Undisputed Truth: My Autobiography (69 page)

I can’t conceive what people tell me about God. It doesn’t regulate to my piercing soul. But there must be some design to this universe. Chaos is overwhelming so there has to be some balance to allow us to focus in this maniacal atmosphere. But most religious people who go to church are exploited for business purposes. That’s what I believe. So I have to have my own salvation with God. I love the concept of loving Allah. I don’t know if it’s a true reality, but it’s a concept that I’m in love with and I think it’s good.

Going to Mecca and Medina was an amazing experience. I got closer to my faith but in some ways I was put off by the actions of some of my brother Muslims. When I got there they immediately started broadcasting my visit to show off that Islam was a better religion than Christianity or the rest of the religions. It wasn’t about me becoming a better person, it was more like, “We’ve got the Mighty Mike Tyson making hajj here.” They didn’t care about me as a person, they just cared about their publicity agenda. I was just a dumb nigga being used, that’s all I’ve ever been in my life.

“We’re going to make America know that you’re a good Muslim,” they actually told me.

In my mind I was saying,
Shit, I wasn’t a good Christian, how am I going to be a good Muslim?

Religion has to be in the man, a man can’t be in the religion. It really was almost juvenile, seeing all these religious figures in Islam fronting like, “My prophet is better than yours.”

But despite the political agendas, I felt good there. Anybody would feel like that there. Hundreds of thousands of people, all dressed the same, all there to worship and humble themselves. I was in a state of harmony, so I was harmonious.

Being there helped me get my head together and put me in an Islamic frame of mind. It helped me focus on what I had to do when I got back home. How I had to lead my life. Not necessarily an Islamic life but a purer life, with no more drugs and no more drama. It was really a recharging of my spiritual batteries. I needed to go there.

At hajj, I realized that I could never be a good Muslim in the strictest pious sense. I brought a lot of baggage into the religion with me. But I could listen to the teachings of the Prophet and try to live my way on the same path. Judge people on the goodness of their hearts. It’s hard for me to be that way. If you really practice Islam in its purest form you’re a doormat. I don’t like to live my life that way. That’s beyond being pious, that’s being humble. And none of us can truly be humble. If you mention the word “humble” that in itself tells us that you’re not humble. Man is not meant to be humble, he’s meant to be humbled.

I couldn’t be humble when they pushed me to the front of the line to kiss the black stone. The stone itself is the eastern cornerstone of the Kaaba, the ancient stone building in Mecca towards which Muslims around the world pray. On the hajj you’re supposed to circle the stone seven times and kiss it if you can. There are so many pilgrims though that some people who’ve been going to Mecca their whole lives have never kissed the black stone. I kissed it four times in thirty minutes. I’m there and they’re splitting the people like the Red Sea and bringing me right up to kiss it. They’re pushing these pious people to the side so I can put my dirty-assed, diseased coke-licking mouth on it. It made me feel horrible. They’re trying to get us to feel better than everyone else and to love the religion. But when they do things like that to me, I’m saying, “You let us get in front of all these beautiful people? I don’t want to be involved.” Like Groucho Marx said, “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.”

I felt bad that Kiki couldn’t have come and made her hajj. We didn’t talk for a couple of weeks after she had left Europe. We both felt that this might be the end of our marriage. I called her from Mecca and was all apologetic and we vowed to stick through it and work it out.

Kiki, deep down in her heart, is a Christian; she was raised that way. Her characteristics are Christian characteristics. Her mother married an Imam and they made a dramatic switch to being in a hijab. Kiki is free-loving. She wants to be involved with the world but she still has her conscience of Islam. But as a black female American she’s not going to tolerate her husband having four wives as the Koran says you can have.

In December, I went to Asia with Farid. I was being named China’s boxing ambassador. I was on my best behavior in China. One guy came up to me and told me that he supplied all the stars that came over to China with weed.

“You can’t be my friend,” I told him. “You must be trying to set me up. You know that they’re going to kill you for smoking a joint here.”

