Oh, it was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Finally, someone arose who was not too timid in the presence (well, on the phone anyway) of Floyd "Money" Mayweather to tell him everything he didn't want to hear. And after eight scintillating minutes, Rugged Man felled the greatest paper champion this side of Xerox.
There was plenty of shouting, profanity, name calling, and relatively none of the peek-a-boo style defense that makes Floyd so impressive and boring to watch at the same time. (hear it all on YouYube)
But I think what disturbed me the most is that Floyd doesn't seem to care about his legacy in the sport. When asked about it, he said, "Legacy don't pay the bills." Again, we know what his true priority in life is. By the way, that screaming you hear is Sugar Ray Robinson and Henry Armstrong up in heaven begging God to let them come back so they can take turns knocking Floyd into the third row.
When pressed about his unwillingness to fight true competition in his weight class (Shane Mosley, Manny Pacquiao, Paul Williams, Antonio Margarito), Floyd replied, "That's not how boxing works," then mentioned how Pacquiao has been KO'd twice (he forgot to mention that PacMan was 18 at the time and hasn't lost in 10 years).
Not how boxing works, are you serious Floyd? Boxing is a man's sport, and in a man's sport, the best fight the best. And when the best fight the best, sometimes they lose. Boxing is not for wussies, Floyd. Get it, or get out.
Then came Rugged Man's greatest moment. He flat told Floyd, "If you fight Paul Williams, you'll get your a** kicked, if you fight Margarito, you'll get your a** kicked, if you fight Mosley, you're gonna get your a** kicked." You could almost picture Mayweather with his hands up in the Philly shell defense, trying to ward off the stinging blows, and at one point he almost sounded like he was tearing up.
Floyd Mayweather, unfortunately, is symptomatic of everything that is wrong with the modern mindset here in America. He wants to be great, truly believes he is, sets his own rules when he wants to (see the Marquez weigh-in), and does nothing to validate his delusions about himself. He is a phony, the Splenda of the boxing world, the Diet-Coke of pugilism, and the margarine of the Marquess of Queensbury's game. He is the perfect embodiment of the Age of Entitlement, the Joseph Goebbels of fistic propaganda.
But for eight fleeting minutes, Floyd received the first true beating of his career, and it provided a nice appetizer for when it finally happens in the ring.