Boxing: Memphis feeds on fight fever

By ALAN YOUNG

MEMPHIS - The T-shirts are on sale everywhere. In drug stores, convenience stores, supermarkets and souvenir shops. Under a montage picture of Lennox Lewis and Mike Tyson, the message proclaims: "I saw the fight of the century."

The somewhat down-at-heel Mississippi riverbank city of Memphis - best known until now as the home of Elvis Presley - is in super-hype overdrive for what it sees as its big chance to be internationally famous for something else besides Jailhouse Rock.

The city is not doing it on its own. Part of the attraction is the casinos of Tunica, only a few kilometres south of Memphis but across the state line at Mississippi.

Tunica was once the poorest county in one of the poorest states of the United States. Today, it is home to a glittering, transplanted Las Vegas of lights and slot machines, planted incongruously amid the cotton fields near the Mississippi River.

Tyson is officially based at Fitzgeralds Casino; Lewis is at the nearby Sam's Town.

All the casinos are promoting expensive room-and-see-the-fight deals.

Chuck Pinowski, who runs a hotel industry consulting firm, says the knockout rates are an essential part of the business and just part of American economics.

"The special event drives the demand," he says.

Where there is boxing there is celebrity spotting, and Memphis is certain the stars are coming out.

Those reported to be coming to the city include actors Halle Berry, Denzel Washington, Bruce Willis and Robert De Niro, singer Britney Spears and boxer Evander Holyfield. None has been confirmed.

But for a while, Sam's Town thought it had landed the real biggie in a booking for a suite and rooms for a party of eight, including bodyguards, for Prince William.

"Everyone got in a tizzy about what sort of room we could put him in," the casino's general manager, Maunty Collins, said. (The casino was sure it would be able to feed the heir to the British throne - it has accommodated Lewis' British entourage by adding cottage pie and lamb chops to the menu).

The excitement did not last long.

The booking was from Prince William, but not that one. Said Collins: "This is a Prince William from some small country in Africa. I can't even remember the name of it."

The fight is being held in the Pyramid, a grandiose stadium housed in a shiny steel replica of an Egyptian store pyramid built on the less-than-grandiosely-named Mud Island on the banks of the Mississippi.

When the cheapest tickets - at US$100 ($204) each - went on sale, residents queued for hours, but the average Memphian seems to be fairly underwhelmed by the event. The focus has been on the circus rather than the boxing.

And the circus has provided plenty of entertainment. Lewis was given a parade down Beale St - once the heart of Memphis' blues world and now a tawdry lineup of night clubs and souvenir shops - and was given the key to the city.

Tyson complained loudly that he was not given the same honour; Memphis ignored him.

Last Sunday, Lewis' mother, Violet, went to church. Riding in a 20-seat stretched limousine, she was guarded by two police Swat teams and her own entourage. The church she chose was the Full Gospel Tabernacle of the Rev Al Green, better known as a soul singer and a master of self promotion.

As hype met hype, Green told Violet from the pulpit: "May the best man win. But tell your son to keep his ears out of the way."

Lewis did not attend the service. And in a city known as the "buckle of the Bible belt," he had to have an explanation for his absence. Assistant trainer Harold "Shadow" Knight gave it. Lennox wasn't there, he said, "because he feels the spirit from his mother."

Tyson did not go to church either. But nobody expected him to.

Memphis may not be too concerned about who wins the boxing crown, but Tyson's title as the villain is secure. On Monday, he signed a few autographs as he left a training session.

But he missed five-year-old Camille Dillard, who was clutching a boxing glove for the former champion to sign.

"I think she's a little heartbroken," said a relative as Camille watched Tyson's sporty four-wheel-drive disappear.

On Tuesday, Tyson was to have ended his seclusion with a public workout and a media conference.

The waiting journalists watched him punch speedbags, skip and do exercises, after which he toweled off, paused briefly for photographs and strode off without a word.

"He didn't want to talk," trainer Ronnie Shields said amid the uproar. "He just wants to focus."

The next day Lewis held his media conference. A lavish buffet was laid on and the champ talked - pausing only to play photo opportunity chess with 13-year-old Memphis schoolboy Carlos Harbart.

The difference between the two fighters, said one journalist who attended both conferences, "could not be more clear if Lewis stopped to pet a kitten and then Mike Tyson stopped to microwave one."

Some people are managing to avoid fight fever completely. On Elvis Presley Boulevard, the mini-buses keep right on moving tourists in and out of Graceland, the home in which the rock legend lived and died.

The T-shirt star in the row of souvenir shops lining the street opposite Graceland is not Lewis or Tyson.

And at Fitzgerald Casino, in Tunica, 67-year-old retired school teacher Cleo Short sat feeding quarters into a slot machine, only metres from the mayhem of Tyson's non-media conference.

Asked by a reporter if she knew what was going on, she replied cheerfully: "No, not really. Is it something important?"