Thirty-one years separate Mike Tyson and Jake Paul. 

Tyson no longer casts a broad, cold shadow. He’s closer to social security than his physical prime. 

Paul, famed for his YouTube rise and a reputation in the ring built on hand-picked opponents, has heavy fists for a marketing-minded businessman but fights Friday with heavier pockets and zero conscience.

Never in professional boxing would Tyson be expected to tap out. Even at 58, throwing in the towel is a foreign concept to the grandfatherly “Iron Mike,” who enters the very loosely sanctioned bout in Texas with the ring presence of a very loosely leashed incapacitated predator. 

The made-for-Netflix match is going to make money. Fittingly, a personal injury law firm dropped $2 million for the best seats in the house, taking a big bite of the hook from a promotion company Paul controls, to be close enough to know whether legends falling in the ring will make a sound. 

It all has the appeal equal to that of a car wreck with onlookers bracing to see the worst while tapping the brakes just enough to display a modicum of public humanity. 

Tyson is party to the circus only to the extent the temperamental lion does what it needs to do for the rich reward of its next meal under the big top. 

Nearly two decades removed from his last meaningful fight—June 11, 2005—against Ireland’s Kevin McBride—Tyson isn’t getting in the ring to add pelts to his wall. His fighting legacy is secured. 

But the $80 million purse, a $20 million guarantee—that’s the carrot Tyson chased to Texas.

Paul, 27, was eight when Tyson was stopped by McBride in the sixth round as the surprising final chapter in a celebrated heavyweight career.

Hope as we might, this isn’t a fight-your-dad fable where Pops wallops the kid to zip his lips once and for all. 

Yes, Paul walks into the ring Friday with the lion’s leash wrapped around his wrist, knowing Tyson stands as much as a puncher’s chance. 

But that longshot outcome is likely only if Tyson can excavate the long-lost hand speed and power combination that first brought him to glory as a heavyweight boxing champion at age 20 in 1986. 

Jake Paul was born in 1997.

Glory, greed and self-aggrandizing are the title belts draped around Paul when he steps through the ropes this weekend. 

Sadly, ineptly, Tyson stared blankly Wednesday in Texas while Paul masqueraded through legends of the ring and taunted the now-Silent Mike to keep striking matches until the fire appears. 

“I fear no man. I want him to be that old, savage Mike. He says he’s going to kill me. ‘Is that what you’re going to do?’” Paul said, begging for Tyson to react. “I want there to be no excuses when I knock him out. Is that what you’re going to do?” 

The lion sleeps. That flame is gone. 

No one would expect the 50-win Tyson to find his way to the ring, by any realistic measure of energy, effectiveness or clout.  

If Tyson leaves with anything but his seventh career loss, it would be an upset. A one-time 42-1 favorite over Buster Douglas in 1990, who delivered the greatest upset of Tyson’s career, the longshot bet on Friday night will be lucky to remain upright past his bedtime. 

With Tyson speaking only with his eyes other than a declaration that he’s “just ready to fight,” Paul kept the jabs going and perhaps unintentionally framed the charade in the only context that matters. 

“It is … I don’t know,” Paul smirked surveying what was one The Baddest Man on the Planet. 

“It is pretty boring. Pretty fucking boring.”