Boxing: Lewis strips off his sweat-shirt to expose Tyson hype

British world champion to counter Iron Mike's assertion that he has returned to being the baddest man on the planet

Lennox Lewis is opening the gates of his training camp in the Pocono hills of Pennsylvania today. It is a measured, if not entirely matching, response to the hospitality Mike Tyson displayed at his own establishment in Hawaii last week. Tyson also threw in a tour of his mind, a piece of generosity which was not universally appreciated, and especially by those who, as a result of the experience, still find it necessary to go to sleep with the lights on.

Maybe more relevant to the outcome of the big fight in Memphis on 8 June, however, Lewis will take off his shirt – and invite visitors to watch a work-out and possibly even a sparring session.

In Hawaii, observers noted a leaner look to Tyson's face and the impressive muscle definition of his arms. But, crucially, they had to make do with stories of impressive work in the gym and the almost ritualistic ransacking of a series of hapless sparring partners. Such statements, of course, have been issued routinely from every training camp in the history of boxing, though to be fair to Tyson his have generally been among the more authentic.

Before his first fight with Frank Bruno, in 1989, Tyson's chief sparring partner, James Broad, who was being paid $3,000 a week, reported that terrible things were happening inside Johnny Tocco's, a sweaty old gym in one of Las Vegas's less salubrious quarters. "Mike is very mean right now," said the downcast Broad. "This morning I tried to lighten things up, and said, 'Good morning, champ,' but he just stared at me for a while, and then said, 'I'm going to tear your f...... head off'."

Before his first fight with Evander Holyfield, someone had the gruesome idea of lining up Tyson's sparring partners outside the gym for a team photograph, It was a pitiful sight. One of the them had lost several teeth, and said that he was suffering from a headache. Asked for how long, he rolled his eyes and said, "About three weeks." But that was six years ago.

Six months can be a long time in boxing; six years, especially when you have been bouncing around lap-dancing joints, not to mention prison cells, can impinge on eternity. By baring almost all, and putting in some businesslike work, Lewis will certainly most effectively counter some of the more outrageously optimistic interpretations of Tyson's latest declaration that he has returned to being the baddest man on the planet.

Lewis will no doubt also point out that Tyson was saying pretty much the same thing in Copenhagen last October, before he took six rounds to reduce Brian Nielsen, known locally as Mr Pastry, to a point of double-vision and surrender. Lewis himself has had plenty of incentive to come into the ring for Tyson in optimum condition after last year's breathless, lumbering disaster against Hasim Rahman in Johannesburg, which he rectified last November only after honing himself to his best condition in several years. "I will not make that mistake again," said Lewis.

Tyson's capacity to repeat mistakes is, of course, well documented, not least on police jotters, and the New York fight man Don Majeski is quick to point out the totally erroneous impression created by Muhammad Ali when he showed up for his fight against Larry Holmes in 1980 preeningly pretty and slimmed down to his best fighting weight. "Ali looked a million dollars but he couldn't fight for two cents," recalls Majeski. "Tyson may look a lot better than he has done in recent years, but is it for real, or is it cosmetic? It doesn't matter how many times Tyson says he's going to kill Lewis and eat his unborn children, sooner or later he has to answer that question. At this point it is the only one that matters."

But beyond those provoked by Tyson's careening psyche, and his ability to stay within the law for another month, there is at least one other question intriguing the fight crowd. It concerns the identity of the fight referee. The nomination of the Tennessee commission is Bill Clancy, an official not known to the New York and Las Vegas boxing cognoscenti and who, rather alarmingly, is said not to have previously refereed a world-title fight. "This," says Majeski, "could very well be an absolute disaster. One of the better picks for the fight is Lewis by disqualification. The tension in the Memphis Pyramid arena is, in my opinion, going to be just about unprecedented, and we have to remember Tyson not only talks crazy, he acts crazy. He is likely to do anything if Lewis establishes any kind of advantage and he sees everything being jabbed away."

Meanwhile, the hype will move up another notch in Pennsylvania today. Lewis, being Lewis, the jump will, however, be relatively modest. He will talk about his mission in boxing, the latest challenge of which is the removal of Tyson from the consideration of civilised society, and this no doubt will create a few yawns. His consolation will be that he will have everyone's attention come 8 June. That is when the talking will stop and Mike Tyson will finally have to take off his shirt. His great fear, be sure is not death or defeat, but of being seen to be naked.