Tommy Morrison and the punch you never saw coming

The familiar phrase about a knockout punch goes like this: It's the one you don't see coming that floors you.

Tommy Morrison died at age 44 on Sunday, and for me, covering him on his way up, he was the punch I never saw coming. In an era when Mike Tyson was driving his car into a tree and on a constant suicide watch, when George Foreman re-emerged by re-submerging Gerry Cooney, when exciting up-and-comers like Evander Holyfield, Michael Moorer, Razor Ruddock and Lennox Lewis had the world talking about boxing again, Morrison was the ultimate promotional dream: White, blond, so well-spoken that he could land a major role in a movie, his heritage somehow traced to both John Wayne and an American Native.

In many ways, the real Tommy Morrison seemed more a Hollywood creation than the character he played in Rocky V.

Turns out he was.

By the end of his life he was a delusional, sad story, even for a retired boxer. Diagnosed with HIV in 1998, in denial of his condition right until the end, he and his current girlfriend created an alternate reality for themselves. They dismissed the increased physical signs of the disease as routine bites and scratches, spoke of conspiracies and mind-over-matter powers, even bragged about their unprotected sex.

I have no idea who that guy was. The photo accompanying his obituary looked like a character from an apocalyptic movie, like Dennis Hopper in Waterworld. It bore no resemblance to the wholesome, blonde-haired gee-whiz guy I shadowed in Kansas City for a few days (and nights) back in 1990, when I was the main boxing writer for The National Sports Daily, covering what I now describe as the final heaving gasps of that once vibrant sport.

He had an ego back then for sure, and he was not at all discreet, but there was a pretty smart girlfriend that accompanied us as I recall, and a few grounded buddies that seemed similar to my own circle of friends. He seemed grounded as well then too, keeping the usual promotional sharks at arm's length, consulting with Sylvester Stallone about the perils of stardom, a boxer who was going to make his money, get out, and get a life.

As I said, I never saw it coming. Should have perhaps, but I didn't. And I wasn't alone. He snookered writers from around the globe and countless television interviewers. He was that proverbial breath of fresh air we always seem to be reporting in sports. And when he died Sunday, he was that other story we report too often, bowing our heads, shaking them too.

In 2013, Mike Tyson is still alive, making money again telling his cautionary tale.

Tommy ``The Duke'' Morrison has died, at 44, denying his cautionary tale right to the end.

Back in 1990, tell me anyone saw that coming..