But at 46, Tyson, clearly, has developed an ability to see this man he once was as a kind of character, a person wholly separate from the man he now has become. And one of the paradoxes, you might say, that gives his autobiographical show such theatrical potency, as compared with the typical booze-drugs-and-dysfunctional-rich-parents childhoods that dominate the genre, is that Tyson really has a tale of interest. I mean, such a life! He was reported to have been arrested 30 times before the age of 12 (that bomber-jacket moment was brief and the detention center became, he says, "just like Cheers, where everybody knows your name"). He has experienced the gutter, fame, fortune, total dominance of a grand old sport, the inside of a prison, humiliation, reconciliation, the loss of his own child, you name it, he's been through it. And there he is, standing before you, wearing the years on his face, a passage of time, a trip to vulnerability that no tattoo can cover.