Don King takes old hustler act to Egypt to sell King of the Nile bout

http://www.theguardian.com/sport/2014/jul/26/don-king-old-hustler-act-egypt-king-nile-bout-boxing

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Who is Don King? As Muhammad Ali said, he is who he wants to be. Right now, he is 82 and at least a couple of fights away from slipping into the sort of quiet retirement Ali has embraced. “Ana Masry! Ana Masry!” King shouts, as, long gone midnight, we stroll in the ancient streets of Cairo, trailed by bemused children and puzzled adults, most of whom are still winding down from the rigours of the 25th day of Ramadan. Only five to go – and a few hours yet of their new friend.

“I am an Egyptian!” King translates loudly, for himself and the caravan of waist-high fans who follow him from one bazaar to the next. “Sisi! I love Sisi!” he bellows in call-and-response style above the insistent hum of the packed squares of Gamaleya, where Muslims, Jews and Christians have long lived side by side, and where Egypt’s latest president, Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, grew up.

Gamaleya is an oasis under the stars. Once admitted – after the sort of niggling objection by a guard that would earn him a place on the gate at Lord’s – we walk unmolested down dark alleyways, then emerge into more bright lights, clinking of coffee cups and raucous, happy chat. You half expected Peter Lorre to emerge from a doorway, whispering entreaties to follow him to a nightclub.

As King shuffles on his royal progress, men and women in small cafes briefly put aside their hookah pipes and glasses of hibiscus cold tea to gaze at this elderly American Pied Piper, who seems to be paying homage to their leader, Sisi, a career soldier persuaded to run for office and who emerged from last month’s elections with a mandate from 22 million of the 23 million Egyptians who voted, but whose authority over them owes as much to hope as desperation after years of civil unrest and the grind of poverty.

While turmoil rages in the region, Sisi, a conservative, middle-class Muslim and no friend of the deposed Muslim Brotherhood or the radical Hamas faction in control of nearby rocket-ravaged Gaza, is trying to help US secretary of state John Kerry secure a meaningful ceasefire there.

Meanwhile, King, the Only-In-America fight-game hustler for the past 40 years and more but until recently down for the count, has discovered another land to conquer. He has come armed with a weapon that many a boxer, TV television executive and the occasional despot has found irresistible: charm. He also brings his grin, bad jokes and atrocious poetry, as well as the familiar mangled literary and historical references, all bolstered by energy that would sap the will of someone half his age.

King knows what people think of him. He has known it since his days as a young numbers racketeer in Cleveland, Ohio. He knows – and says still – they (meaning anyone vaguely of the white establishment) do not altogether trust or understand him. And he remains determined to prove them wrong one last time.

King has not come to Egypt with a solution to the Middle East crisis – although he will gladly offer his opinion, if asked, and insists he will also “do my best” to persuade Sisi to release the three al-Jazeera journalists jailed last month on charges of aiding terrorists and endangering national security. No, as has been his mission since his serendipitous association with Muhammad Ali began in the 70s, he is here to sell a world heavyweight title fight, this time between his WBC champion, Bermane Stiverne, of Haiti via Canada and Las Vegas, and the awesome American hitter Deontay Wilder.

When we meet, he is in a TV studio schmoozing a celebrated local presenter called Youssef Hosseiny. During the interview, I sit with a translator tasked to convert King’s ramblings into Arabic for transmission the following day. “What is he saying?” she says repeatedly. “What was that? I don’t get any of this.”

However, he seems to have made an impression on Hosseiny, whom he declares is “a handsome young devil” and who has hardly had to say a word in 45 minutes. On the way back to our hotel, King expands on his mission.

“I’m here to fight for peace,” he says. King mentions the legacy of Anwar Sadat, Jimmy Carter and the 1978 Peace Accord. He puts Sisi alongside Sadat in Egyptian history. “He’s another visionary,” he says. “He’s got the chance to change the whole spectrum. In prizefighting you can have a return match. You can’t have a return match with the guns and the knives. But Sisi is the voice of the people. He can make this happen. I want to do something that has never been done before.”

As much as that will raise eyebrows, King has previous. He has schmoozed presidents before – not all of them on the respectable side of the ledger. But he’s here and he’s working hard. We take a trip out to Giza, to look at the Pyramids. If the fight happens in Cairo, he says the government would have to build a stadium here, and provide security – just as Mobutu Sese Seko did in Zaire for the Rumble In The Jungle in 1974. But there’s an eerie silence. No tourists. And we’re standing in front of one of the seven wonders of the world, as King keeps reminding his hosts.

“If they was happy with their tourism, you wouldn’t have no skinny camels walkin’ ’round here,” he says. “You’d have nice, big plump camels!”

What we’ve got are quite a lot of skinny kids, trainee hustlers trying to skim a few bucks off the greatest salesman of 20th century sport. For the first time that day, his face lights up. He ignores pleas by the “man from the ministry” to stop, as this is not the image they want.

