LAS VEGAS – The question stopped Lennox Lewis in his tracks like a Hasim Rahman right hand.

“If, 30 years from now, you could show a tape of one of your fights to someone as a means of saying, ‘This is the kind of fighter I was,’ which would it be?”

The former heavyweight champion, his eyes hidden behind wraparound shades, stared in the direction of the questioner for what seemed like the length of a grueling 12th round.

Finally, he answered. “I really can’t pinpoint one,” he said.

And that is precisely the point with Lennox Lewis.

He’s not sure what country he is from – he was born in England, raised in Jamaica, fought on the Canadian Olympic team and now spends much of his time in the United States – and clearly, he’s not quite sure of what kind of fighter he really is.

Is he the tiger who blew out Michael Grant and Andrew Golota?

Or the pussycat who pawed at David Tua and Evander Holyfield?

Or the Wedgewood-chinned statue who got starched by Rahman and, seven years ago, Oliver McCall?

Even though he has fought 41 times in the past 12 years and twice been considered a heavyweight champion of somebody’s world, nobody can pick out one Lennox Lewis fight as a defining moment, not even Lewis himself.

Unless, of course, you count his losses.

For all his wealth and accomplishment, Lennox- Lewis is two days away from retiring as a fighter who will be remembered more for his defeats than for his victories.

Saturday night, he gets a court-mandated rematch with Rahman, who knocked him out with one punch on April 22 in South Africa.

He also gets his last chance to fashion a defining moment for a career that is running out of spots to place one.

Unquestionably, if Lewis loses again to Rahman, it is all over for him.

But even if he wins, it could still be over for him. If he doesn’t win the right way.

One of boxing’s great distinctions is that it is not only if you win, but how.

And far too often, Lennox Lewis has won in the worst kind of way.

From the shoulders down, you couldn’t design a better heavyweight than Lewis. From the shoulders up, it is hard to imagine a worse one.

The problem is not limited to his chin, which has now let him down twice in fights he was supposed to win easily.

It also resides between his ears, where some of boxing’s strangest decisions have been hatched.

“Lennox is strange,” said his trainer, Emanuel Steward. “No one knows what Lennox Lewis will do once the fight starts.”

Including Lewis.

Against Rahman, who brought in an undistinguished record and two devastating knockout losses of his own, Lewis reverted to his true nature, which is to be cautious, methodical and dull.

These are admirable qualities in many professions, but not in professional boxing.

And they certainly don’t make for memorable heavyweight champions.

Lennox Lewis has been a heavyweight champion, but he has hardly been memorable.

He can change all that Saturday night.

“Whatever he does, it’s got to be authoritative and dominant,” Steward said, and he is right.

But Lennox Lewis, 36, has never been that kind of fighter before. Why should he start now?

Because he has no other choice.