‘Floyd-Conor a stale act’

There’s a reason tons of good seats remain for what was supposed to be the year’s hottest ticket.

Actually, there are two reasons the hype bubble surrounding the fight between Floyd Mayweather Jr. and Conor McGregor has been punctured, at least a bit.

In their quest to extract every dollar possible, promoters wildly miscalculated their audience. This isn’t boxing, with an established wealthy fan base willing to pay thousands of dollars as they did for Mayweather’s 2015 fight with Manny Pacquiao.

The 20-something UFC fans that are driving this promotion for the most part don’t have 10 grand to blow on a pair of seats. They’ll have to be content to sit in front of the television with a few friends, cheering on McGregor from the couch instead of inside the arena.

The other reason might be that the con job that is Mayweather and McGregor has been exposed. And, in a revealing twist, it was done by the fighters themselves.

The drama has already played out, almost before it really got started. The act is tired, as anyone who saw the media tour or watched the first “All Access” episode on Showtime can attest.

See Floyd play with his money. Watch Conor model fur coats and boast that his net worth will quadruple.

Listen as they scream profanities at each other, then try not to laugh at the inside joke they share as they face off for photographers.

It’s all a big tease, a fantasyland built on dreams and hopes. It’s as phony as the $100 million check that Mayweather likes to wave around when the truth is he can’t even afford to pay his taxes without selling some of his assets.

That’s enough to sell it to home viewers at $99.95 apiece. It’s entertainment, much like Wrestlemania, and a good excuse to get a few friends together for a party.

But it’s a little tougher to justify $15,000 (plus $1,292.81 in service fees) for two seats in Section 4, Row S of the T-Mobile arena that are so far from ringside you’ll need to spend another $100 for a pair of binoculars to see the action.

The bottom line is that there’s no there there. This is more reality show than fight, and the reality is that it’s such an awful mismatch that Nevada boxing regulators should be ashamed of themselves for even sanctioning it.

But Mayweather is starved for cash, and doesn’t mind making a fool of himself to replenish his bank account. The boxer who likes to wear hats proclaiming himself “TBE’” (The Best Ever) is so desperate to sell this fight that he’s promoting it by suggesting he’s not that good anymore.

“That’s what makes this fight so entertaining,” Mayweather said on the All Access show. “I’m not the Mayweather of the past.”

It’s all a big tease, a fantasyland built on dreams and hopes. It’s as phony as the $100 million check that Mayweather likes to wave around when the truth is he can’t even afford to pay his taxes without selling some of his assets. TIM DAHLBERG