You’d know that feeling of perverse joy anywhere. It strikes you every time you see Frankie’s name in the police log after his latest, failed attempt to win a drunken brawl or to write a check against an account that closed eight years ago.

Well, Frankie’s real name is probably Francis P. McDorfus IV, and he’d be hard-pressed to write his name legibly on said check, but nevertheless.

He’s the bully who terrorized you in third grade. He stole your lunch money, your girlfriend and more often that not, your dignity. Your head, buried in a book most of the time, was an easy target for that blindside slap and subsequent noogie.

Funny thing happened to Frankie at the onset of puberty, however. One of your preppy pals absolutely knocked the smirk off the mug that someday would look incomplete without a height chart behind it.

Frankie was never heard from again until his first trip to juvenile detention for an act of defiance that occurred a thousand miles away from the playground. His credibility as a tough guy in that environment already had fallen below zero, forever.

And so it is with Mike Tyson, a creation of self, of suck-up media and of the significantly less chiseled hangers-on who ultimately took his money and then some.

He was a cardboard bully, a paper champion, a sham, a fraud, a fabrication. Now, to top it all off, time and tribulation have unraveled Tyson into a character more pathetic than middle-aged Frankie.

But do you really think that Saturday night’s mauling at the hands of anonymous palooka Kevin McBride is the end?

Do you actually believe Tyson’s verbal diarrhea about “loving the sport too much” to subject us to this mellow apparition of his former self?

Are you truly convinced that Tyson will refrain from further fistic embarrassment and simply whittle away at his alleged $30 million personal debt by becoming a pitchman for mood medications?

Wow, maybe you should cash this week’s paycheck, leave the dead presidents in your glove compartment, roll the windows down, call Frankie and drop lots of colorful hints. Let him swipe it and spend it on pork rinds before you fritter away another $49.95 plus tax on Aluminum Foil Mike’s pyramid scheme.

Not only is Tyson thoroughly outclassed by any heavyweight not named Laila Ali (and she’d probably smack him senseless, come to think of it), he was never a great champion in the first place.

Tyson’s heyday was much like everything else in The Big ’80s – hefty on hype, bankrupt of substance. The heavyweight division arguably was in a greater shambles than it is presently. Let’s not forget that The Baddest Man on the Planet beat Trevor Berbick, James “Bonecrusher” Smith, Tony Tucker and Pinklon Thomas on his way to the summit.

Those names don’t exactly evoke the fear of Ali, Frazier, Foreman and Patterson, eh?

Let’s also remember that Tyson’s landmark victory was a 90-second knockout of Michael Spinks, an inflated light heavyweight whose puffy face looked like he’d experienced a severe allergic reaction to training.

Like the celebrated thug of the previous heavyweight generation, Sonny Liston, Tyson’s house of cards collapsed the first time he was hit with a real punch. And this one wasn’t unleashed by Muhammad Ali in Miami Beach or Lewiston. It came from notoriously unspectacular journeyman James “Buster” Douglas in Tokyo on Feb. 10, 1990.

When the Sunday morning roundtable pundits wondered aloud where Tyson belongs in the discussion of the greatest heavyweights of all time, the question was an insult to Ali and Rocky Marciano. Heck, it was an insult to Tim Witherspoon.

Tyson is an honorable mention on that list, not one scintilla more, and yes, that surely is the only time you’ll ever see his name with the word “honorable” as a qualifier.

Don’t blame prison. Don’t blame Desiree Washington, Robyn Givens or every trainer except Kevin Rooney.

Blame HBO. Blame ESPN. Blame Don King. And by all means, let’s blame ourselves for believing the bologna machine and befriending the bully.

But when you’re done pointing fingers, enjoy a good laugh, even if you’ve fed Tyson thousands of dollars in milk money since his first comeuppance 15 years ago. Besides, you don’t want to forget the lesson Frankie taught you: never let the bully see you cry.

Kalle Oakes is a staff writer. His e-mail is [email protected].