Mike Tyson's 'Iron Ambition' shares tale of 'crazy trainer' Cus D'Amato | posavski-obzor.info
The article especially sheds light on Tyson's relationship with his former trainer/ guardian, Cus D'Amato. The video below tells a story about an. We don't have a close connection. Too many I don't know if that was good advice at such a young age. Another time Mike Tyson says of his mentor Cus D 'Amato: 'There wasn't a happy muscle in his face.' Photograph. Witnessing Mike Tyson enter a room is akin to watching a comet hurtle through the My mentor, Cus D'Amato, would say, "See that mansion?.
Affirmations — Affirmations, like the visualizations, were another part of the reprogramming techniques Cus used on Tyson. Cus had Tyson repeat various affirmations that were tied to his goals, in bed just before falling off to sleep. Cus would repeat many of the affirmations to Tyson even during the day. Every combination he threw at that mattress became programmed into his subconscious. This soon became a habit that Tyson would take with him into the ring.
Moderate Eating — Cus monitored what Tyson ate every day. If he saw Tyson eating something fattening, like ice cream, he would get in his face to change his behavior. Tyson was always on guard as to what he ate out of fear of retribution from Cus. Self-Improvement Reading — Cus instilled in Tyson a love of reading. He encouraged this behavior daily and provided Tyson with all sorts of historical and biographical books beyond just boxing. Tyson credited those books with helping him understand the way people think and thus, helping him psyche out his opponents.
Learn From Mistakes — In his early amateur bouts, Cus and Tyson would go over all of his mistakes, post-bout, and then correct them in the gym.
MIke Tyson: 'Without Cus D'Amato I might be living in some crummy apartment building'
Cus viewed every one of those early bouts as a learning experience for Tyson. Cus told Tyson that the best lessons came from being defeated. Consequently fighters have either gone to it only occasionally—when they feel their opponent is jabbing without intention to throw the right—or used the cross guard to make it safer as Archie Moore did.
The D'amato method was to slip to the inside of the jab but not to do it by turning the trunk and bending slightly forward—the classical slip—instead bending down deep to the left side, so that the fighter's head was carried well below where the opponent's right straight could come through. When you hear old D'amato students talk about head movement, they often stress that it is throwing the hips out to the right more than it is leaning down to the left. By slipping to the inside of his opponents' jabs, Tyson put himself in perfect position to jump in with his counter punches.
Tyson was good on the inside, but it was never really where he was best. Guys lasted surprisingly long by simply tying him up. Even a thirty-eight year old Larry Holmes tied Tyson up relatively easily through the first three rounds, and only really got caught when he began to tire. Most heavyweights don't understand the tie ups especially well, but Holmes had been through dozens of rounds of sparring with Muhammad Ali so he knew how to hold.
Tyson had techniques there, we could talk for hours about Tyson's double ups, the famous Tyson shift, or his work from the southpaw stance, but unarguably his best moments came as he bridged that distance, on the way in as his opponents panic jabbed at him.
The pressure, the slip and the counter were the essence of Tyson. Where traditionally the jab is a long, lancing, relatively safe weapon, for D'amato's fighters all it did was present cuts of meat. The left rib cage was open for the right hook, the right jaw line was often open for a left hook due to a drooping passive hand, the right temple was wide open for the cross counter.
Tyson's finest hurting blows against his best opponents came as they opened up. Ultimately though, Tyson fell victim to his own hype. The focus was always on what a tremendous hitter Tyson was, rather than how he landed such clean blows. Tyson began to walk his opponents down where before he held back until he was invited in underneath the opponent's blows.
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Much of this had to do with the death of Cus D'amato himself. Much has been made of the relationship between D'amato and Tyson, but all you need know is that D'amato was the role model that Tyson was never lucky enough to have in his youth. The frank conversations that Tyson has had on camera about his mentor do much to hammer home just how much they meant to each other. But the footage of the two men in the gym is perhaps the finest.
It's good, but it's not perfect. Maybe it was staged for whatever they were filming, but Tyson clearly cared about D'amato's opinion, and D'amato's perfectionism exhibited itself in Tyson's fights. After D'amato's death, Tyson was not the same fighter. He worked for a while with Kevin Rooney, one of D'amato's most trusted students, but eventually the two parted ways. Even if Rooney was every bit the coach that D'amato was, the relationship was clearly not the same, and Tyson was not the same.
He was getting hit more, he was throwing two punches at a time and no more.
Cus D'Amato's Lessons That Transformed Mike Tyson Into a Champion - Rich Habits Institute
He was fighting on the lead as a brawler, rather than on the counter as his opponents panicked. It all came to a head in Tokyo. Tyson was in a toxic marriage, surrounded by people who were using him, and with a trainer who had no idea what Tyson's game was about. But to point to that alone is to take away from Douglas. With an eighty-three inch reach, Douglas was physically gifted, but spurred on by the death of his mother, Douglas fought the bout of his life.
Douglas danced under the ring lights like a young Ali, feinting his jab and dancing away.
How One Mentor "Knocked" Some Sense into Mike Tyson - Modern Workforce blog, by Everwise
Feints followed by genuine jabs had Iron Mike bamboozled, and Douglas began opening up with combinations in the very first round. Douglas was there to box, but he was also there to fight. Douglas gave every bit of the performance he needed to—he butted Tyson, he hit him on almost every break from the clinch after noticing the referee didn't care, and he smashed his forearm into Tyson's face every time the shorter man wanted to tie up.
Through the rounds Douglas repeatedly connected on that back-stepping right straight which Ali used so often, and which was perfected to an art form by the forgotten champion, Jimmy Ellis. By the seventh round Tyson didn't know where he wanted to be. On the outside he was getting lit up, on the inside Tyson was being fouled to the point where he would tie up, get broken by the ref, and end up back on the end of that tremendous jab.
The end came as an exhausted Tyson moved forward, head in one spot, and ate a thunderous uppercut. A feinted right hand into a quintuple jab. In the ring, Tyson lived and died by the jab. At his best you couldn't hit him with a handful of sand, every lead was an opening and Tyson would return everything thrown at him ten-fold.
But when he couldn't get past that jab, Tyson's physical disadvantages peaked through. His height disadvantage meant he couldn't work if he was kept at range, and his breathing difficulties from childhood gave him difficulty in the later rounds.