TYSON FURY made the surreal become real. He stands in the centre of the ring, belting out an Aerosmith number to the stadium, to his own wife, to Lennox Lewis. The crowd joins in to take up the chorus. This is the new heavyweight champion of the world and he’s doing things his way.
Fury did near enough everything his own way. After a delay to proceedings to start the fight, which obliged Wladimir Klitschko to wait, Tyson strutted to the ring, swinging loose arms by his sides. Aware of the crowd, he played up to them as he sauntered across the ring canvas. If he wasn’t six foot nine you would call him a scamp. Klitschko, vastly experienced, the elder statesman of the division was meant to teach him a lesson. Yet he could never get Fury under control, while Tyson maintained a cavalier attitude from the first to the last round of the fight.
It’s scarcely believable that Klitschko, with all his experience, never settled into the fight. Fury in contrast was impertinently relaxed. The spark of madness, that had seen him roam through a press conference dressed as Batman, taunt Klitschko, proclaim his own greatness and more, might have been extinguished by the cold truth of stepping in the ring with a technical master. Fury instead weaved his own reality. Two days before the fight Tyson insisted it would be easy. It was never straightforward, but he made it look easier than it should have been.