After three months of promotional appearances so grotesque they made Donald Trump rallies look like Mensa meetings, Floyd Mayweather and Conor McGregor produced the one thing no-one expected: a proper world title fight.
It wasn’t the Rumble in the Jungle. It wasn’t even the Rumble in the Shrubbery.
But in their contrasting styles, the fluctuating fortunes, McGregor’s incredible resilience and Mayweather’s remarkable ring craft, it was better than many of Mayweather’s previous title fights — especially the most recent against great rival Manny Pacquiao.
The art of salesmanship is to undersell and over-deliver.
Mayweather-McGregor was sold harder than Channel Nine’s cricket memorabilia. So it seemed impossible the event could match the hype. As “events” go, it didn’t.
Yet, against all expectations, the fight itself delivered the one thing that should matter: a genuinely engrossing sporting contest. (Assuming you hold the opinion that, in this more sensitive age, two people standing toe-to-toe trying to punch each other in the head is a legitimate sport; not merely what happens in a long queue outside a city nightclub.)
Throughout the nauseatingly extravagant and hilariously contrived lead-up, Mayweather-McGregor became a one-stop shop for all that…
click here to read the rest of this story