Why I shall probably give Mayweather freak show a miss
Twenty years ago, a few days after the end of an extended beer run that took in San Francisco, San Luis Obispo, Los Angeles and, naturally, Las Vegas, I sat down in the living room of the father of a friend of a friend in a little town in northern California. The fight of the bite was about to be shown live.
Few bars in the town were going to show Evander Holyfield versus Mike Tyson, the Sound and the Fury II as it was billed. They could not afford the pay-by-view or did not want to pay for it.
This was then the highestgrossing fight in history. They took $15m in ticket sales alone. TV viewers would pay around $50 for the fight.
The New York Times said Cablevision viewers would have to pay $9.95 per round, capped at $49.95. The rand was R4.50 to the dollar then. I couldn’t afford it.
Neither could the father of a friend of a friend. They had a pirate cable connection, their TV plugged in via a lifethreatening mess of plugs and wires. We sat on the carpet with a case of beer between myself and my friend. That should see us through the fight.
Beer number two had just been cracked when the bite happened. Forty seconds before the end of the third round, the madness of Mike ended the fight of the year.
We watched the hysteria, the screaming fit of anger by Tyson as he was disqualified. Tyson was in line to earn $30m, Holyfield $11m.
Tyson was suspended from boxing for life and fined $3m by the Nevada State Commission. He was back a year later. He should never have returned.
I’m pretty sure I won’t be sitting on the carpet of the living room of a friend of a friend for the McGregor-Mayweather fight. I’m not entirely sure if I’ll watch it live at all.
But, then, again, at 5am on Sunday, as I wake up in Cape Town and wait for the sun to rise hours later, perhaps I shall. There is something of the freak show about it, more funny fight than money fight. It feels off, contrived. But there is a reason people go to freak shows, a reason they rubberneck car crashes, watch reality TV and follow Andile Mngxitama on Twitter — the guilty pleasure of being shocked and outraged and happy that it is not you.
Their last appearances before the fight ran with the programme. First, a near scuffle in the street like two gangs shouting, “Do you know who I am?” at each other at the Doll’s House in Louis Botha Avenue in Joburg a lifetime ago.
The media conference was staid. The public was not allowed it.
There was no cheering, no crowd to play to, just journalists and an entourage.
One of the Mayweather entourage heckled McGregor. He gave it back to him.
Even Mayweather was none too pleased with the heckler, telling him: “Listen, if you’re going to be here then conduct yourself in an orderly fashion. I told you this.”
Who would I like to win? McGregor. I’m Irish by birth.
I also cannot see past Mayweather’s past. I can’t see past a morning on September 9 2010, when Josie Harris woke up at 5am. It was her former boyfriend, Mayweather.
They had argued earlier. He had come back. This time with backup. He had her cellphone, on which he had found messages from NBA player CJ Watson, her boyfriend.
The arrest report tells the story. “I’m going to kill you and the man you are messing around with,” it records Mayweather telling Harris, the mother of three of his children.
He grabbed her by the hair and punched her in the back of the head. His two children, a 10-year-old boy and a nineyear-old boy, watched the assault. The boys ran for help.
Mayweather was sentenced to 90 days for the assault. He served two months. He still denies it happened. But he has a conviction.
There has been little mention of this in the build-up to the fight during this women’s month. Maybe that will be the sole reason I won’t watch this fight. I can’t abide what he did to Jodie Harris.