The lionisation of Floyd Mayweather can make for a strange and tawdry spectacle. He is venerated by his disciples as a man of mystique, even when he plays up to his vulgarian nature by stepping out of his Bugatti festooned in more gold than Mr T, or by throwing hundred-dollar bills at the camera while encircled by a phalanx of acolytes that would embarrass the President.mayweather vs pacquiao
“No one can ever brainwash me to make me believe that Sugar Ray Robinson and Muhammad Ali were better than me,” he boasted this week. Labouring his point, he and his truckload of sycophants wear T-shirts marked ‘T.B.E.’ – ‘ The Best Ever’ – with his professional win-loss record of 47-0 stitched on the back. Next week, as the drum-beat swells for his showdown with Manny Pacquiao at the MGM Grand Garden Arena, he will embody the ostentatiousness of Las Vegas better than Liberace.
What puzzles most about the cult of Mayweather, though, is not the bombast or the entourage, but the followers. Katie Couric, normally one of the saner voices in America’s television firmament, was reduced to crawling groupie-dom when she interviewed him recently, simpering about the “pure physicality” of his trade. Tom Brady, quarterback for New England and as wholesomely apple-pie as they come, sent him a gushing good-luck message on FaceTime for the Pacquiao fight. “Can’t miss this one, man,” he said. “Brady, my guy,” replied Mayweather, with an indulgence to suggest they would have chest-bumped there and then.
All who genuflect at his feet seem remarkably unbothered by a streak of Mayweather malevolence that extends far beyond the ring. For all his stabs at statesmanship in the joint press conference with Pacquiao, it pays to recall that he once baited the Filipino in strikingly different language. In 2010, he released a racist video rant describing his adversary as “that little yellow chump”, vowing that he would force him to “make me a sushi roll and cook me some rice.”
Beyond the bigotry, Mayweather might care to be reminded one day that his notion of where sushi comes from is out by at least 2,000 miles. But from Pacquiao’s perspective, the memory of that outburst is nothing but a motivation, casting this confrontation as a straightforward case of good versus evil, of a model of humility versus a wearisome braggart who has also been involved in seven instances of alleged physical assault, against five different women.
Freddie Roach, Pacquiao’s trainer, acknowledges that his fighter’s pent-up animosity towards Mayweather only magnified the intensity of the sparring sessions. “Manny is really against domestic violence,” Roach told USA Today. “It is a big issue in the Philippines, and being a congressman he can control some of that stuff. That is a plus for me, that Manny does not like him. The killer instinct is going to come back a lot faster.” Dwelling on Mayweather, he added, darkly: “It’s hard to say these things in public. But I know he is a bad guy.”
So bad, indeed, that Roach has even considered enlisting a couple of Nevada policemen to tell Pacquiao more about Mayweather’s litany of transgressions. Among them, his notoriety as an alleged woman-beater is a subject frequently glossed over, not least by Couric, who during their cosy chat referred to “reduced misdemeanour charges” and allowed his preposterous response to them to pass without interruption. “I’m black, I’m rich, I’m outspoken,” he blathered. “Those are three strikes right there. Did I kick, stomp and beat someone? No. Did I restrain a woman that was on drugs? Yes. So if they say that’s domestic violence, then you know what? I’m guilty.”
This does not quite tally with the testimony of former partner Josie Harris, who claims she suffered physical abuse from Mayweather on six occasions, the worst coming in September 2010. That night, she told police, she was viciously beaten, while one of Mayweather’s accomplices prevented their 10-year-son Karoun from trying to help her. The account was supported by Karoun himself, while hospital tests indicated that Harris had suffered bruises, contusions and a concussion sustained from a blow to the back of the head
Is this seriously the type of man Brady should embrace like some fellow frat boy? Is he the kind of figure to whom Couric, one of the most admired US broadcasters and a prominent advocate for women’s rights, should throw the feeblest of softballs? It is important to stress that Mayweather, much like Pacquiao, was born into acute poverty and hardship. Growing up in a ghetto of Grand Rapids, Michigan, he lived with six members of his family in one room and watched his father shot in front of him. Floyd Snr, his coach since he threw his first punch, was later sentenced to 5½ years in prison for drugs trafficking.
one of this offers mitigation, however, for the behaviour that put Mayweather in a Nevada detention centre for two months in 2012 – a laughably lenient punishment imposed by a judge who even allowed him to postpone the sentence so that he could earn £30 million from fighting Miguel Cotto. Ultimately, one can only conclude that he is given a free pass so often because his apologists are rabbits in the dazzling headlights of a power gleaned purely from money. “Money isn’t everything – it’s the only thing,” he has said, ever since sport’s wealthiest man transformed his image from ‘Pretty Boy Floyd’ to ‘Money Mayweather’. “I’d rather be hated for who I am than be loved for someone I’m not.”
