BY: DAVID COLEN
Originally Published: April 1, 2007

BY NATURE, journalists are taught to wonder. To question. To doubt. And one thing that's always struck me as particularly odd, bizarre in fact, is that an articulate, well-educated, modest chap from a town called West Ham on the outskirts of London would find himself not only mixed up in the freakish sideshow that is pro boxing's heavyweight division, but on three separate occasions, as its undisputed champion.

See, the class has historically been filled with outrageous, self-important characters. Public loons, if you will. Guys like the braggart Muhammad Ali, who used to boast that he could hospitalize a brick. And the certifiably insane Mike Tyson, who, by all accounts is considered a raving, suicidal, destitute human time-bomb, despite career earnings estimated in the hundreds of millions. And the doltish George Foreman, who once remarked that the referee is the most important man in the ring aside from the two fighters.

So it's dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, the notion of Lennox Lewis as a polite, thoughtful, polysyllabic guy is a mere myth. It's high noon down in Coconut Grove, and Lewis and I are seated at an outdoor table on a sidewalk in front of Mr. Moe's. My skittishness vanishes almost immediately. That is, once Lewis orders the Mahi-Mahi and asks our server which "accoutrements" come with the fish.

After a quick bite, about which neither of us was terribly pleased, Lewis and I stroll down Commodore Plaza. As if I wasn't already convinced that Lewis is entirely different from any of his peers, he raises his right arm during our walk-and-talk and gestures down the block to a joint where he "play[s] chess" every now and again.

A DISTINGUISHED CAREER
Retired from boxing and settled down with his wife and two small children on Miami Beach, Lennox Lewis looks no worse for his fight-night wear and tear, save for a face full of gray peach-fuzz. It's been nearly four years since Lewis has laced up a pair of gloves, his final bout coming in a title defense at Staples Center in Los Angeles against the Ukranian journeyman Vitali Klitschko. That bout was stopped in the sixth round because of multiple cuts to Klitschko's left eye, putting the champ's career record at 41-2-1.

It takes a wee bit of prodding, but Lewis sheepishly reveals to me that his take from that contest was $30 million. "Actually, you have to cut that number in half right away because of taxes," he says, in obvious embarrassment. "And then you almost have to do it again once everyone involved gets their piece."

Fair enough. Still a helluva long way from the roughly $10,000 he received for his very first professional fight, a second-round TKO over someone named Al Malcolm almost 14 years to the day since his final one.

Indeed, the career of Lennox Lewis was a distinguished one. For starters, he retired as heavyweight champion, something done previously by only two other men – Rocky Marciano and Gene Tunney. And when the WBC stripped the blubbery and cowardice Riddick Bowe of its title, awarding it to Lewis, he became the first British heavyweight champ since 1897.

Lewis also defeated every opponent he faced in the professional ranks. In consecutive encounters with Hasim Rahman back in 2001, Lewis first lost in South Africa before winning at Mandalay Bay.

And he felled Oliver McCall at the Hilton in Las Vegas in 1997, avenging his first-ever defeat, a second-round setback at the Wembley Arena two-and-a-half years earlier. It was a bout that clearly was stopped way too soon by referee Jose Guadalupe Garcia, who intervened after Lewis was knocked to the canvas, but quickly arose three seconds later. "What happened in that first fight," laughs Lewis, before taking a swig of his oversized Coke, "is that my chin just happened to be in the way of his right hand."

FACING IRON MIKE
Of course, the bout casual fight fans will remember most from Lewis's career is his penultimate one, a meeting with Tyson at the Pyramid in Memphis.

The encounter was marred by Tyson's pre-fight press conference tirade, which was as inexplicable as it was rambling and inarticulate. In it, the once-convicted felon charged toward Lewis, totally unprovoked, and when the two men and their respective entourages were separated, Tyson proceeded to curse and make lewd, overtly sexually suggestive comments and gestures at the media.

Tyson also made mention of the fact that he wanted to "eat" his opponent's offspring for breakfast, even though Lewis had no children at the time. "My mother even called me after that and asked what Mike was talking about," recalls Lewis. "I think he was going through a lapse at that time."

To the surprise of many, including those in the psychiatric community, the bout actually took place, with Lewis leaving a bloodied and badly beaten Tyson supine on the canvas. Despite it all, Lewis tells me that to this day he harbors no ill-will toward Tyson, confiding the two men even speak on occasion. "We know a lot of the same people," says Lewis. "So from time to time, I'll ask how he's doing or to talk with him."

Tyson and Lewis have a long history, although they never fought each other for a paycheck until the twilight of their careers. They met up as amateurs back in 1983, as Lewis, representing Canada, where he'd moved to be with his mother at age 12, emerged victorious on his way to the Junior World Super Heavyweight Championship in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic.

BEFORE THE GLORY
Lewis remained an amateur at a time when many of his peers, Tyson included, opted to turn pro. In fact, it wasn't until after the 1988 Summer Games, after he'd achieved his dream of earning an Olympic gold, when Lewis made the transition. He'd come up short four years earlier, losing to Tyrell Biggs in Los Angeles.

But as a more mature and a more polished 23-year-old, Lewis made quick work of his three opponents before meeting Riddick Bowe for the gold. His battle with Bowe was over as quickly as it started, with Bowe receiving one standing eight-count in Round Two before a TKO was declared mere moments later.

Bowe had his chance at a rematch with Lewis, but he declined. So intent on not facing Lewis for a second time was Bowe that he relinquished one of his three titles, demonstratively tossing the WBC belt into a trash can. "I am the heavyweight champion of the world and I withdraw my recognition of the WBC," said Bowe back in 1993. "For as long as I am champion, I will not recognize or defend this dishonest belt."

Just so. With a 22-0 mark, Lewis was declared the new WBC champion.

UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL
I don't think it would be fair to say Lewis is intensely private; he just doesn't go around flaunting his wealth - or the fact that he went and married a former Miss Jamaica first runner-up, Violet Chang, whose has the same first name as Lewis's mother.

The couple met at resort in her homeland. Lewis had come by from his hotel to use the gym; Chang was prepping for a pageant. And in a profession that celebrates the gaudy, the flashy, and the tacky, Lewis, who'd rarely, if ever, be seen with women in public, was often accused of being gay. An unconscionable sin in professional sports, let alone the most testosterone-laden of them all. So rampant were the rumors that at one point Lewis felt compelled to declare his heterosexuality to the Daily Telegraph back home.

Truth be told, life after boxing couldn't be any better for Lennox Lewis. When I ask how he's dealing with the down-time of not having any place to be at any certain time during the week, he reminds me there was lots of down-time in between fights. Lewis is currently finishing a documentary and is kicking around the idea of opening an international boxing academy. At the time of his retirement, he expressed some interest in starting a music label, but he hasn't done so yet. "A lot of people think I have one," he shrugs, "and they're always handing me CDs and cassettes."

Then there's his weekly pickup game at a rec center off Miami Gardens Drive, but when I ask how his jump shot is coming along, Lewis offers a quiet chuckle. Besides, parenthood is proving as demanding as anything he's ever undertaken. His daughter, Ling, is about to celebrate her first birthday; his son, Landon, is a rambunctious two-and-a-half-year-old who is every bit as mischievous and playful as was Lewis during his formative years.

"With fatherhood, every day brings new challenges, so now I know what my mother was going through," says Lewis, whose father wasn't part of his life. "I would say that I was a handful. I was a terror. And he's just like me. That's why my patience is grand with him. It may take 12 times to call him, but eventually he'll come."

Further proof about what goes around.