LAS VEGAS -- The decision was unanimous. The fight stank.

Everyone at the Mandalay Bay's Event Center who watched Lennox Lewis dance that off-balance dance of his, and David Tua basically march in place for 12 rounds, agreed that this was the fighting equivalent to drinking a bottle of cough syrup.

	Lennox Lewis' mother, Violet Lewis, probably managed to stay awake through all 12 rounds.

This was not Muhammad Ali versus Joe Frazier or Larry Holmes versus Ken Norton. This made Tony Tubbs versus Tim Witherspoon look like Jack Dempsey versus Luis Firpo.

Don't ask me for my score card. I lost interest after the fifth round. And don't feel bad for the saps who plunked down $50 to watch this pay-per-view joke -- at least they got to watch three excellent undercard bouts.

No, weep instead for the poor fools who flew in from England and New Zealand. Mandalay Bay hooked me up with a nice nosebleed seat right in the middle of the two contingencies.

I was surrounded by loopy Lewis fans with the Union Jack flags painted on their faces who shouted English soccer songs about "Loo-is!" On the other side were the tipsy Tua boosters decked out in Polynesian skirts and red-pepper necklaces, hollering "Too-ah!" The friendly rivals chanted "Loo-is, Loo-is!" and "Too-ah, Too-ah!" as challenger and champion made their way to the ring.

Tua won the battle of the "walk-ins" with his island drum section. Lewis just confused the crowd with his Medieval-style royal entrance, which eventually turned into a reggae groove before he stepped through the ropes.

But the excitement didn't last past three rounds. Tua would get a rise out of the crowd when he landed a hook, but he didn't do much else for the other two minutes and 45 seconds of any round. And aside from avoiding the follow-up punches from Tua, Lewis didn't do much either.

Even his loudest, drunken fan up in my section of the arena had to yell: "Loo-is! C'mon you bastard! 'Scuse my French, mates!"

Like a Dodgers game in the seventh inning, the hooligans and dancers began walking out as the fight slowly and pitifully deteriorated into a clutch-and-hold contest. After the unanimous decision was announced, the two factions left the Events Center with a common bond -- all had witnessed the most boring heavyweight title fight in history.

I know I sound like a horrible xenophobe, but this is what happens when Americans don't hold the biggest title in sports. Get a tape of the 10-round war between ex-con Clifford Etienne and former prison guard Lawrence Clay-Bey that preceded the main event to see what I mean.

	At least Tua took some chances. I think he landed about seven or eight left hooks before I fell asleep in my seat around the eighth round.

Lewis thinks too much. He should give up the belts and stick to playing chess, or maybe cricket, if he needs the exercise. At least Tua took some chances. I think he landed about seven or eight left hooks before I fell asleep in my seat around the eighth round.

The fight seemed even after six rounds. Tua plodded, paused, dipped to his left and then fired lunging, slow-motion, telegraphed lefts. Lewis pawed with his jab, leaned away from the hook, then skipped backwards. If Tua actually laded more than one hook, he won the round. If Lewis connected solidly with a jab, he got the round. Forget about right hands from Lewis. The undisputed heavyweight champion of the world didn't come to fight.

Lewis just wanted to get by. He's a smart man, and after the sixth round, he fought a tactical -- and mind-numbingly boring -- fight.

Tua, to his credit, wanted knock the champ out, but he couldn't get out of first gear. That's what happens when a once-hungry fighter feasts on too many pastries -- by the name of Gary Bell, Shane Sutcliff, Obed Sullivan and Robert Daniels -- before the biggest fight of his life.

Lewis, as expected, pulled to an insurmountable lead in the late rounds -- fighting like an amateur, of course. He tossed out jabs, an occasional right and then circled away from danger. Tua, who weighed in at 245 pounds, didn't do what he was expected to do in the championship rounds -- CLOSE THE GAP!

That's what the 225-pound Tua from 1996 to '98 would have done. That was the bomb-throwin' Samoan who tallied late-round KOs over David Izon, Oleg Maskaev and Hasim Rahman. That warrior with the shaved-skull would have crawled inside of Lewis' circus-tent sized trunks and bashed the Brit's protective cup in the final round.

The version of Tua the crowd of 13,000 was unfortunate to witness was not a superhero, as his promoter, America Presents, touted him to be coming into this fight. They called him "TuaMan," the savior of the heavyweight division. If this were pro wrestling (and boxing promoters are trying to make the fight game more and more like the WWF), Tua would be a fan favorite. As the New Zealander would say in first-person: "TuaMan gives the people what they want."

Lewis, though the best heavyweight in the world, would have to play the villain role. A stuffy, crumpet-munching English snob the U.S. fans love to hate. He'd wear a monocle and say something like: "TuaMan, you savage, Lennox Lewis will give you a right thrashing!"

The scenario would work in pro wrestling, and TuaMan would shut the pompous blowhard's mouth with a booming hook in the final round. All hail the new king. But this is boxing, and it's all too real.

The villain won. Now the only fight left to make in what was once the glamour division of boxing is the villain versus the super villain, Mike Tyson. That's the worst thing about this dreadful 12 rounds of plodding and posing -- Tyson, not TuaMan, is now the savior of the division.

Ya know what? If they can make that fight, I'll be rooting for Tyson.

Veteran boxing writer Doug Fischer is a columnist for www.houseofboxing.com.