ABOUT THE BOOK

 

‘Tyson and I: a journey through life and anger’ is part biography of the former undisputed heavyweight champion of the world; part autobiography of the author’s own life and an examination of addictions, anger and destructive relationships, interspersed – incredibly – with humour throughout!

 

The abusive behaviour and anger-management problems of the author are compared with the violent rages and anti-social behaviour of the iconic boxer and their conflicting reasons for deviant behaviour are examined and parallel lives contrasted via Tyson’s in-and-out of the ring escapades and the author’s journey through legal and illegal means of earning a living; encompassing debt-collecting and massage parlours amongst other more legal forms of employment.

 

It’s also an examination of human frailty and harmful reactions to life’s disappointments but told from a humorous perspective which lightens the violence, abuse and sex-and-alcohol addictions of the protagonists.

 

The book details events from 1986 to 2007 and covers the highs and lows of Mike Tyson’s sensational boxing career and turbulent personal life and the transformation of the author’s psyche, through a period of life-changing analysis of his abusive and violent reactions and their root causes.

 

The book investigates racism; links between genetics and learned behaviour; the effects of childhood incidents upon the adult mind and the ability to learn to understand and control previously debilitating emotions.

Or, simply, read it and enjoy the sarcasm!

 

ISBN: 978-1-4343-1471-0

Order from www.tyson-ajourneythroughanger.com

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 

David Weeks has been a graphic designer, portrait artist, supermarket manager, fork-lift truck driver, martial arts & fitness instructor and has worked with children and adults with disabilities.

David has also been a debt-collector, petty thief, abuser of alcohol and humans, amateur sociopath, run a massage parlour, run a temperature, run for a bus once [but never again…the passengers laugh at you when you miss it!], slept with a lot of emotionally unstable women with dubious STI status but continues to refer to these as ‘good times’, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

 

He’s lived, he’s laughed and cried, he’s had his fill, his share of losing…oh, no, hang on, that was Sinatra, sorry!

 

Anyway, he’s been a boxing fan for most of his life and was captivated by the violent enigma that was ‘Iron’ Mike Tyson. Struck by the similarities between his own erratic emotional behaviour and that of Tyson, David decided to write this book as a guide to anyone who has anger-management problems; an interest in boxing; or who simply enjoy a ‘good read and a laugh’! [‘Cause he’s a funny b*****d.]

 

David now lives in peaceful contentment with his wife and children. [Although some idiot will no doubt come along and ruin it.]

 

SNEAK PREVIEW

[Excerpt from Chapter 10.]

 

‘Meanwhile, I’d met Big Terry. [Not his real name, obviously. His real name was Very Large Terrence but he was sensitive about it.]

Terry was a great laugh to go for a drink with but he had a hair-trigger temper which made me look like Mahatma Gandhi.

Terry was a debt-collector who specialised in collecting usually unrecoverable debts. This was because he had zero morals when it came to death and destruction. It had resulted in him serving time for beating a guy nearly to death. The contrast between his joke-a-minute pub persona and this smash-your-teeth-in ‘heavy’ was startling but it also reminded me somewhat of my own duality, whereby I’d be Mr.Smiley Happy at work – [not my actual job title, obviously!] – and spitting abuse at people in pubs.

Terry recognised this contradiction too and asked if I’d like to accompany him on one of his jobs. This was an eye-opener for me. I thought I could shout abuse and act threateningly towards people but I was a mere puppy compared with Terry. That guy was the king of intimidation. [An island just north of Honduras.]

I stood and watched in silent amazement as he threatened to ‘rip the guy’s head off’, ‘rape his wife’, ‘burn his house down overnight, whilst his children slept’, etc; all imparted at 1,000 decibels. It was no real surprise to me that the man paid what he owed. I was about to reach into my pocket and give ‘Big Terry’ some money myself!

Afterwards, Terry and I went for a drink and discussed the advantages of working as a duo. If they were stupid or psychotic enough not to be frightened by Terry’s ranting madman act, maybe they’d be intimidated by the two of us ranting madly. After all, ranting madly was my speciality!

We placed an advert in the local papers and soon the ‘phone started ringing.

We met with an Asian guy who claimed that he was owed a lot of money by various people, who’d bought goods from him but not paid up. One debtor, he warned us, was “a bit of a nutter”.

This greatly appealed to terry. He liked it when they refused to pay up!

Once ensconced in terry’s car he handed me a gun. Okay, it was only a replica but my rectum thought it was its birthday. Terry assured me that we didn’t need real guns, although he ‘could get some if required’.

“All you do is; whip the gun out quickly and hold it against the side of their head. No bastard’s gonna ask to examine the gun when they’re shitting themselves. You just shout at them that you’re gonna ‘BLOW THEIR FUCKING BRAINS OUT’ and they soon pay up”.

It all made perfect sense to me.

Suited-and-booted, I played Gangster No. 1 to the max. I’d allow my suit jacket to flap open and reveal the butt of the ‘gun’ tucked into my waistband. Even I began to believe that it was real after awhile but then, I was fast losing grip on reality.

Grabbing people ‘round the throat and driving your knee into their groin isn’t a skill you’ll find advertised in your local Job Centre. It also requires a certain lowering of empathy, as you can’t afford to worry about someone’s ability to pay their family food bill when you’re pinning them to the floor and informing them that you’re going to ‘BITE THEIR FUCKING NOSE OFF!’

I had a surfeit of violence and anger running through my veins and I believed in ‘trying anything once’ but I wasn’t so sure that that included trying to be mentally deranged.

Once you start associating with people like Big Terry you’re sucked into their world. It all seems so glamorous; populated with larger-than-life characters.

I’d never been attracted by drugs, yet now I found myself surrounded by people who took extortionate amounts of cocaine and ‘speed’, simply because they wanted a constant ‘high’. This kind of behaviour was not ideal for me to be around, with my own propensity for extravagance.

If it wasn’t wild sex with Liz, it was violence with Terry and, when that buzz started to wane, it was drinking huge quantities of alcohol. My addictive behaviour was oblivious of the consequences. Except…in my quieter, sober moments, I was only too aware.

Drinking with coke-dealers, armed robbers and the like was all very entertaining but, in truth, there are only two types of people in this world: 1. ‘Normal people’ and, 2. ‘Evil amoral psychopaths named Big Terry’

I didn’t want to fall into this second category but I was dangling precariously over the precipice. Prison, to Terry, was an occupational hazard but, to me, was a nightmare prospect. I didn’t want to have my anus widened by a hairy cellmate named Lenny. Nor did I want to play ping-pong for the next twenty years with muggers and rapists. [Though it was preferable to bed-time with Lenny.]