I don't know how anybody in America can be surprised at what Mike Tyson does. Tyson's thuggish behavior had stopped engendering sympathy long before the turn of this new century.
He has had more brushes with the legal system than any professional athlete whose life plays out under the white-hot glare of the global spotlight, and, for whatever reason, despite his lack of penitence, Tyson fascinates some people who see him for what he isn't: a decent man.
His life is one misstep after another, a life lived much the way that Britney Spears has led hers. No scandal is too big to sidestep; no rumor too embarrassing to disprove. Trouble has trailed Tyson like a bloodhound, as his latest arrest demonstrated.
Now, I can only imagine what a photographer was trying to accomplish in taking a picture of Tyson at an airport. I know the prying eyes of a photographer's camera have access to a celebrity wherever he travels. From Buenos Aires to Bombay, a pro athlete of Tyson's fading stature is still a good subject for any photographer to shoot.
But, as I found out the other day, the price for taking that photo of Tyson, 43, might be blood.