Wild thing Tyson finds refuge

Ah, that's more like it. Those around him tell you here - and, as usual, there's a whole strutting, 30-strong army of them - we are going to see shades of the old brutal, destructive Tyson this weekend. "I'd go as far as to say he's a much better fighter than he used to be," said his trainer Tommy Brooks.

This is, of course, good old-fashioned boxing tosh. After all he's been through, the 35-year-old Tyson can only ever be a shadow of the bull-necked colossus who cut a swathe through the heavyweight ranks in the late 80s. America has lost interest in him, which more than anything explains why he's ended up on his European tour and why these days he only beats patsies - or in Nielsen's case, make that pastries.

Maybe, in a division full of ageing, uncertain and unconvincing luminaries, he is still a genuine contender but, in the ring, he hasn't had anything resembling a fight since defeating Francois Botha in January 1999. It's his enduringly complex persona and the memory of what he was which keeps us wondering as he quietly lisps about his determination to again become undisputed heavyweight champion.

It says much about his charisma that the fight has been hailed here as the biggest sporting event to be staged in Denmark. Ever. Journalists from rival tabloids hang around in his hotel on the offchance that he'll get into some of the bullshit he was talking about.

Early last week, they caught him visiting a strip club. Then there was some rubbish about him entertaining a couple of groupies in his room and "a wild party on the 26th floor!".

Anyway, just to be on the safe side, Tyson has barely left his hotel room since, except to train.

Even when he did venture down to the bar last Saturday night and, bizarrely, ended up watching Denmark's World Cup thrashing of Iceland on the telly and cheering in particular the ruthless tackling of his unlikely new hero, Everton's Danish midfielder Thomas Gravesen, it made headlines.

Now, every day, his manager Shelly Finkel intercepts the mail at Tyson's suite, looking for danger. "Yesterday, he got this big calendar sent him from a place called ' Strippers', with pictures and the message underneath 'We are discreet. No-one will know you're here'," says Finkel with a sigh. "Well, the best way for people not to know is not to go. Mike's taken that on board."

Yet strangely, for all the inevitable sensationalism that he attracts here, Copenhagen obviously still feels like a comforting refuge for Tyson. There is none of the mania which surrounded his visit to England last year for the Julius Francis walkover, only the understated curiosity of about 70 fans and media who wait for him to emerge from the fitness centre where he trains daily.

It is obviously an escape from the latest allegations back in Vegas from a woman who's accused him of rape. He's not missing New York either. It was quite poignant to hear him muse about being a kid tending his pigeon coop on a Brooklyn rooftop when he used to look at the "twin towers" of the World Trade Centre, wondering what on earth they were.

"It was pretty wild seeing those planes disappear inside them. Overwhelming," he pondered. "I haven't been back to New York. I heard it's pretty much under siege and I don't want to experience that. I like it over here."

Over here, he seems comfortable. Yes, he was bored by being cooped up in his hotel room but he still loved the "really cool" city. Next stop, he pondered, could be a trip to China because, as he explained incomprehensibly, "I'm part of the whole culture".

Asked about life beyond boxing, he reckoned he'd probably never become a trainer but would spend more time with his kids because "I've not been much of a father to them".

That he should offer to ponder the meaning of life, the world and everything in the middle of fight week suggested a man who, as he likes to claim, is at last finding peace of mind. The more cynical observer, though, might wonder if this particular laid- back demeanour had something to do with the anti-depressant medication he has reportedly been taking ever since he was left morose after his last fight against Andrew Golota a year ago. Brooks just shrugs: "I don't know if he takes medication or not - he's human, just like everyone else."

Yet, of course, Tyson is like noone else. Mad and ugly on Sunday, charming and grown- up on Wednesday, who can ever fathom him? But as long as he possesses that ever-present threat of danger, he'll keep drawing us back even when we know his best days must be long gone.

Listening to him here, for all his fighting talk, you know that he knows they must have. Asked to reflect on his incredible 15-year journey from world champ to global curio, he just shrugged: "It's gone by so quick - old too soon, smart too late."

Nobody dared suggest to him that it's never too late to get smart.