When will boxing learn to guard the gates?

When George Foreman made the unlikeliest of returns in 1987 it wasn’t until the next decade, when the old man had made millions from his reinvention and developed a formula to do so, that others who had peaked in the 1970s felt it a good idea to follow him.

Foreman’s comeback, which saw him regain the world heavyweight championship 20 years after losing it, can rightly be described as the greatest in the history of sport. 

It might also be the most harmful of all sporting success stories. 

Foreman’s name was on the lips of Larry Holmes when he embarked on his own return in 1991. That Holmes was still active 10 years later can also largely be attributed to Foreman; Larry made no secret of his desire to fight Big George and chased his signature through much of the Nineties. Not because he was eager to inflict hurt on that big bald head but because Holmes recognized in Foreman a rival who could command the heftiest payday available to him. It was, like it always is, all about the money.

At least Holmes had some success to show for the extra punches he swallowed, however. While earning good wages, the veteran beat Ray Mercer in a sizeable upset and gave Evander Holyfield and Oliver McCall decent tests when challenging for titles. Holmes was supposed to fight Foreman in January 1999, only for the concept to fall through weeks beforehand as George demanded to be paid in full before the fight; both managed to keep the 10 per cent down payments on their contracted fight purses without throwing a punch.  

Far grislier comebacks occurred. The worst of which saw Jerry Quarry, 47 years ancient, broke, and already ravaged from the after-effects of boxing when he was allowed to take on Ron Cramer in October 1992. Nine years after damage to Quarry’s brain was first discovered, remnants of his senses were raided for six horribly one-sided rounds before he lost a decision and returned, even more disorientated, to the darkness of dementia. The last opponent he called out, prior to the sobering reverse to Cramer, was George Foreman. 

By 1995, Quarry’s deterioration was stark as a lifetime of punches to the head stole his ability to put food in his mouth and clothes on his body. He would go missing, end up outside his home and wander the streets in the middle of the night, lost and confused, looking for the bathroom that was, and had always been, at the end of his hall. No matter, 54-year-old Ron Lyle – chasing George Foreman – was granted a boxing licence, 15 years after being knocked cold by Gerry Cooney inside one round. From April to August 1995, Lyle scored four knockout wins over mercifully inept opposition but barely anyone listened to his post-fight pleas for a chance to rematch Foreman, an opponent who had knocked him out in a brutal 1976 slugfest.

In September that year, Earnie Shavers, 51, ended his exile to huff and puff his way to an eight-round majority decision win over the unknown Brian Morgan. His desire to secure a payday against Foreman ended one month later when he was stopped in two rounds by Brian Yates, a heavyweight who would win only 12 other bouts in a 102-fight career.

The Foreman effect continued long after he walked away from the sport. Heavyweights like Evander Holyfield, Razor Ruddock, and Bert Cooper all mentioned Foreman as a reason to not discount their chances when they embarked on ill-advised returns as 50-somethings. Predictably, as damaging defeats ensued, Foreman was yet again exposed as the exception which proved the rule: Boxing is no sport for old men.

The case of Mike Tyson is a curious one. Unlike Foreman, Quarry, Lyle, Shavers, Holyfield, Ruddock and Cooper, there was no need to prove he belonged in a multi-million-dollar showdown, no need to work his way towards it, no need to prove his worth. His name alone was enough.

Arguably the most famous living athlete, Mike Tyson has remarkably retained his relevance in a world barely recognisable from the one he ruled in the Eighties. It wasn’t difficult for marketeers, with all the 2024 gadgetry they could lay their hands on, to decorate a decaying relic with youthful menace. Yet as he hobbled alone and unedited to the ring, tripping up and looking down only to realise it was his own feet that caused the stumble, the hopeless expression on his face told the full story of his chances. In that moment those who commissioned the fight with a man 31 years Tyson’s junior would have felt regret about what they’d done, and dread about what was to come, if only they cared even the slightest bit.

Plenty will disagree. They will point to Tyson being 58 years old, not as a reason why he shouldn’t be allowed to fight, but as justification for doing so. He’s a grown man, one acutely aware of the dangers, so let him decide how he’s going to earn his money. Let him fight if he wants to fight. It’s his life, his choices, his privilege. Perhaps there is some truth in that. 

Yet there should be grave concern if the sport remains a free-for-all. 

Tyson returning at the age of 58, on that stage, merely normalises the concept. Oliver McCall fought this week and was celebrated for being 59, one year older than his former sparring partner. Ike Ibeabuchi, 51, returns in a fortnight. Speak to almost any ex-boxer and they yearn to do the same, whether 38, 58, or 78. And what is stopping them? 

The old realization that they couldn’t do it anymore, whether it came mid-fight at the end of their careers or in that revealing second when even the skipping rope was moving too fast, is easy to write off years later as a momentary lapse.

Tyson spoke of feeling fit and healthy in the build-up. That’s because, contextually speaking, he was. Compared to the overweight, several-spliffs-a-day man he used to be, he would likely have felt born again. And that illusion of youthfulness, whether sparked by an affair with a woman 20 years their junior, the purchase of an ill-fitting sports car, or a return to fitness of sorts, can play havoc with the sensibilities of even the sanest of middle-aged men.

Yet perhaps the greatest source of inspiration in the new age of comebacks is not Tyson, but the man he returned to fight. Whereas Quarry, Lyle and Shavers all looked at what Foreman was doing and presumed they could do the same, ex-boxers today are looking at Tyson losing to Jake Paul and believing they can do better. While a young girlfriend, a new car, or being reunited with old muscles can fool a 50-something into believing they’re something they’re not, beating up a man half their age, while being paid millions to do so, would be like discovering the secret to eternal youth. Jake Paul, a rather ordinary 12-fight novice, was deemed beatable by Tyson and will be regarded as such by anyone still capable of looking in the mirror and firing off the trusty one-two.

Perhaps it’s not the old-timers we should be worrying about, however, but Paul himself. 

His invasion of the boxing landscape has left plenty of the active natives restless. Daniel Dubois and Artur Beterbiev, among others, have grown tired of his tongue, they’ve seen him make one of their own look old and clumsy, they’ve heard about how much money he’s earning, and they’ve volunteered to be next in line. 

Should they get their wish, the absence of any barriers for entry will be even more pronounced than it was on Saturday night.