There was little to be learned by fans or experts after a predictable outcome to the money-spinning boxing match in Las Vegas between Floyd Mayweather and Conor McGregor
A bar is, on reflection, the right place to watch a forbid crusade. Eventually, for Conor McGregor, there was time for neither much recollecting nor a lot of what the Irishman would regard as proper battle. He approximately redoubled his Warholian 15 hours of notoriety and greatly intensified his property, while retaining a great deal of glory in defeat.
Yet, from our boisterous spot in front of a screen in the Lansdowne Road Bar( where else ?) in New York City on Saturday night, it was clear that what mental and physical space Floyd Mayweather allowed the mixed martial artist on his grown-up debut in a squared ring in Las Vegas was method more intense than anything McGregor can have imagined during his youth back in Dublin. His diddling about during a handful of teenage amateur boxing bouts in Crumlin, surfaced up by preparation for this fight that had its infancy in sparring a year ago, was the most uninformative preparation for what engulfed him from the midway theatres of the nine-and-a-bit rounds it lasted.
As Jake LaMotta is alleged to have spluttered through bruised lips at Sugar Ray Robinson in the 13 th round of the last of their six battles, in Chicago in 1951:” Ya never place me down, Ray. Ya never placed me down .” And so it was for McGregor, slapped so aggressively and with such inevitability from the sixth to the 10 th, but left with the fees of perpendicularity at the end.
Of course they smiled and embraced. Metaphorically that is what they had been doing in an lengthened buildup that took in a publicity tour of the UK- where pay-per-view numbers on Sky were expected to be stratospheric- and the United States, where punters paid practically $100 for special privileges of watching this unique party at home or $40 in bars like the Lansdowne Road on 10 th Avenue.
Mayweather induced way northward of the rumoured $100 m and is now a billionaire. McGregor went home with a kitty close to the $30 m person that divulged out from beginnings. Showtime and other outlets cleaned up too. It was, as they claimed, the most difficult contend in history, financially at least.
And that was the spot of it all for the fighters. Contrary to the wider perception, they cared not a lot for the unity of their punishments. They very much appreciated making forms to the contrary, nonetheless, which left the wholly false impression that boxing’s future was in the handwritings of its maestro and Dana White’s rolling UFC circus was going to depend on a McGregor miracle.
But miracles happen only in the Bible and Hollywood. This was neither a speech on the mount nor a movie. There were few lessons learned but the obvious ones. As every worthwhile expert- almost exclusively from “the worlds” of professional boxing- had been saying for months, McGregor countenanced no chance.
That does not mean boxing is better than MMA. If McGregor had triumphed, neither would it have proved the opposite. They are as different as rugby league is from rugby union.
Boxing is a sport conducted immediately over the leading leg, with the weight nursed there as a fulcrum through which all meaningful jolts are launched, with spontaneity and quicken; MMA, a play of punching, kicking and grappling, relies on the mutual agreement of distance and pausing and is being carried out in staccato explosions of piloting legs, gloves and lunging. So fair play to Ireland’s finest exponent of the mixed prowess for even attempting to compete with the finest boxer of the current generation while leaving most of his weapons at home.