Perhaps, as his cheerleaders would argue, this is some brilliant expression of his essential authenticity. Or perhaps it is all an elaborate trick to conceal the thug within.
“No one can ever brainwash me to make me believe that Sugar Ray Robinson and Muhammad Ali were better than me,” he boasted this week. Labouring his point, he and his truckload of sycophants wear T-shirts marked ‘T.B.E.’ – ‘ The Best Ever’ – with his professional win-loss record of 47-0 stitched on the back. Next week, as the drum-beat swells for his showdown with Manny Pacquiao at the MGM Grand Garden Arena, he will embody the ostentatiousness of Las Vegas better than Liberace.
What puzzles most about the cult of Mayweather, though, is not the bombast or the entourage, but the followers. Katie Couric, normally one of the saner voices in America’s television firmament, was reduced to crawling groupie-dom when she interviewed him recently, simpering about the “pure physicality” of his trade. Tom Brady, quarterback for New England and as wholesomely apple-pie as they come, sent him a gushing good-luck message on FaceTime for the Pacquiao fight. “Can’t miss this one, man,” he said. “Brady, my guy,” replied Mayweather, with an indulgence to suggest they would have chest-bumped there and then.
All who genuflect at his feet seem remarkably unbothered by a streak of Mayweather malevolence that extends far beyond the ring. For all his stabs at statesmanship in the joint press conference with Pacquiao, it pays to recall that he once baited the Filipino in strikingly different language. In 2010, he released a racist video rant describing his adversary as “that little yellow chump”, vowing that he would force him to “make me a sushi roll and cook me some rice.”
Beyond the bigotry, Mayweather might care to be reminded one day that his notion of where sushi comes from is out by at least 2,000 miles. But from Pacquiao’s perspective, the memory of that outburst is nothing but a motivation, casting this confrontation as a straightforward case of good versus evil, of a model of humility versus a wearisome braggart who has also been involved in seven instances of alleged physical assault, against five different women.
Freddie Roach, Pacquiao’s trainer, acknowledges that his fighter’s pent-up animosity towards Mayweather only magnified the intensity of the sparring sessions. “Manny is really against domestic violence,” Roach told USA Today. “It is a big issue in the Philippines, and being a congressman he can control some of that stuff. That is a plus for me, that Manny does not like him. The killer instinct is going to come back a lot faster.” Dwelling on Mayweather, he added, darkly: “It’s hard to say these things in public. But I know he is a bad guy.”
So bad, indeed, that Roach has even considered enlisting a couple of Nevada policemen to tell Pacquiao more about Mayweather’s litany of transgressions. Among them, his notoriety as an alleged woman-beater is a subject frequently glossed over, not least by Couric, who during their cosy chat referred to “reduced misdemeanour charges” and allowed his preposterous response to them to pass without interruption. “I’m black, I’m rich, I’m outspoken,” he blathered. “Those are three strikes right there. Did I kick, stomp and beat someone? No. Did I restrain a woman that was on drugs? Yes. So if they say that’s domestic violence, then you know what? I’m guilty.”
This does not quite tally with the testimony of former partner Josie Harris, who claims she suffered physical abuse from Mayweather on six occasions, the worst coming in September 2010. That night, she told police, she was viciously beaten, while one of Mayweather’s accomplices prevented their 10-year-son Karoun from trying to help her. The account was supported by Karoun himself, while hospital tests indicated that Harris had suffered bruises, contusions and a concussion sustained from a blow to the back of the head
Is this seriously the type of man Brady should embrace like some fellow frat boy? Is he the kind of figure to whom Couric, one of the most admired US broadcasters and a prominent advocate for women’s rights, should throw the feeblest of softballs? It is important to stress that Mayweather, much like Pacquiao, was born into acute poverty and hardship. Growing up in a ghetto of Grand Rapids, Michigan, he lived with six members of his family in one room and watched his father shot in front of him. Floyd Snr, his coach since he threw his first punch, was later sentenced to 5½ years in prison for drugs trafficking.
one of this offers mitigation, however, for the behaviour that put Mayweather in a Nevada detention centre for two months in 2012 – a laughably lenient punishment imposed by a judge who even allowed him to postpone the sentence so that he could earn £30 million from fighting Miguel Cotto. Ultimately, one can only conclude that he is given a free pass so often because his apologists are rabbits in the dazzling headlights of a power gleaned purely from money. “Money isn’t everything – it’s the only thing,” he has said, ever since sport’s wealthiest man transformed his image from ‘Pretty Boy Floyd’ to ‘Money Mayweather’. “I’d rather be hated for who I am than be loved for someone I’m not.”
Perhaps, as his cheerleaders would argue, this is some brilliant expression of his essential authenticity. Or perhaps it is all an elaborate trick to conceal the thug within.