After China, I went to Bangkok to film
The Hangover Part II
. There was controversy even before the film started shooting. Mel Gibson was signed to do a cameo as a Bangkok tattoo artist, but Zach and other cast members went to Todd and got him thrown off the picture. I wouldn’t have gone that far. I met Mel Gibson once and he was a gentleman to me. Of course, his drunk anti-Semitic rant was deplorable, but I wasn’t so quick to judge anyone. When they asked me for a reaction to his firing, all I could say was, “We all have that guy – a Mel Gibson – in us.”

Kiki was too pregnant to come with me to the shoot and it was a shame because she would have loved Thailand. Everything was beautiful. We shot my scene on an island and I had a great room in the Four Seasons with a spectacular view of the water. On our way in from the airport, an elephant popped into the road out of nowhere. I had lost a hundred pounds by then, so I was excited to film my climactic scene where I sang “One Night in Bangkok.” It was night and day from my first experience with Todd and the other actors. I was totally sober now and enjoying every minute on the set. Before, when I was high, I’d be telling people to run around and get me things. But now I didn’t even come out of my room unless they needed me. Todd and them probably thought that I was just a motherfucker trying to kiss ass, but I was so grateful to them for what they had done for me. God, I owed those guys so much.

I got back to Vegas and I spent most of January with Kiki, waiting for the birth of our son. We had gotten through our rough patch and now we were really getting along. Kiki had gone into contractions at twenty-seven weeks, so they had her on bed rest with some medication and then she had to go in to get the baby’s heart monitored once a week. I went to every appointment with her and rubbed her belly all the time. I really like being with Kiki. And I wanted to be a good parent. I didn’t know if it was in me but I really had the desire. The baby had to be induced so we checked into the hospital on the night of January twenty-fourth, and our son Morocco arrived about noon the next day. I left the hospital the night we arrived at about four a.m. to go home and exercise and change. I got all dressed up nice and went back to the hospital.

“You look nice,” Rita said.

“It’s a big occasion. Today my son is being born,” I told her.

I was in the room when he came out. I sat down at Kiki’s side because both she and I didn’t want me to be right up in her birth canal. I sat on the sidelines and whenever Kiki would look over I’d make funny faces. I couldn’t believe how nervous I got. But he finally came out, all eight pounds, thirteen ounces. And he was a good-looking baby right from the get-go.

I had another great fortune that year. I was inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame in June. I never thought that I’d have been put in the Hall of Fame. No one in boxing liked me by then, I had such a bad reputation. There were guys who had started boxing after me and they were in the hall already so I just realized that I’d never get that honor. I knew how those old fighters must have felt. Down and out, broke, just waiting day by day for a call that might never come.

But my phone rang in February and the guy on the line said, “You’ve just been voted into the Hall of Fame.” When the call was over, I just hung up the phone and started crying. I had been obsessed with boxing my whole life. I used to go to sleep cradling my boxing gloves. That’s all I wanted to be. It feels so stupid now to think I would be this great fighter, one the world had never seen, another Achilles. My arrogance, my ego got so whacked out, that’s why I just had to shut it down. It pushed me to accomplish so many things, but I shut it down, because I want to keep my family.

But to be honest, and not from an egotistical perspective, just from my understanding of the history of the game, it’s going to be difficult to find a guy like me that could generate the money and income like I did in my time. Fighters today don’t understand the sport, they don’t understand how to entertain the people, they’re not scholarly enough to examine the past, and not only to find out about the fighters, but who they hung out with. Gene Tunney and Benny Leonard hung out with George Bernard Shaw. Mickey Walker and Harry Greb were with Hemingway.

Regardless of what anybody said – “Mike Tyson is horrible, he’s a bum” – I represented all the old-time fighters. I never let the people forget who they were. If I hit a guy with one of the punches I learned from Benny Leonard or Harry Greb, I’d always give them credit. Guys like Joe Gans and Leonard and John L. Sullivan were the first, and the first always have to be acknowledged. They made boxing an art.

I was happy to have been voted in, but I was uncertain whether I should go to the ceremony. I was probably a little bitter that I had been passed up before. But my friend Dave Malone was visiting me and he gave me a little speech.

