If you're sincere, Mike, you'll donate your purse to charity

     Mike Tyson said he was sorry Monday. In a sport where you're lucky if you can believe some of the people some of the time, that may have to be enough.
      But I'm here to say it isn't.
      I'm here to say I want the former heavyweight champ to do more.
      I want Mike Tyson to take the $27 million -- or whatever his final purse will be after the Nevada State Athletic Commission eventually takes its legal bite -- and donate it to charity.
      Fifty-four charities. Five hundred thousand dollars each.
      Every last penny of every last dollar.
      Mike, it's not the least you can do. It's the least you must do.
      I stand behind my post-fight argument that the sin you committed in the ring Saturday night against World Boxing Association champion Evander Holyfield at the MGM Grand Garden is, from a professional boxing standpoint, unforgivable.
      You NEVER should be allowed to fight again. No one who grinds his teeth into someone's ear as if it were a Philly grinder should be permitted to step into a boxing ring again.
      But your seemingly heartfelt words softened my position on you as a person. You proved you are forgivable.
      As you stood Monday before the gaggle of microphones and cameras -- oddly, in an MGM ballroom adjacent to where World Championship Wrestling was preparing for one of its "Monday Nitro" functions -- I could feel your palpable contrition as you read from a prepared statement.
      Your lips trembled, and -- no offense intended -- you bit them occasionally. Your breathing was heavy. You used your left hand to steady yourself as you stood, alone, at the podium, almost as if you were still staggered by one of Holyfield's right-field rights.
      As many of my journalistic brethren shrugged off your words as nothing more than spin control, I believed you when you apologized, in order, to the world, your family, the NSAC, the Indiana judge who figuratively holds the prison cell key should you stray (further) from your probation, the MGM, Showtime, your promoter Don King, your "team," and "this wonderful city of Las Vegas that has hosted so many famous boxing events."
      And although it took you several minutes to get to him, you apologized to Holyfield.
      "Evander, I am sorry," you said.
      Those couldn't have been easy words to speak, but I believed you meant them.
      It is my understanding that even before you stood naked unto the world Monday, you had spoken to Holyfield by phone and apologized. Since you took no questions after your 4-minute, 16-second statement, I have no verification of it. Nor were any of us in the press permitted to ask your co-managers, John Horne and Rory Holloway, or King, who stood quietly in a back room.
      (Don King standing quietly? Boxing historians, mark that date down in history!)
      Next to your apology to Holyfield, the words that struck the sincerest chord with me were that you've reached out to both your God and the medical profession for help "to tell me why I did what I did ..."
      Admitting you have a problem is a quantum step to recovery, Mike. And should you put as much commitment and dedication into seeking and following personal and professional help as you have into preparing for your many title fights, you'll become a champion again.
      A champion to yourself and your family.
      But by donating your megamillion-dollar purse to charity, you again can be a champion of the world.
      No, it won't be easy forfeiting $27 million. Not even for a man who has more money than he'll ever spend.
      But, Mike, prove to everyone that your words of contrition Monday carry the same devastating punch as your hands have so often in the ring. Turn the money over to a neutral entity (nothing with Don King in its name). With your input, 54 worthy charities could benefit from what you termed as your "mistake."
      Then have an independent agency make sure every dollar, every penny gets to those charities. Just think of all the good you can bring out of something so very, very bad.
      Mike, Monday was your 31st birthday. You proved through your words that you're not just one year older, you're one year wiser.
      Now prove you want to be champion again. Don't let your words ring hollow.
     
      Joe Hawk can be reached at 383-0353 or by e-mail at Joe_Hawk@lvrj.com.