Mike Tyson and Jake Paul’s fight is a grift and a betrayal to boxing, writes OLIVER HOLT

Let’s be honest about Mike Tyson’s ‘fight’ with Jake Paul in Dallas on Friday night – it has got about as much relevance to sport as an episode of the Great British Bake-Off.

It’s the Party Hole at LIV Las Vegas where the attraction is the dancing DJ, not the golf.

It’s a Demolition Derby at a state fair. It’s Jesse Owens racing a horse. It’s Kanye West throwing out the first pitch.

It’s a kid trying to score a penalty against a bloke dressed as a dinosaur at half-time at the Emirates Stadium.

All sport is entertainment but not all entertainment is sport. I would not argue that Tyson-Paul is not entertainment because I would be there if I could and I will probably pay to watch it on television.

Mike Tyson’s return to the ring on Friday is entertainment but should not be classed as sport

The former world champion at 58 will face YouTuber-turned-boxer Jake Paul, 27, in Dallas

The former world champion at 58 will face YouTuber-turned-boxer Jake Paul, 27, in Dallas

We’re all talking about it, too. And a lot of us are writing about it. But it’s not sport. Not to me, anyway.

Tyson-Paul is a grift. It’s a barrel load of dollar bills dressed up in sport’s clothes to inveigle you. Its only worth is in its cultural significance because it is, sadly, a signpost to the direction sport is heading.

It is another signal of sport’s submission to money and the triumph of image over competition. And even if it is hard to admit it sometimes, perhaps it is also a pointer to what a new Netflix generation of sports fans want.

It is a fight of eight two-minute rounds tailored to the age of the shrinking attention span. It’s a highlight package. It’s bitesize, although Evander Holyfield might not appreciate that inference.

The ‘fight’, at the AT&T Stadium, is a sister to the idea that Cristiano Ronaldo is still one of the greatest players in the world because he is scoring goals and striking poses in the Saudi Pro League.

It is a brother to the notion that Inter Miami are one of the best 32 teams in the world because Lionel Messi plays for them and should qualify for next summer’s Club World Cup, even though they just got knocked out in the first round of the MLS play-offs.

The Tyson-Paul fight is a sister to the idea that Cristiano Ronaldo is still one of the greatest players in the world because he is scoring goals and striking poses in the Saudi Pro League

The Tyson-Paul fight is a sister to the idea that Cristiano Ronaldo is still one of the greatest players in the world because he is scoring goals and striking poses in the Saudi Pro League

The event appears to be a pointer to what a new Netflix generation of sports fans want

The event appears to be a pointer to what a new Netflix generation of sports fans want

The fight has pathos and nostalgia for a fighter once known as the Baddest Man on the Planet

The fight has pathos and nostalgia for a fighter once known as the Baddest Man on the Planet

It’s a cousin to WWE, to Tiger and Rory’s TGL golf league, and to those horrendous celebrity soccer matches where someone who calls himself iShowSpeed actually seems to think he’s a player. It’s sport gone wrong. It’s sport’s dystopia.

Tyson-Paul carries poignant elements of pathos and nostalgia and, in many observers, it provokes a feeling of disgust but that is not enough to make it sport, either.

Friendly football matches aren’t sport because the result doesn’t matter. It’s the same with those pre-season tours that Premier League clubs embark on every summer. They’re not sport. They’re commercial exercises to be endured for cash.

That’s why American television executives are so keen to drag regular season Premier League games to the States: because they’re real.

Look, I’m not saying that it does not take courage to get in the ring with Mike Tyson. It takes courage to get in a ring with anyone, let alone the fighter who was once known as the Baddest Man on the Planet. I got scared just asking him a question at a press conference.

But I’m not sure that Tyson-Paul is real. It’s weird. It’s sad. It’s a circus. It’ll make a lot of people a lot of money and it will generate an awful lot of hits on social media. But that doesn’t make it sport. It makes it a betrayal of sport.

It’s a show and it’s an extravaganza. It’s a red carpet. It’s a photo opportunity. it’s a marketing exercise. It’s an earner. It’s a shouting match and a chance to posture and to promote.

The event is a chance to posture and to promote, but it will make a lot of money for people

The event is a chance to posture and to promote, but it will make a lot of money for people

Paul first found fame by performing stunts and pranks, but the joke will be on us on Friday

Paul first found fame by performing stunts and pranks, but the joke will be on us on Friday

And even if the rematch between Katie Taylor and Amanda Serrano is the highest quality contest on offer on Friday night in Texas, the evening will be a giant celebration of America’s new Donald Trump-Elon Musk-Joe Rogan manosphere.

It’s an offshoot of sport. It’s something grafted on to sport. It’s a leech latching on to a host and sucking for all it is worth. I hope neither man is injured but, apart from that, I’m not sure I care about the result because the result doesn’t matter.

Instinctively, I’d like Tyson to win, I suppose, because he was once a great sportsman. And if, at the age of 58, with a whole of host of serious medical episodes behind him, he beats Paul, it will at least expose once and for all the emptiness of so-called sporting careers built on the shifting sands of modern celebrity.

Jake Paul first found fame by performing stunts and pranks. On Friday night, the joke will be on us.

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