“Listen, man, this is your fucking honor. But you’re not only doing this for you, you’re doing this for Brownsville, you’re doing this for everyone in the hood. It’s a great accomplishment. You came from the hood and you made it to the fucking Hall of Fame. Get out there and do this.”

He was right. When I was up there getting introduced I thought about Cus. When I was fourteen, I used to always ask him, “Do you think I’ll be in the Hall of Fame?” Cus marveled at my dedication to everything about boxing. He used to tell everyone, “I never saw anybody that had so much enthusiasm about boxing like this guy.” I knew the history of the sport inside and out. I knew that most fighters that I had seen wound up broke and destitute or working a menial job. I knew that was going to happen, but I just wanted to be in that fraternity with those guys. Even though they were dead or senile, people still talk about these guys in the barbershop.

There is no sport in the world that is more passionate than fighting, when it is done correctly. You want to fight your brother or your father because the guy you’re rooting for is you. He’s representing your whole barometer about how you feel and think. Mixed martial arts are more popular than boxing now because you see so much passion in the cage. Boxers don’t have that passion anymore. There’s no guy that really has the heart to say “Not only do the gods deliver me and vex me, but one day I will reign with them.” Today’s guys don’t say that shit, they don’t have the balls, they spring from a milieu too meager to comprehend my kind of reality. They don’t want to do that because they’re afraid they will fail and people will laugh at them. That’s why today’s fighters don’t get the total respect because they’re afraid to really grab true greatness. They look at boxing as a check, they don’t see it as something noble. They want money and adulation. I wanted adulation and immortality.

What makes an exciting fighter is his ability and willingness to want to hurt the other man. That makes for great fights and superstars. When I was in the ring I projected myself as an animal. Like a dog in a pit, I was there to entertain the audience. The more I hurt someone, the quicker I hurt him, the more adulation I got from the crowd, and I fed off that. Today they don’t dream about hurting their opponents. It’s like the wussification of boxing. Sugar Ray Robinson, Rocky Marciano, those guys were going to die for that belt, you’d have to kill them to get it from them.

A lot of people have pronounced the death of boxing, but I think that’s a little too premature. Boxing will come back, trust me. It’s been around almost two hundred years, legally. It’s not going to die easy. Just wait until we see the next really great heavyweight fighter. That will be a sight that we’ll want to see again and again.

At the end of June, Kiki and I decided to renew our vows. It was my idea. We never had a proper wedding. My birthday was at the end of June and Kiki’s was in the middle so I came up with the idea of inviting people to come to a joint birthday celebration. Then we’d surprise them with a wedding. At first we were going to have only about twenty-five people come but then it mushroomed to over 250. We rented a ballroom at the M Resort in Las Vegas, just minutes from our house. Kiki hired this great wedding planner. We had a cocktail reception that we both attended for about ten minutes and then we snuck off and changed into wedding attire and Rita made the announcement to the crowd.

“I know you guys think you are here for a party, but actually Mike and Kiki are going to renew their vows,” she said.

Then the curtain parted and you could see the beautiful aisleway for the wedding. The crowd went crazy. And right before we walked down the aisle, we got into a stupid fight.

We were in the back getting ready to come out and Kiki was going, “Shut the fuck up.” And I was saying, “Fuck you. You shut the fuck up.”

“I don’t want to marry you,” she said.

“I don’t want to marry you either,” I replied.

We were just nervous. You don’t realize the nerves that are generated from reciting your vows in front of all those people. I’d been married twice before but this was the first official wedding for both of us.

But we went ahead with the ceremony and then we had a nice reception. And afterwards, Kiki and I got into another fight. So on our second wedding night, I wound up sleeping on the couch in the suite and Kiki was in the bed. We were always getting into these stupid little rifts, we were both so hotheaded. But in the morning everything was fine and we went home.

It was good that we made up, because Kiki and I had been working for a while on a new vehicle for me. After the HBO pilot wasn’t picked up, we decided to try something else. In October of 2009, Kiki and I had gone to the Venetian to see Chazz Palminteri do his one-man show
A Bronx Tale
. We were both just blown away by the way he could captivate the entire audience for an hour and a half just by himself.