Oliver McCall says he doesn’t want to get in Don King’s hair, a good idea because you never know what you’ll find there.
But the day will come when the heavyweight champion whispers his dream into the ear of the heavyweight promoter.
“I want to fight Mike Tyson in my hometown of Chicago,” McCall was saying Monday. “He’s going to get out of prison soon, and I’m going to keep boxing at least till then. It will be the biggest money bout of all time, it will be history, and I want it to be in Chicago.
“I haven’t even told this to Don. You’re the first to know. Are you going to print it? We could fight in that new building there, where the Bulls are. Or we could do it outside, so everybody can see it. We could fight where the Bears play, at Soldier Field. We could put a ring right on the 50-yard line, right over the grass.”
There is no grass on the 50-yard line at Soldier Field, of course, but why sweat the details? Point is, fame and fortune have not changed McCall since he shocked the sweet science by stopping Lennox Lewis in London last month for the World Boxing Council crown. Though McCall, wife Alethia and their six children now reside in Virginia, there is still a soft spot in his hard belly for Chicago.
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“My dad still lives on the South Side,” McCall said. “He’s the one who gave me my nickname, `The Atomic Bull.’ He used to be a bouncer at a joint there. Blackjack in one hand, brass knuckles in the other. Nobody messed with him, including me. There were nine kids in our family.”
A tough kid from a tough neighborhood, McCall admits being too lazy to work then but energetic enough to steal. Even romance was difficult. Alethia’s parents wanted him nowhere near their house, so he would camp out in an abandoned van across the street, sleeping and waiting for them to depart. Now, McCall sits in a $150,000 Mercedes, given him by King as a bonus for dethroning Lewis.
“Don has shown me the light,” McCall said. “I pinch myself every day.”
What he finds is muscle. In McCall’s earlier days as a professional he grazed with the best of them, binging on beer and pizza. But he was a lean 231 pounds in London, and promises never to eat himself out of that Mercedes like James “Buster” Douglas, who beat McCall and Tyson before becoming a dirigible. The Hindenburg crashed, and so did Douglas.
“Not me,” McCall said. “I’ve seen what it’s like at the bottom, and what it’s like at the top, and I like this too much. I’d like to do something positive for my old neighborhood near Comiskey Park. I don’t know why we fight wars against Iraq in this country. We have our own war on our streets, in the ghettoes. But before I retire, I’ve got a lot of rumblin’ to do.”
McCall, 29, was supposed to fight next month in Boston against Pete “The Hurricane” McNeeley. But-and here’s another news flash-that happening probably won’t occur until January. Unless McNeeley starts throwing garter belts around.
“That’s what did it in London,” McCall said angrily. “Lewis and his people disrespected me, my mother, my family. He tossed garter belts at us, me and Don. I knew then I would win. Now, I’ll fight anybody but Lewis and wait for Tyson.”
There’s no telling what frame of mind Tyson will be in upon his scheduled release next May. But, having floored Tyson at least once during their 300 rounds of sparring, McCall cannot imagine being awed if the moment arrives.
“If anything, we know each other too well,” McCall said. “That can make for a great fight, or a stinker, but it will be great. My last fight, in Chicago, where I had my first fight. Then I can retire and become Chicago’s next black mayor. Are you going to print that?”
By all means, champ. Just don’t get in Don King’s hair, unless you’re looking for a stray garter belt.