I’m sitting in a sunbaked RV in the parking lot of Johnny Taco’s Ringside Gym in Las Vegas waiting for Mike Tyson – the Tyson who was on top of the world. He’s inside shooting a TV commercial. I was there to record Mike’s voice, a simple recording of his innermost thoughts about his upcoming opponent. I told the sound guy, “Look, I have no idea what’s going to happen so as soon as that door opens, start recording. No matter what happens, keep recording.”
The door burst open but it’s not Mike. It’s six guys bigger than Mike Tyson. The entire RV rocks as these monstrous human beings shove and laugh and fling themselves onto the built-in furniture. I am pinned between two of them. They stop laughing and stare at me like I was a big bug that plopped from the ceiling.
“What are you doing in Mike’s trailer? Yeah, what’re you doing here, little man? This is Mike Tyson’s trailer!”
I didn’t have time to answer because the door slams open again and Mike Tyson stomps in, flops down directly across from me and gives me a “Now what the fuck do you want from me?” look.
I say, ”Hi, Mike, thanks for doing this. It’s a really short script and we’ll do just three or four takes…”
Mike snatches the paper out of my hand, looks at the sound guy and gives him the “start-rolling” finger gesture. Then mumbles my script unintelligibly…
“Buster Douglas. Big left hand. Tough in the clutch. Almost killed a man. Tokyo. Tokyo.”
Then hands it back to me like he’s John Fucking Gielgud. And you know what I say? “That’s great, Mike. Great start. Now this time…”
Mike stands up, leans over the table right in my face says, “You know, I’m not interested in being here!”
I straighten up and say, “You know, Mike, Me neither. Are you guys fucking interested in hanging out in an oven hot RV in the parking lot of Johnny Taco’s Crappy Ringside Gym in some shithole neighborhood of Las Vegas, when you could be out drinking Crystal and getting lap dances at the Pony Club. Not fucking interested.”
But I didn’t say that. I couldn’t even think that. I said, “Yes, Mike, I totally understand, that’s cool…”
Mike holds his hand to my face.
“Wait wait wait. What you say? That’s cool? That’s cool? That’s cool.” Mike turned to his gang and says, “Man’s gone all urban on us! He’s talking like a brother!” They all burst into howling laughter. “That’s cool! That’s cool! “He thinks he’s all street and shit. Talkin’ like a brother.”
After two minutes of this hilarity, which seem like a thousand, Mike picks the script back up and reads it again. Even worse than the first time because now he’s laughing.
To be continued…