Shortly after he dispatched Mike Tyson last Saturday night, something about Lennox Lewis occurred to me: He’s never had a nickname. None that I can remember, anyhow, save for Double-L. Certainly none of note.

Well, it’s time for that to change. It’s time to bestow a nickname on the greatest heavyweight of this generation. So, in the grand tradition of Riddick “Big Daddy” Bowe and Evander “Real Deal” Holyfield, I present… Lennox “Big Deal” Lewis.

Has a bit of a ring to it, don’t you think? Fitting, too. He’s no big deal, after all, or at least that’s what we’ve been told.

I mean, Tyson aside, who has he beaten? Evander Holyfield? Big deal. Hasim Rahman? Big deal. David Tua? Michael Grant? Ray Mercer? Big deal. Big deal. Big deal.

It’s a bunch of baloney, of course, as Lennox Lewis is the best thing since sliced bread. Case closed. End of story. It’s just amazing how it took some scribes and sportscasters so incredibly long to swallow their pride and say so.

Think about it, though. Way back when, when he floored Razor Ruddock, when he annihilated the very man who had twice given Tyson all that he could handle, we were told that Lewis was a nothing, a nobody, or, in short, no big deal.

For Lewis to cement some measure of respect, we were told that he needed to beat Riddick Bowe. Problem was, Bowe dropped his belt in a trashcan -- literally -- to ensure that it wouldn’t happen. Though Bowe was the coward, it was Lewis, the retrospectively crowned champion, who was labeled a fake, a phony and a fraud.

Once again, we were told he was no big deal.

Time and again, the call for Lewis to one-up himself has proven the theme of his career. “He’s got to beat Holyfield,” they said. Check. “Well, he’s got to beat Tyson,” they said. Check. Who’s next? God Himself? Checkmate.

Up and down the ranks, grown men have always cowered in Lewis’s long shadow. Andrew Golota was Bowe’s Ruddock and then some, for example, yet the man couldn’t last with Lewis one round. Even Oliver McCall, Lewis’s one-time conqueror, cried and turned his back in the rematch, while Huggin’ Henry Akinwande fouled himself out.

Did any of this matter to the critics? Not really, no. Lewis was no big deal, after all, a non-factor, an afterthought in the heavyweight sweepstakes.

Finally, the time for afterthoughts is over and the world’s rethinking the Lewis legacy. Suddenly, everyone and his punch-drunken mom is giving Lewis his due.

Too little. Too late.

Fact is, “Big Deal” has been the best of the big men for almost as long as he’s been a pro. Deep down, the heavyweights of his era knew it all along. Bowe knew it, that’s for sure. Tyson knew it, too; he proved that he knew it back in 1996, when he paid millions of dollars in step-aside dough just to fight Holyfield instead.

It’s all right, though. In the words of another guy named Louis -- Joe Louis, that is -- “You can run but you can’t hide.”

Tyson ran, all right. He ran for years and years. Then he ran right into a brick wall of a champion.

Actually, in all fairness, Tyson didn’t run at all. He stood mostly motionless, taking lefts, taking rights, taking his lumps and walking (not running) home like a broken man.

Lewis, in so gracefully chopping his man down, made Tyson look meek and feeble. He made Tyson beatable for the commoners, the peasants of heavyweight men.

Tyson was never in this fight. Lewis never let him in nor let him inside. His reach and poise nullified what small opportunity his smaller opponent had.

Make no mistake: Tyson stood a puncher’s chance if only he stood his ground. Once he stopped punching, however, the knockout was only a matter of time. Lewis was just too big, too good, too clear in mind for the rambling, raving lunatic we’ve come to know as Iron Mike.

Their bout was hyped as the first great heavyweight fight of the century. Once Lewis took control, it turned out to be the most dominant big fight performance since Roy Jones beat James Toney years ago.

But back to Lewis. Back to the “Big Deal.”

They’re labeling his greatness now, you know. They’re handing him a one-way ticket to a place called Canastota. Tell me, though, does his eight round destruction of Tyson alone make the Hall of Fame Lewis’s rightful destination? Couldn’t it be that this express train is but a bandwagon in disguise?

Tell me. Enlighten me. I’d like to know.

Oh, it’s a bandwagon, all right. Of course, it is. I’ll be the first to admit it. I should know, having ridden for about ten years.

Through it all, through the bouts with Justin Fortune, Lionel Butler, Tommy Morrison and the like, I’ve been a bit partial to the Briton much longer than it's been fashionable. I can admit it. I’m not a hard news reporter.

Nowadays, the bandwagon’s cars are crammed with nonbelievers. Part of me wants to say, “I told you so.” Part of me wants to say, “Get off my cloud.” Mostly, however, I’m happy for Lewis, and so I say, “Welcome aboard” and “Long live the heavyweight king.”

After striving for acceptance lo these many years, I’m sure even Lewis will agree that the wait was worth it, that it was, in fact, no big deal after all.