While the rest of us can sleep a bit more soundly at night in the knowledge that Michael Gerard Tyson is safely locked away, there is no denying the aura of sadness that pervaded a Maryland courthouse last Friday when Judge Stephen Johnson decreed the sentence that may have ended the former heavyweight champion's days as a player on the world-class boxing stage.

Even total strangers moaned and sobbed throughout the stunned courtroom, but the loudest wailing of all came from Dr Monica Tyson, the boxer's wife, as she watched a pair of burly sheriff's deputies handcuff Tyson behind his back and lead him away.

The three magic words - "Evander Holyfield" and "ears" - were never uttered during the hearing, which consumed nearly three and a half hours in all, although the June 1997 incident no doubt figured prominently in the pre-sentencing memo prepared by State Attorney Douglas Gansler, who described Tyson as "a time bomb in our midst."

Tyson and his attorneys had reportedly reached a deal with Gansler's predecessor Robert Dean, who had, they claimed, agreed not to request incarceration in return for the boxer's nolo contendre plea to assault charges stemming from the aftermath of an August 31st fender-bender in suburban Gaithersburg. Upon assuming office, Gansler had repudiated the prior agreement, a stance Team Tyson regarded as a double-cross.

The prosecution chose to allow Gansler's harsh memorandum to stand on its own merits, while Tyson's lawyers paraded a succession of five character witnesses -a boyhood friend, the boxer's wife, adviser Shelly Finkel, and two men in charge of community organisations (a youth group and a homeless shelter) for which Tyson had performed volunteer service. (Neither the cynical prosecutors nor the judge could help but note that the aforementioned Good Works had all taken place in a 10-day span immediately preceding the hearing).

Still, the demeanour of Judge Johnson (who had introduced himself as "Steve" at the outset of the proceeding) led many to expect a more lenient outcome. In his very last act before recessing to consider the sentence, the judge had read aloud a letter Tyson had addressed to the court, supplying heartfelt inflections which made it sound for all the world like a recital from Mister Rogers' Neighbourhood. Thus when he returned 20 minutes later and ordered the boxer to be packed off to the sneezer, it became all the more startling.

"Unfortunately, I cannot look into Mike Tyson's soul," said the judge, who sentenced Tyson to two years on each of two assault counts, suspending all but one year.

Officially, the sentence stemmed from Tyson's actions immediately following the automobile accident, in which he belted one motorist with a left hook to the chops and dropped the other with a kick in the family jewels.

Although neither victim testified, their respective attorneys both said that their clients believed no purpose would be served by Tyson's incarceration. (A stance aided in no small part, to be sure, by the six-figure out-of-court settlements Tyson's lawyers had reached with the two men.) Both Richard Hardick, a 50 year-old labour official, and Abmielec Saucedo, a 62 year-old anaesthetist, were present in court, and when asked to stand, presented themselves for inspection. It was startlingly apparent, particularly in comparison to Tyson, that both seemed (a) quite old and (b) quite small.

On at least half a dozen occasions during the afternoon-long hearing, Tyson's lawyers had reiterated the dire prediction espoused by attorney Paul Kemp to the judge: "If you sentence this man to one day of jail time, his boxing career is done. He's finished."

But Johnson, noting the frailty of the victims, decried what he termed "a tragic example of potentially lethal road rage," lamenting that Tyson "repeatedly speaks and acts compulsively."

The judge also noted that Tyson was "a 32 year-old man who had been previously convicted of a crime of violence who lashed out at two innocent people while on probation."

With the sentence meted out to Tyson, the judge did allow for his eventual transfer to a work-release programme within a matter of months. In practical terms, that may be easier said than done. It had been widely predicted by Tyson's own lawyers that his incarceration would be interpreted as a violation of his probation in Indiana and would trigger his return to prison there to serve out the four years remaining on his 1992 rape conviction, and that it might also lead to the revocation of his boxing licence in Nevada, which essentially means a worldwide ban from the sport.

Neither has in fact happened - yet - but that is primarily because officials in the disparate venues all seem to be playing out an Alphonse-and-Gaston act as they wait to see what the others do.

According to Maryland law, Tyson has 30 days to appeal the sentence and demand a jury trial, in which case he could request and would probably be granted bail. In doing so he would risk a guilty verdict and an even harsher sentence, and thus far there have been no movements toward attempting to spring him.

Indiana officials say they are awaiting the transfer of the paperwork on Tyson's Maryland sentence. In practical terms, they are probably also waiting to see whether he appeals the sentence and how quickly Maryland moves to transfer him from the private cell he occupies to pre-release status.

Having endured two circus-like sentencing hearings last fall, Nevada is not anxious to stage another. Privately, the boxing commission there would undoubtedly prefer to let nature run its course and have Tyson's present licence, which expires on December 31st of this year, lapse of its own accord.

In the meantime, the Showtime network is scrambling to find a replacement for its April 24th air date, which was supposed to be occupied by a fight between Tyson and Denmark's Brian Nielsen.

Given that the his adviser, Shelly Finkel has conceded that Tyson was on the downside of his once-promising career and could realistically only challenge at the world-class level for "another year, a year-and-a-half, tops," last week's action would seem to have brought down the curtain on this long-running tragedy.

Those who watched last month's Botha fight, on the other hand, would argue that Tyson, once the youngest heavyweight champion in boxing history, was already finished as a top-flight contender, and that Judge Johnson merely made it official.