“Let ’em come and do their thing!” he shouts. “Let ’em earn some damn money, man!” And they do. They beam like the little hucksters they are, pushing each other out of the way to move their postcards and miniature pyramids. King barters, knocking them down then up again, settling on what sounded like $6 for the best of them, giving the others a fiver each. They are as happy as they probably have been in months.

This, though, is a microcosm of a bigger societal problem. This is a country hanging by a financial threat. Tourism is at the core of national earnings, because you’re not going to see a lot else for sale if you come here. They put their past out on the stall and ask you to take a look. Hopefully you’ll pay for the privilege. King speaks that language. It is not a lot different to what he has done all his life.

And only King would think of trying to hold a major boxing event between two foreigners in a country and city whose last significant fistic guest was Chris Eubank in 1996, when, promoted by London property developers posing as representatives of the Jordanian royal family – and who promised to have Omar Sharif sitting ringside – he stopped a 23-year-old Argentinian of towering obscurity, Luis Dionisio Barrera, with a polite tap to the belly in round five. The assembled audience – nearly all of whom were dragooned military cadets – applauded dutifully and went home.

King has higher ambitions. He also wants to bring Aretha Franklin, Bruce Springsteen and the remaining members of the Jacksons (with maybe a hologram of Michael) to head a musical extravaganza not unlike the one that gathered in Kinshasa to accompany the Rumble. King followed that up with the Thrilla in Manila in 1975, wars which stripped the dual conqueror Ali of the last shreds of his greatness.

However, to produce his third ace – the King of the Nile is the working title – King needs the trust and understanding of a president and his country, a place torn between its glorious past and uncertain future. I’m no expert in the nuances of Middle East politics – I’m not sure I even understand Don King – but there does appear to be good rapport there. And lots of challenges. What drives him is not just the immediate goal, however, but the need to prove his detractors wrong. This is about redemption for him, too. He has not had anyone like Ali or Mike Tyson in a long while.

“Stiverne is the next Tyson,” he declares, realising you will not believe that – although the new champion is pretty lively and did a convincing number on Chris Arreola to win the title vacated by Vitali Klitschko. “He’s got power in both fists. If he keeps a level head and his feet on the ground, he’s going to be a tremendous asset.”

To whom? Stiverne will do well to survive against Wilder – although, who is to say King would not leave with the winner, whichever way the fight goes? He did just that in Jamaica in 1973 after all, riding to the ring in Joe Frazier’s limousine, departing with his arm around the conqueror, George Foreman. That’s for the future. There are no guarantees.

Egypt is weighed down by an economy more sluggish than the Nile and there is, of course, fighting of an altogether more serious kind on its doorstep. Egypt is not directly involved but Sisi is no friend of Hamas, whose Gaza stronghold Egypt continues to blockade as the rockets rain down daily on innocent citizens seeking sanctuary in hospitals, schools and bombed-out buildings while the politicians howl and posture.

King sees the glaring anomaly of selling a fist fight to a nation and a region heartily sick of real fighting. Yet against all odds and reason, he seems to have won over his hosts – or at least one significant member of his welcoming party this week. In conversation with the minister for tourism, Hisham Zazou, it became clear he sees this fight as a chance to persuade the missing millions of tourists that it is safe to visit Egypt again. “It’s been tough the past few years,” Mr Zazou told me. “In 2010, we had 15 million tourists, generating $12.5bn, more than twice the revenue from the Suez Canal, which was $5bn. In 2013, there were just 9.5 million tourists, and less than $6bn in revenue. We have suffered a lot, and we welcome events such as [that proposed by] Don King. We are committed to [spending money] on infrastructure [for the fight], and to service all of the debt.”

That is a considerable commitment – yet to be ratified by Sisi, and still to be fleshed out and delivered upon by King. But the kernel of an outlandish plan seems at least to have a chance of growing – if not like a tree in the desert, at least a sizeable bush.

After a hectic few days, we are sitting in one of the traditional coffee houses of Cairo, in the early hours of the morning, with King’s small entourage. He is tired but far from dispirited. When he arrived, he was not sure if he thought this was a good idea. Even by his standards, it was crazy. But he had enjoyed it. He liked the people immensely, and they seemed to like him. I remark that he seemed happiest when around children. “Yeah …” I imagine he might leave it there. It’s late, getting on for 3am. It’s been a long, hot day. “Innocence, man. You can’t buy innocence.”

We get up and go. King has more calls to make. The next day, he talks to Mr Zazou again, and is encouraged. He is staying on for talks with President Sisi. But President Sisi is a busy man. He has a war to stop. Don waits by the phone.

If the president gets back to King, he might just pull this thing off. If not? “Going to Mexico, man. Love those people down there.” It does to keep your options open in boxing.