If it wasn’t a good week already with the news of Darryl Strawberry coming out with a new book, apparently Mike Tyson is getting in on the act, too!

Former boxer MIKE TYSON is to publish a tell-all book about his eventful life.
The ex-heavyweight champ has written an autobiography detailing his time in the ring and the years following his departure from the sport.

The tome is also said to include controversial moments from his private life including his three year jail sentence for rape in the 1990s.

Tyson reportedly began writing the manuscript while he was in prison, asking his fellow inmates for advice, according to New York Post gossip column Page Six.

The publication quotes Tyson as saying, “Me and my cellmate would read to each other at night. One night I would read out loud to him, the next night he would read out loud to me. And we would do that back and forth until the book was completed.”

I wish I could take credit for this, but I can’t. Here’s a headline on Fark.com about this story:

A must read: Tyson pens a tell-all. Book starts out powerful and amazing, gets unfocused and boring about halfway through, then scary and weird, ultimately fading into Bolivian

That’s freaking great.

Instead of being a public advocate of the dangers of drugs and alcohol, former baseball star Darryl Strawberry has decided to write a book to gloat about how much cocaine and sex he had when he was a player.

Strawberry has a new book coming out in April, and something tells me his ex-teammates aren’t going to appreciate the contents much. Strawberry’s claims about all the cocaine they did and the women they had sex with — sometimes during games — probably won’t sit well.

“We were the boys of summer. The drunk, speed-freak, sneaking-a-smoke boys of summer,” writes onetime home-run legend Darryl Strawberry in “Straw: Finding My Way,” out in April from Ecco. “[An] infamous rolling frat party . . . drinking, drugs, fights, gambling, groupies.”

Beer “was the foundation of our alcoholic lifestyle,” he writes. “We hauled around more Bud than the Clydesdales. The beer was just to get the party started and maybe take the edge off the speed and coke.”

The team’s mantra on the road, he writes, was to “tear up your best bars and nightclubs and take your finest women . . . The only hard part for us was choosing which hottie to take back to your hotel room. Lots of times you . . . picked two or three.”

Then there are these little tidbits about how the Mets would kill time between innings.

Although he doesn’t name names, Strawberry relates how team members picked out girls from the stands for quickies. He once watched a pitcher march a frisky fan to a private room for oral sex: “I was jealous. When I saw her heading back to her seat, I gave her a sign. She smiled, turned right back around, and met me in that same little room . . . I had to be quick and run back out on the field.”

Another time, “I was in the clubhouse, having one last quickie with this cute little Florida girl. Charlie Samuels, the equipment manager, came in and caught us. He just stood there shaking his head while I finished up.”

But, hey, at least they weren’t taking steroids right? That might give them a competitive advantage. All cocaine does is give you superhuman strength and help you ignore any pain you might be feeling. Steroids don’t do any of that.