Boxing: Tyson's mind the only thing that matters

Mayhem in Memphis: Cool fists or red mist? Lewis' fate may rest on which challenger shows up for grudge match

Long distance information, give me Memphis, Tennessee. Hello, Memphis. What's happening down there in the Deep South? How does it feel to be hosting the richest, and potentially the most explosive, prizefight in history?

Well, on legendary Beale Street there is music in the air but the sound of twanging guitars is drowned by that of tinkling cash registers as the 650,000 residents of Fat City – this is Big Mac America where obesity is said to be greater than anywhere else in the land – rub their chubby hands at the prospect of a $10 million slice of the action when Lennox Lewis and Mike Tyson get to settle their differences at last.

Elsewhere the fight may have been buried beneath an avalanche of footballs, but not in Memphis. Here it is the only show in town, and the most exciting happening since the Pelvis first gyrated.

By any yardstick Memphis is not your usual venue for a heavyweight championship. It is not Las Vegas, New York or Atlantic City. It is Graceland, home of Elvis and rock 'n' roll, the place where Dr Martin Luther King jnr was felled by an assassin's bullet, home of smoked ribs and blue suede shoes.

It is not a fight town, but it is high on southern hospitality, which is why the 22,000 filling the Pyramid Arena on Saturday night will be welcomed with open arms, as well as open palms.

But let's not be too cynical. If Memphians tend to be a little more forgiving than those places which rejected re-housing Tyson the Terrible, maybe it is because they are still trying to make up for the fact that Dr King was killed here, indicating that even this pugilistic pariah is entitled to his civil rights. However it is Tyson's uncivil lefts of which Lewis has to beware. Not to mention his molars.

Lewis's left thigh still bears the imprint of Tyson's teeth after their pre-fight spat in New York and the former champion has had plenty to say from his training base in Maui, though none of it has made sense. Indeed, the last time anything of substance came out of Tyson's mouth it was Evander Holyfield's ear.

Tyson is mad, not just fighting mad but bonkers. He has more or less admitted it. "I'm crazy," he told the Nevada State Athletic Commission before they rejected his application for a licence to fight Lewis in Las Vegas, scene of that nibbling of lobes four years ago. Funnily enough, one of Tyson's heroes is Hannibal – not Lecter the flesh-eating monster, but the one who rode elephants over the Alps.

Quite a historian is Tyson, the ignoble savage, in his saner moments. That is what is so really maddening about the man. He can be captivating, dispensing intelligent views on the great works of literature (which he mugged up on in prison and reform schools). Then, when the red mists descend, he can explode into uncontrollable rages in which he is capable of mindless thuggery and violation of women.

He has a hair-trigger temper which can only be moderated by medication, and the worrying prospect is that he will not be allowed to take this prior to a dope-tested world title fight. The man is a time-bomb in gloves and there are those who fear that while he may enter the ring with the customary white towel draped around his torso he might have to be frogmarched from it in a straitjacket.

Yet while he is reviled, he still has the respect of many in the game whereas Lewis is viewed as something of a heavyweight hybrid with good technique but a suspect chin.

In Memphis, they're calling it the Rumble over the River. Ole Man River, as Paul Robeson used to sing of the Mississippi. Old Men River, more like it.

Here we have boxing's Sunshine Boys, a couple gloved geriatrics with combined ages of 71 engaged in a collision that would be past its sell-by date but for the public demand that has brought it about. It may no longer be a classic, but it could still be an epic, far better value on Sky Box Office than humdrum Hamed, and one that will gross up to $150 million for their respective US TV networks.

Lewis, nearing 37, is the title holder for the World Boxing Council, the International Boxing Federation and the International Boxing Organisation. Perm any one from three and the fact is that he is the main man of the division.

Tyson may be a deranged parody of the fighter he once was as the youngest-ever world heavyweight champion, a debt-ridden desperado who needs the money, but whatever else he may be, he is no coward. Moreover he has absolutely nothing to lose. Except even more of his marbles.

Lewis, on the other hand, puts everything at risk; titles, reputation and perhaps even his faculties. I have always suspected that he really does not fancy fighting an in-shape Tyson, largely because he has never looked comfortable against smaller men who come at him, who, Liston-like, seems unnerved by an opponent who bristles with instability.

This apprehension could prompt him into abandoning the role of Mr Cool, and to charge forward from the bell, hoping he can clock Tyson first and get it over within seconds before any harmful attrition sets in. It is a possible strategy that is known to worry his trainer, Emanuel Steward, who believes the conflict will be searing from the start. "Lennox is going to be hit hard," he says. "But he will take Mike's best shots and stop him around the fourth."

"If Tyson puts the fear of God into him, he'll get beaten," reckons the former heavyweight contender Earnie Shavers, a past master of power punching. "Ten years ago Tyson would have won but now I pick Lewis, providing he doesn't let Mike frighten him into abandoning his plan."

Other good judges, disagree, pointing out at Lewis is susceptible to single-punch shot, as fired by the right hands of Oliver McCall and Hasim Rahman on nights when he seemed to have forgotten how he makes his living. Tyson, even nudging 36, hits with a terrifying, bone-breaking power. Forty three of his rivals have been flattened. But he can also blow up like an old bull elephant as he did against Buster Douglas, then Holyfield in their first fight or blow his top in frustration, as he did notably in their second.

Never mind Tyson's mental condition. I believe the outcome hinges on whether his allegedly reborn body is for real, or cosmetic. If it is, and he puts what is left of his mind to it, Tyson will knock out Lewis inside four rounds.

But if Lewis, abetted by disciplined refereeing from the 6ft 4in former light-heavyweight contender Eddie Cotton, can jump on him, smother his hooks and stab him with his jab in the opening rounds then surely this will be a fight too far for Tyson, who is likely to run out of steam, ideas, or, more worryingly, patience before the scheduled 12 rounds are over.

By the seventh, if Lewis is still on his feet, Mad Mike may find he has finally bitten off more than he can chew, and will be dismantled. Or disqualified. In which case, dial M for mayhem, and don't mention Jailhouse Rock.