He never became an icon like Muhammad Ali, and he never even came close to the fame that still surrounds Mike Tyson, yet Lennox Lewis was a phenomenal fighter—probably one of the greatest heavyweights in boxing history, capable of defeating anyone who stood across from him.
Reserved and private, far from excess, he never managed to impose his figure outside the ring. But inside the ropes, he lined everyone up: he knocked out Tyson, defeated Holyfield (some would say twice), battled Ray Mercer, schooled Morrison, Razor Ruddock, David Tua, Frank Bruno and Riddick Bowe (as an amateur, in the Seoul Olympic final). At the end of the road, he even forced Vitali Klitschko into retirement right in the prime of his career and physical strength. What more could he have done?
He never engaged in any kind of showmanship. Though fully confident in his abilities, he never made boastful statements and never insulted an opponent. He simply stepped into the ring and let his fists do the talking. Bowe called him a faggot. So did Rahman. Tyson went so over the top it was almost comical, saying he would eat his children. The result: they were all defeated, some leaving with broken bones.
In his career he lost only twice, to Hasim Rahman and Oliver McCall—likely due to overconfidence and the classic “Sunday punch.” In both cases, he came back for revenge, with interest.
The story of Lennox Claudius Lewis begins in London, where he was born on September 2, 1965. His parents, both born in Jamaica, separated early, and at the age of six Lennox moved with his mother and brother to Ontario, Canada. The three soon faced financial hardship, so the two brothers were forced to return to London, where they lived for five years with their aunt. When the family was reunited, Lennox was very angry with his mother. He carried that anger with him to school, where he was the only Black boy, with a thick Cockney accent to boot. Though not ostracized, he often found himself in too many fights. The headmaster of the school took an interest in him, befriended him, and suggested that Lennox take up a contact sport—boxing.
From then on, it was a steady climb filled with triumphs and encounters, both in and out of the ring, that would change Lennox’s life. At sixteen, he won the Junior World Championship in Santo Domingo. He later spent a brief time at Cus D’Amato’s house for sparring sessions and improvement. That’s how he met Mike Tyson. The first time they met, Mike took Lennox into his room at Cus’s house and spent hours showing him tapes of the boxing heroes he idolized. But that’s another story.
It was clear to many that Lennox was destined for greatness, especially to Cus D’Amato, who once warned Mike during a sparring session to keep his hands up and not underestimate him—because one day he would face Lennox as an opponent.
Unlike Mike, who brought instinct and brute force into the ring, Lennox always brought his mind. An extremely intelligent boxer, he was sometimes criticized for being too “cautious” in his approach to fights. Equipped with a brilliant jab—developed thanks to his partnership with the great Emanuel Steward—a textbook straight right and a devastating right uppercut, he could slip naturally into an opponent’s guard thanks to exceptional timing and long reach. He controlled distance with authority using his long arms, yet he also accepted close-range exchanges, relying on his sharp, precise, and powerful uppercut. He moved around the ring with savvy and could adapt his tactics to whoever he was facing.
He was certainly more explosive and mobile early in his career, and although he lost some of those traits as time went on and put on more weight, his skill never diminished. He was always a dedicated professional—perhaps a bit lazy at times—but he trained with seriousness, steering clear of the excesses and vices that derailed so many boxing careers. A lover of food, chess, and Bob Marley’s music, he embraced Rastafarian culture and the cause of African Americans from a young age, always proudly honoring his heritage and his admiration for Malcolm X and Martin Luther King.
Just as wisely, he knew how to retire at the top, as world champion, sensing that the moment had come. Against Vitali, he was trailing on all three scorecards, but it’s also true that it took sixty stitches to close Klitschko’s cuts, and the Ukrainian risked losing his left eye from the punishment he took.
Today, Lewis is a respected boxing commentator—smiling, never over the top. The only spark of pride and arrogance comes when, with an amused look, he says clearly: “I’d still be the heavyweight king if I were in the ring today. I would have beaten them all.”