"Hold on, baby," a strange American voice whispers down the phone, "the man is on his way. He's runnin' at ya . . . " I can hear him coming.
Michael Grant is 6 ft 7 in tall, weighs over 18 st and slams across the floorboards in size 16 boxing boots. Yet above the thud of those massive feet echoing all the way from North Carolina to London, a more delicate sound takes away the hot breath of the excitable gym-rat holding the phone for Grant. "Listen to this, baby," he yells down the receiver as the approaching Grant bursts into full song. "Ain't Mike got the voice of an angel?"
If Grant's fight against Lennox Lewis for the World Boxing Council and International Boxing Federation world heavyweight championships at Madison Square Garden on Saturday night could be turned into a singing contest the outcome would not be in doubt: Angel Voice, in round one, on a sweet KO. Lewis, depending on the song sheet you're humming from, is either too cool or far too uptight to do more than silently mouth the words to a smoky old Bob Marley track.
Instead of churning out a standard "I'll moider da bum" riff, Angel Voice sings a snatch of Sam Cooke, crooning, I'm too scared of living, but I'm afraid to die/It's been a long time comin', but I know a change is gonna come, as his finger-snapping way of suggesting Lewis' heavyweight crown will change hands.
In some American boxing circles there is a more blunt belief that Grant will knock out Lewis. It is described by many as a "hunch fight" - with their gut instinct, rather than hard evidence, suggesting that Grant will be too athletic and powerful. The American shift towards their own fighter is fuelled by wish-fulfilment. Apart from lacking the traditional fire of a dominant heavyweight, Lewis is "too damn British" in a country which still believes the undisputed world title belongs to America.
Grant boasts a more suitable background. Beyond his professional baseball trial with the Kansas City Royals he was a basketball and American football star at college. If he ever becomes a fighter as polished as his immaculate image he will transform the moribund state of heavyweight boxing.
"I don't care about the WBA," Grant snorts, "I care about this fight. Lewis ain't less a champion because they stole some tin belt from him. That's the problem: too few boxing people show any class. But I've wanted Lewis for years because I know we'll put on a classic contest. It'll be a memorable night for Michael Grant - and for boxing."
Grant offers novelty value in a jaded trade. He only became interested in boxing in 1993 when he was 20 and saw the epic second fight between Holyfield and Riddick Bowe on television. But he remained little more than a casual fan for the next two years until a chance meeting in Las Vegas changed his life. He played blackjack on the same table as Richard Steele, the boxing referee. An excited Steele then called Don Turner, Holyfield's trainer, to say he had discovered a man with the physique of a future world champion.
"People think because some guy looks like the Incredible Hulk he can fight," says Turner. "It don't work that way. The really big guys are often the worst boxers. When Steele sent Grant over I said, `Oh Jesus, they've sent me another duphus.' But he turned out to be this four-star athlete. He could move and throw punches."
Although Grant cruised through his first 30 fights, the lucrative showdown with Lewis was almost destroyed within three minutes last November. Grant was knocked down twice in the first round by the Polish brawler Andrew Golota - who had himself been battered to defeat by Lewis. "That means nothing," Turner insists. "The only time Lewis got knocked down `against Oliver McCall' he lost the fight. Grant showed a strong mind against Golota."
Grant fought back to stop Golota in the 10th and maintain his unbeaten record. "It was a wake-up call," he drawls.
Yet Grant has never faced a fighter who hits as hard as Lewis or who has emerged from so many championship fights with his composure intact. Despite his friendship with Grant, Holyfield also offers an unexpectedly objective view. "I ain't ever afraid to sing," Holyfield croons, "but I keep quiet around Mike. That man can sing. He can also fight, but he should move faster. It's always possible to hit him before he hits you."
