mike tyson

Stories we’re watching: A dominatrix’s threat and a Tyson tirade

Also: Liberian minister warns of Ebola’s spread

Bieber beats up paparazzo?

Paparazzo sheds every last bit of self-resepect and tells the world he was beaten up by teen heartthrob

Hangover 2: Another Day, Another Tiger?

“A perfect storm of leverage” delayed the much-anticipated sequel

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Well, if the Tiger story won’t go away, I won’t either

It is late to be adding to the mountain of Tigerology, but up until now most analyses of the business impact of the golfing great’s tomcatting have been disappointingly superficial. It is not news to advertisers, even if it is news to the rest of us, that athlete brands are fragile assets. Let’s be honest here: it’s still 2009, and one extramural boyfriend would have done as much economic damage to Tiger Inc. as a dozen girlfriends have. A company that puts its image in the hands of a sportsman can never have enough information about his private life as it needs to establish 100% confidence that there won’t be a meltdown. Celebrities are risky business, but the market in them exists anyway.

‘The Hangover’: it’s no ‘Wedding Crashers’

Another men-behaving-badly-in-Vegas flick to add to the post-Judd Apatow canon

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The scary confessions of Mike Tyson

A new documentary has the heavyweight legend baring his soul with brutal candour

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Filmmaker James Toback on Mike Tyson, the star of his documentary

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQIBKNHY_8Q&w=310

The hottest docs in Hot Docs

Metaphysics, ghost birds, martyred monks and singing squirrels—the documentary expands its horizons

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Dion v. Harper, Crack-up in the Commons

I’d read about the sound that comes from a boxing crowd right before a major fight, but I didn’t fully understand it until I covered a fight (Mike Tyson’s last as a professional, oddly enough). There is a barely concealed blood-lust to the noise that rises up—a palpable, common desire to see someone grievously injured, an anxious excitement at the prospect of what violence may unfold before our eyes. It was, in my single experience, legitimately frightening.

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“Oui, Poof Deedy”

Walking back to the hotel, I ran into a pedestrian traffic jam on the Croisette, a thicket of outstretched arms holding up cameras in front of a Gucci store, from pro TV types to cellphones. When you run across this kind of feeding frenzy in the street, you can’t see who’s there behind the mob, so you look up at all the LCD screens trying to decipher something.