Mike Tyson, Jake Paul and Netflix’s glitchy boxing stream into the void

Back when I was an idiot teenager, a friend and I decided to raid his mother’s liquor cabinet and pilfer a splash of alcohol from six or seven very different bottles. Next we poured all of it into a half-empty soda bottle, shook it vigorously, and sipped this rancid potion until the world began spinning. Then we threw up.

This is a long way of saying I’ve had worse ideas than staying awake past midnight Friday to watch a glitchy stream of Mike Tyson losing a one-sided boxing match to the YouTube goofball Jake Paul.

I don’t know if you watched it. If you skipped it, good for you. I assume you read classic poetry until drifting off and waking up this morning for 90 minutes of vigorous sunrise yoga. You may live the rest of your life feeling superior, knowing you didn’t fall prey to the marketing of this daffy, deeply unnecessary boxing match.

If you tried to watch it, and you weren’t able to, because of technical chaos and buffering standstills with the Netflix stream—instead of writing an angry letter to the clearly overburdened IT department, you might want to thank them for sparing your eyeballs, and perhaps, your soul.

As for the rest of us: what were we thinking? Actually, I know what we were thinking: this seems like a terrible idea—58-year-old Mike Tyson entering the ring against a beefy 27-year-old social media imp. Surely I have better things to do with my time.

And yet there we were, watching at an uncommon hour, as many millions surely did, as if history hasn’t repeatedly shown that well-intentioned humans are often capable of making the same, regrettable decision.

Tyson-Paul wasn’t civilization’s end, but an old craft—the stunt fight, in which common sense is eclipsed by a circus thrill, and an audience lines up to watch. Muhammad Ali took on a wrestler. Tony “Two Ton” Galento fought Joe Louis, then later, a kangaroo. Paul’s older brother, Logan—his predecessor as a polarizing YouTuber—waltzed eight polite rounds with Floyd Mayweather. The fights are seldom compelling. Ask any kangaroo.

The attraction is the what if, and it wasn’t hard to find in the build up here, much of it centered on Tyson’s chances. What if Iron Mike, two decades removed from his last legitimate fight, closing in on social security, recovering from an inflamed ulcer that forced a postponement, could summon the old Brooklyn magic and flatten this kid? What if Tyson still got it, as Ed Helms’s character said in “The Hangover”?

The what if, coupled with Netflix’s massive subscriber base, built a curiosity any sporting event would crave. I can’t lie: I heard from more people about this nonsense than almost any sport I wrote about this year. I heard from college pals, family, in-laws, and my old downstairs neighbor who moved away to the Connecticut suburbs eons ago. My 11-year-old begged to stay up. His mother and I said no. (He’s merrily watching this morning, over Cheerios.)

Ask any kid: Jake Paul was part of the draw here, too. The wealthy influencer willingly accepted the heel role, which wasn’t hard—the Ohioan has mastered the art of being too annoying to avoid. “I kept trying to show people that I’m a good person,” Paul said recently. “No one was buying it. And then one day I was like, [blank] it. I can go heel and I haven’t looked back.”

Paul’s boxing is skillful enough to make it look like he knows what he’s doing. He’s defeated an assortment of aging mixed-martial arts champions, flattened an NBA basketballer (Nate Robinson), and taken only a single loss, to Tyson Fury’s kid brother Tommy. He could walk a harder path, brawling with hungry up-and-comers, but why bother? He’s banking millions with this.

Tyson was a stress test for the approach. Was fighting a near-sexagenarian who hadn’t fought for realsies since 2005 taking the whole stunt fighting career too far?

A location was picked: AT&T Stadium in Arlington, Texas, aka Jerry Jones’s JerryWorld.

Netflix got involved, which elevated it into a mega business story. After avoiding sporting events for years, the streamer behemoth has finally begun dipping its toe, recently signing on to carry a couple of NFL games on Christmas.

It has work to do. Live events are hard to build, and growing pains are expected, but Friday’s reports of extended technical difficulties—slow loading, frozen and blurry screens, the rage parade on social media—was embarrassing. Call me a stickler, but if you’re in the business of showing live sports, you need to show the sport live. (If Netflix thinks fight fans were complainers, wait until it hears from Steeler Nation after three glasses of egg nog.)

As for the fight, let’s put it this way: The boxing match between the 27-year-old and the 58-year-old went pretty much like you would expect a boxing match to go between a 27-year-old and a 58-year-old.

Already caught with a bare behind by Netflix’s backstage coverage, the aging Tyson stepped into the ring wearing a knee brace, looking ready for a game of old man 3-on-3 at the Y.

Despite some early flurries, he never came close to threatening. He was slow. So was my stream. In the middle of the fight, I found myself switching back and forth: TV to phone, phone to TV.

I didn’t miss much. Over eight two-minute rounds—16 minutes of boxing, for which Paul was reportedly getting $40 million and Iron Mike somewhere around half of that—Paul landed 78 punches. Tyson landed 18.

It felt bleak. Tyson’s stamina was admirable, but his power was minimal. Paul, perhaps fearing optics not even he wanted, wisely chose not to pummel away. After a rollicking undercard, the stadium energy began to sink with boos and disappointment. For once, it wasn’t the Cowboys’ fault.

When it was over, a victorious Paul did the predictable heel’s move of turning gracious, flattering Tyson with praise. Tyson, who looked like he wanted to go lie down somewhere with a heating pad, talked up Paul’s talent. Asked if he was done fighting, Tyson waved off the suggestion. Asked about an opponent, he suggested Jake’s brother, Logan. Please no. I’ll watch anything. I’ll watch buffering. I’ll even try to read.

Write to Jason Gay at Jason.Gay@wsj.com