I must confess to rarely following the sport of boxing, although I am an enthusiastic fight fan and appreciate a good match, whether it occurs in boxing, MMA, Martial Arts or World Star.
Tommy Morrison (a distant relative of a real American, John Wayne)
Occasionally, over the years my interest would peak at the sparse emergence of a dominant white boxer, the last one being Tommy Morrison. I was dubious about Morrison, after all, I had been duped before by a supposed great white hope, only to discover another hyped-up loser.
Before long, Morrison couldn’t effectively conceal the cracks throughout his hyperbolic veneer, the inner slug became too fat to be cloaked by anything other than shame.
Morrison was truly the antithesis to his “down-home huckleberry” character from Rocky 5, the tenacious Tommy Gun. In the short period before his story concluded, Tommy was riddled with aids, drug addiction, depression, and a weak fuckin chin.
Was the Great White Hope just a fable?
Slightly over five years ago I had unintentionally discovered a bombastic pugilist, ranting on Youtube, he harnessed the raw energy of at least 3 tweaking meth-heads, only he had all of his teeth and seemed to have his shit together.
His name was Tyson Fury and I was sold, within weeks he would defeat UkrainianVladamir Klitschko for the title belt and quite possibly become the great white hope.
Ironically, Klitschko was white and producing an enormous collection of wins and title defenses, however, I couldn’t get past his unpleasant energy and his close similarity to a finely polished piece of shit.
As the painful scars of Tommy Morrison’s plunge from grace finally dissipated and soon self-loathing white reporters would be forced to recognize a new white champion, Shazam! Fury suddenly goes AWOL.
Several years elapsed and I still valiantly clung to the progressively fading hope that Fury would once again emerge from obscurity and continue where he left off. I finally gave up hope, I had tons of shit going on in my own life and eventually, Fury was a distant memory.
Recently, Tyson Fury had reappeared and was making news, revealing that he had been overtaken by the excesses of being a rich old bastard and had been consumed by a shit ton of drugs. Here we go, Morrison all over again.
I would occasionally follow up on Fury and his supposed comeback, brushing off rumors of a Donte Wilder fight, I thought it would never materialize. I miscalculated, the Fury v Wilder fight went off without a hitch on December 1st, 2018. Still unconvinced, I occasionally reviewed highlights of the fight, which ended up as a draw.
After I had finally watched the fight in its entirety as well as some post-fight interviews, I wanted to believe in the Fury Force again, however, I remained mildly skeptical. Tyson had not only disappeared from boxing after the first Wilder fight, but he also disappeared from existence.
Fury’s swan dive into Crazy Town
Tyson Fury, the self-professed “Gypsy King” a once cocky and confident alpha-man had appeared to be broken, another white guy with limitless potential hurled upon the heap of defected contenders.
Suffering from depression and anxiety, Tyson met every day with disappointment, he prayed ardently for death. The emptiness was torture that could be mildly soothed by the temporary oblivion that he discovered in drugs and alcohol.
This regrettable reality can really occur, however, the sufferer can be cured and still advance through life and maybe even conquer the world. The Gypsy King found new strength from his refusal to abandon his children and those that he loved. He didn’t want his legacy to be that of a weak and selfish person.
Tyson Fury is not only the great white hope because he smashed Wilder and danced on his carcass, but he is also an inspiration for those that find life’s challenges and cruelty to be insurmountable.