Boxing, like the movies, works best when there are clearly defined good guys and bad guys to root for and against. Even in the current duplicitous times we inhabit, where Hollywood mirrors reality and blurs the moral line between the chaste and the skulduggers, the cowboys and the indians, the cops and the robbers, the majority of popcorn munchers the world over still like to know which mast to pin their loyalties to. Boxing fans tend not to differ in this regard, we all have our favourites we holler passionately for, as well as those fighters who, for whatever reason, we just can’t stand, who we long to see skidding across the ring on the seat of their designer satin trunks or sitting on their stools asking their cornermen, ‘what the hell happened?’.
Once over for a fighter, a tarnished public image was commercial suicide, but not every boxer can be blessed with the appeal of an Oscar De La Hoya, with his winning, saccharine smile which tots up dollars proportionately for every watt of gleaming light it emits. Wise to this and of the old adage that bad publicity is better than no publicity, boxing’s number one exponent has become the sport’s bad guy elect. Floyd Mayweather has adapted to ensure that if he can’t make the fans love him, he can sure as hell make them pay to see him, even if the majority tune in hoping to see him handed his arse on a plate.
There was a time when fighters just fought, end of story, before the glare of television called for them to develop personalities in order to rope in viewers. Boxing still had its supposed bad guys, the ‘boo boys’ that fans wanted to see defeated, however this centred mainly on race. Times have thankfully changed since the reign of the legendary Jack Johnson, hated for daring to be the heavyweight champion whilst also being a black man. These days we have real reasons to want to see the select few spanked.
Now there’s a difference in not particularly liking someone and vehemently anti supporting a fighter. Nobody cared much for Pernell Whitaker’s lack of charm, Sonny Liston’s brand of melancholy wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea and not too many punters lit up at the sight of Larry Holmes, however this lot didn’t particularly generate more fans in the bleachers in the hope of seeing them get a whipping. Floyd though, has managed to go a step beyond and now has fans paying and hoping see him lose, no mean feat and at least guaranteeing that the dollar bills keep on rolling in.
Sport of course has become a global business; athletes now negotiate their image rights, a lucrative racket indeed. Muhammad Ali sold the rights to his image in 2001, snapped up by entertainment and licensing company CKX to the tune of 50 million dollars, whereas George Foreman cleared 146 million dollars by putting his name on that famous grilling machine. Few prize fighters however can hope to gain this type of deal; few in the history of sport, never mind boxing, amassed the fame and marketability of the aforementioned duo.
The pot of gold for most fighters is the coveted pay per view date, where a bout is served up to the public with some sort of tagline which can relate a story to the masses, for example: ‘Thunder and Lightning’ (Gatti v Mayweather), ‘America’s Last Line of Defence’ (Rahman v Maskaev 2) along with the upcoming ‘Fast & Furious’ (Mosley v Cotto) to name but a few. In order for the consumer to buy into the story, clearly defined characters are a must, this is the importance in a boxer having a readily definable image and if the populace don’t root for you then it seems brilliant business savvy to become the guy they love to hate (a character Mike Tyson candidly admitted to playing up to in order to sell a fight). It was no coincidence that after insulting the entire population of Mexico, Greg Haugen managed to attract a record attendance of over 136, 000 fans to watch him publicly chastised by their idol Julio Cesar Chavez in 1993.
Now there’s quite a buffet of things not to like about Floyd; from his disgust early in his career that his multi million dollar HBO contract amounted to a pittance, to his less than scintillating fighting style, the vitriol towards his father and on through his bleating pleas for acceptance and his boasts that he is already the best fighter of all time, better even than…….gulp….Ray Robinson. That last remark alone is enough to have the reader digging their fingers into the page in frustration. Ludicrous indeed, for allow one’s mind to meander and picture the avalanche of WBC trinkets swaddling Dizzy Gillespie rather than 50 Cent if yesteryear was nowadays, just how many alphabet titles could the original Sugar man have gathered?
Insolence towards the greatest fist fighter ever to squeeze their mitts into a pair of boxing gloves is not exactly the key to a greater fan base, at least in the traditional sense of a fan being someone who supports and encourages their charge onto greater glories. However Floyd has managed to develop anti fans, boxing buffs who cough up hard earned funds hoping to see him beaten. This is a rare talent indeed, not many have been able to get under the skin in quite the way that ‘Pretty Boy’ Floyd has.
So where did it all start? We can map a direct lineage linking boxers whose ability to rub fans up the wrong way, (perhaps through being outspoken, brash or controversial), has lent itself to attracting more fans to their fights, usually to see them humbled. The pioneer of this, as with so much in the sport, was the coltish Ali, who shocked with his oratory and bombast, his views and principles in the early years, before his courage later saw him universally feted.
