belly-bumped Tyson so hard that he bounced off the ropes and was catapulted clear across the ring. This routine continued for the next three rounds. Tyson would pound away with everything he had until Denny, his apelike knuckles brushing the floor inside his boxing gloves, would swing his arm up and send Tyson flying toward the ring lights.

At last the inevitable happened. A frustrated and enraged Tyson lost it completely and bit Big Denny on his right arm. Denny looked curiously at the gaping hole and warned, "You do dat again, Mike, an' I'm gonna hafta sit on yer head."

Tyson must not have taken the warning seriously, because in the very next round, he bit an even bigger hole in Denny's left arm. True to his word, Big Denny picked up Tyson as easily as a kitten, slammed him to the canvas, and dropped on his head with a thud that shook the room. "Ooh," said the spectators. "Yaagh," said Tyson, his head buried in the canvas underneath Denny's king-sized butt.

The ref rushed over, but was unable to budge the mountain of flesh suffocating the former heavyweight champ. Denny, meanwhile, munched contentedly on an enormous bean burrito, his noisy chewing drowning out the muffled cries coming from beneath his massive buttocks.

Furiously struggling, Tyson finally was able to get his head partially free. In a towering rage, he bit down as hard as he could on Denny's rump. Denny let out a yelp and then his eyes narrowed. "OK, Mike," he said, "dat does it. I'm troo bein' nice ta ya."

As Denny lifted one leg and began straining, I could smell trouble coming. "No, Denny, no!" I shouted. "Don't do it. Think of all the innocent people here."

Too late. There was a thunderclap like a sonic boom, and the shock wave bent back rows of spectators like reeds in a windstorm. What followed was far worse. Spectators began choking, gasping, and fainting as firemen and paramedics in gas masks poured in to evacuate the fallen. It was fortunate that smoking was prohibited, for had anyone chosen that moment to light a match, everyone in the hall would have been blown to smithereens.

Tyson, meanwhile, his head noticeably flattened, was sprawled in the center of the ring, unconscious and barely breathing. He was rushed to a hospital and put on oxygen for a week. In due course he recovered, but that was the last time he ever attempted to bite anyone in the ring.

The city of Barstow, meanwhile, got lots of publicity, much more in fact than it had bargained for, as scores of people filed lawsuits seeking compensation for lung damage.

As for Big Denny, he basked in his 15 minutes of fame and was even invited to appear on Jay Leno's show. Referring to him alternately as "Dive-bomber Denny" and "Depth-charge Denny," Leno asked his guest if he might now consider becoming a professional boxer.

"Nah," Big Denny answered. "Dat trainin' routine is too tough."