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 contend. Ultimately, for Conor McGregor, there was time for neither much guessing nor a lot of what the Irishman would regard as proper combat-ready. He approximately redoubled his Warholian 15 hours of prominence and greatly deepened his capital, while retaining a good deal of glory in defeat.
Yet, from our loud discern 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 opening Floyd Mayweather stood the mixed martial artist on his grown-up debut in a squared ring in Las Vegas was acces most intense than anything McGregor can have imagined during his youth back in Dublin. His diddling about during a handful of teenage amateur boxing contests in Crumlin, topped 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 stagecoaches of the nine-and-a-bit rounds it lasted.
As Jake LaMotta is alleged to have spluttered through bruised cheeks at Sugar Ray Robinson in the 13 th round of the last of their six fights, in Chicago in 1951:” Ya never introduce me down, Ray. Ya never set me down .” And so it was for McGregor, slapped so crisply 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 espoused. Metaphorically that is what they had been doing in an elongated buildup that took in a publicity tour of the UK- where pay-per-view amounts on Sky were expected to be stratospheric- and the United States, where punters paid roughly $100 for the privilege of watching this unique opportunity at home or $40 in forbids like the Lansdowne Road on 10 th Avenue.
Mayweather manufactured lane northward of the rumoured $100 m and is now a billionaire. McGregor went home with a kitty close to the $30 m chassis that revealed out from generators. Showtime and other stores cleaned up too. It was, as they claimed, the most difficult push in record, financially at least.
And that was the phase of everything there is for the fighters. Contrary to the wider taste, they attended not a lot for the unity of their subjects. They very much appreciated causing impressions to the contrary, however, which left the altogether false impression that boxing’s future was in the mitts of its maestro and Dana White’s reeling UFC circus was going to depend on a McGregor miracle.
But miracles happen only in the Bible and Hollywood. This was neither a sermon on the mount nor a movie. There were few lessons learned but the obvious ones. As every worthwhile expert- almost entirely from “the worlds” of professional boxing- had been saying for months, McGregor accepted no chance.
That does not mean boxing is better than MMA. If McGregor had won, neither would it have proved the opposite. They are as different as rugby tournament is from rugby union.
Boxing is a play conducted directly over the leading leg, with the weight comprised there as a fulcrum through which all meaningful jolts are launched, with spontaneity and speed; MMA, a boast of punching, kicking and grappling, relies on the mutual agreement of distance and pausing and is conducted in staccato bursts of flying legs, gauntlets and leaping. So fair play to Ireland’s finest exponent of the mixed skills for even attempting to compete with the finest boxer of this generation while leaving most of his artilleries at home.