By Phenyo Molefe

I sit quietly upon my stool not knowing where to look, nor what thoughts to ponder. I systematically travel the vast array of thoughts and perceptions of ambition, which have formed over time. Perceptions which once fuelled an intensity of a hope, easily surpassing all sense. The pedigree of hope that firmly endows its beholder with untarnished moments of brilliance. “ When your hero falls from grace, all fairy tales are uncovered, myths exposed and pain magnified. The greatest pain discovered, is the pain he shares.”

I am a marked child of the eighties; it is I who fell in love with the galvanising enigma of Michael Tyson. I was the child who sought a figure of strength and hope when the presence of a father was no more than a cloak of inexistence. Michael’s story was a story we the children of Temba Township, South Africa cast upon our pedestal; it became our story of triumph as we fought our own battles with a disproportionate injustice.  For those of us who had been forced to acquaint ourselves with childhoods riddled with poverty, he was one of our own, our symbol of hope.  The hope that would sever the harrowing tentacles of abuse, poverty and overwhelming fear. Michael was our vehicle of faith, he possessed the fight and the will to survive forming a catalyst, which charged the dreams that propaganda, had failed to reach. He was our pinnacle of excellence.

Michael the fighter was born of the masterful brilliance of boxing genius Cus D’Amato. The gentleman dedicated his life to the troubled young man within Michael, giving him a sense of purpose. The growing historian fought like a seasoned gladiator, finding the perfect synergy for his brute strength, speed, skill and undeniable rage. He stalked his opponents (many terrorised by a phantom of thee unknown.) launching some of the most devastating combinations ever witnessed in the history of our sport. The unmistakable passion for victory spurred within him a newfound greatness.

It is said that God moves in mysterious ways; however I warn ye all, the devil is no exception, he too has his ways. The devil from Cleveland was clothed with little disguise but a painfully matching Afro, it was that very evil that so stridently rode upon the name of Ali in the most extravagant fashion. We all know that after the Spinks fight, Michael’s  union with the devil was solidified. A relation, which began to breed mutated anger within the heart of young Michael, charged by asymmetrical propaganda. I cannot stand and claim that Michael is without fault or that he is not responsible for some ill-conceived decisions he made. It was he that made the conscious decision to follow King’s scripted words as he left the Catskills connection and the brilliant Kevin Rooney.

Our gladiator temporarily forgot Cus’s advice regarding the dangerous evils in boxing.  We witnessed Michael grow increasingly restless and seemingly confused by the pretentious demons which surrounded his world. The same parasites fed of his soul and dwindling bank balance. We could only sit and watch as pillars of truth echoed distressing signs of gross inconsistencies. Our hero began to crumble as he regretfully fell in love with anger and a hatred fuelled by pain. The very pain notorious for scarring a man’s heart indefinitely. We were of the old school of thought, we sought not to judge a man by that which was merely presented to us but rather measured him by his whole life. How many of us stand in line to pass judgement yet fail to walk a mile in the midst of adversity.

At times misperceived vision is blurred by that which we want to see, the perversion and pain we want to render real. Intermittently the unspoilt eyes of a child perceive for more than what grown men and women will ever see. We saw the undeniable rage, which was brewing self-destruction, however beyond that was a decent and loving individual. An individual that many had failed to portray to us, did we really have to wait for Camille Ewald to reveal Michael’s kindness? Regardless, the world was seemingly not ready for that; we pursued the killing machine one who was supposedly cold and fearless.

I write not in a dismal attempt to justify Michael ‘s life nor to paint a portrayal of contaminated truth. The individual concerned is aware of his sin against others and himself and truly needs no reminding of an occasionally tainted life. Like all of us, Michael’s life has not been without sin but nor has mine. I know no sovereignty, which has bestowed upon me the right to crucify another individual over events which already haunt them, for I, like ye all am also far from glorious perfection. What can be said about the dream that Cus and Michael had; perhaps they knew that how the name ‘Michael Tyson’ would remain a unique aspect of boxing history. It undeniably pertains to each one individually yet to all simultaneously; Irrespective of which side of line you choose to stand the name Michael Tyson is one that will that draw certain thought on our minds forever.

Neither Psychology nor philosophy are my forte, but I have studied no other fighter in the same fashion that I have Michael. However today I witnessed the last remains of what has become a flickering flame in a torrent of winds merely doused out by a name we never knew, Kevin McBride. It was the type of ending I would have never dreamt of nor wished for.  At times I wish that his boxing career had come to an end a long time ago, back to the Spinks fight where a damned union was formed. However this is the reality in life, which we erratically wish would never come to pass. A reality aware to mortal souls, that very little of this world lasts forever.  That is the beauty and unsung honour of this all, those golden moments lingering in our past are neither reborn nor shattered. I bid Michael farewell (In his role as a fighter of the squared ring.) and dare not wish nor hope for any resurrections. He has done enough for our sport; it is now time for him to cast off the burden, which has weighed so heavily upon his formerly young shoulders. My glimmer of hope is all but lost. I hope that Michael triumphs over adversity, learning from mistakes and misfortune as he has clearly done over the past few years. I hope that he will find peace within himself and his children.

What follows is not said to be an absolute truth but rather an expression of my opinion, which through time have become my truth in certain sectors of this life. We may be aware of the fact that purpose for one individual may not hold the same value for another. Some of us go through certain phases in life where we are fully ‘conscious’ of what we deem to be our purpose. Others may execute their purpose with little for simple classifications. It is not my goal to pass judgement upon anyone’s life therefore I am merely making deductions based upon what I have seen and learned. We may read or know of strings of people who have accomplished a lot of things in their lives yet these individuals speak of restlessness and a void that troubles them. At times we may attempt to find peace within superficial elements however we will soon realise that these elements’ utility soon wear off.

Irrespective of how long our flames will burn I am of the mind that we all have a purpose or fulfil certain ‘duties’ in our time. Recurrently this has a strong correlation with how we reach our equilibrium if ever. As a father, a mother, irrespective of who we may be all of us have some role to play. When we are inspired by purpose, an extra ordinary project even simple in man’s eyes; our thoughts may be pushed beyond their orbit. Our minds may slowly begin to transcend limitations and a particular level of consciousness begins to expand into a vast array of fields.

When ‘Forces’, talents and faculties, which once lay dormant, begin to take form; one is sure to discover a greater depth within oneself, the preternatural individual that we have never known in our passing breath. It is for this reason that I embrace pressure and challenges, for at times they act as catalysts for greater things…although unmistakably dangerous in certain cases, combined with other factors they inaugurate prodigious entities. No raging flame burns forever and unashamedly so, for there comes a time for the flames to subdue and make way for spring’s reborn chapters. Like your pigeons, Michael you are free to fly, I hope that you follow your heart in this new chapter of your life. May peace rest upon you indefinitely as you begin to pursue that which truly matters.

* The words in the opening paragraph in inverted commas as the edited words of Tupac’s poem titled “when your hero falls”