After Ali, we saw the emergence of Hispanic glitter ball, Hector Camacho, a hallucinogenic offshoot from ‘The Greatest’ and former juvenile delinquent. From his sneering racist remarks to the gaudy ring attire (which looked like it had been borrowed from a costume box in a Las Vegas strip club), to describe the Puerto Rican speedball as ‘colourful’ was a disservice. So much to boo here then? Well I’d venture that labelling yourself ‘Macho’ whilst sporting a kiss curl and shorts resembling a skirt is as good a start as any. The man that Bob Arum once claimed pictured happiness as ‘dying in his own arms’, Camacho understood the logic behind his act, he didn’t care if the fans hissed or cheered as long as they paid to see him perform. The former 2 weight WBC titlist worked the crowd before his 1990 light welterweight clash with Vinny Pazienza, appearing in between undercard fights to torment the Paz fans, stirring them up by grabbing the MC’s microphone and shrieking, ‘It’s Macho Time’. Camacho’s brash persona made for great entertainment and widened his exposure which in turn led to pay per view dates such as his losing effort against Julio Cesar Chavez in 1991 televised by Showtime.
The heir to Camacho’s throne of tumult was our dear own Prince Naz. Hamed appropriated the worst aspects of the aforementioned duo’s bad behaviour which, as his career plunged towards its messy conclusion saw him roundly booed when beamed onto the overhead screens whilst attending US fight cards, booed out of the ring in his farewell fight and saw British fight scribes perversely elated at ringside after Barrera effectively ended his time as a boxer. Hamed had taken the trash talking too far, taken himself far too seriously, subsequently becoming the guy that most fans wanted to see knocked off his faux regal perch. In a moment encapsulating this, amidst the most excruciating and pompous ring entrance by a prize fighter ever seen, descending to the ring to face his nemesis Barrera whilst sitting inside a giant hula hoop on wires, one punter obviously having seen enough struck a blow for Joe Public and flung a warm beer at him. The night went downhill subsequently for Hamed. Prior to his demise however, Hamed’s outrageous act had netted a 12 million dollar, 6 fight deal with HBO with untold riches to follow had he bested the Mexican legend.
Naz of course took a major lead from one of boxing’s most eccentric performers, the incomparable Chris Eubank. Years previously, a boyish Hamed had stood at ringside in the Manchester G-Mex, mouth agape as Eubank poleaxed John Jarvis before adopting his famous arrogant pose for the ITV cameras, an early lesson for the young Naz in how to play a crowd. In the early 90’s, Eubank played the bad guy with aplomb. His manager Barry Hearn, a former accountant, decided to bring a touch of marketing nous to British boxing and Eubank’s flamboyant ring entrances (at one time he paraded to the ring atop a Harley Davidson), outrageous sound bites (boxing was a mug’s game), his leap into the ring over the top rope and his arrogant affectations saw him become the guy the British public loved to hate. Hearn and Eubank milked this image, that of the pantomime villain, one which saw him sign a record busting 10 million pound contract with Sky in 1994 after drawing a crowd of over 40,000 to Old Trafford in 1993 to see him tackle perennial fan favourite Nigel Benn.
So in this age of marketing, image rights and media manipulation are we to believe Floyd has incredibly constructed this image purposefully? Unlikely. He tried his best to come across like the popular fighters, but whereas Felix Trinidad breaking down after his hellish struggle with Fernando Vargas was stirring, Floyd following suit after skirting the edges of the ring in avoiding the limited attacks of Carlos Baldomir was always likely to be seen as just plain annoying. Ricky Hatton sinking to his knees in tears after having his mettle assessed by Kostya Tszyu endeared him to the fans, however Mayweather’s hammy overblown sobs after playing one man ping pong with Arturo Gatti’s head appeared as something else entirely. That’s the beauty of boxing; fighters can’t hide who they really are; Floyd’s just being Floyd.
Mayweather not fitting in with the other fellas however is boxing’s gain as the sport needs these anti fans; they turn good business into great business. The carrot dangling for the Ricky Hatton supporters if their charge were to claim the pound for pound top spot is sweetened all the more if the fighter in the opposition corner is one such as Floyd Mayweather; the fans have dual reasons to scream themselves hoarse. Mayweather has cleverly adapted, perhaps accentuated the worst aspects of his character and in turn, increased his marketability.
The way Floyd boxes does not stop people dead in their tracks and make them take notice, however his brash persona might. The public want to see him humbled just as they did with Ali, Eubank et al before they tasted their first defeat and with it eradicated that most hated of human characteristics; a perceived lack of humility.
The key of course to Floyd’s marketability, this magic ingredient Mayweather currently possesses, is the fact his resume remains unblemished, this is essential if his current persona is to prosper. Italian New Yorker Paulie Malignaggi managed to land a pay per view date with Miguel Cotto last year based mainly on his raucous Camacho-like personality backed up by his spotless unbeaten record. His bravery in defeat however extinguished any chance of him taking over the mantle of being the guy you love to hate and therefore would happily pay to see whupped; he’d scotched that by gaining the respect of the fans.
Back to the movie analogy and imagine genre spawning actioner, Die Hard if Bruce Willis and his vest hadn’t been battling one of the most deliciously crafted screen villains of all time and instead had merely been matched against a bland stereotypical film baddie. Sure, we’d still have wanted Bruce to triumph, but not half as much as when we had the ultimate rogue to boo as well. Playing the bad guy can do wonders at the box office; just ask Alan Rickman or Floyd Mayweather.
