There was little to be learned by followers 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 thoughtfulnes, the right place to watch a saloon crusade. Ultimately, for Conor McGregor, there was time for neither much speculating nor a lot of what the Irishman would regard as proper battle. He approximately redoubled his Warholian 15 times of renown and substantially enhanced his asset, while retaining a good deal of dignity in defeat.
Yet, from our boisterous place 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 seat Floyd Mayweather allowed the mixed martial artist on his grown-up introduction in a squared ring in Las Vegas was way 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 engages, in Chicago in 1951:” Ya never employ me down, Ray. Ya never threw me down .” And so it was for McGregor, slapped so sharply and with such certainty from the sixth to the 10 th, but left with the compensation of perpendicularity at the end.
Of course they smiled and cuddled. 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 numerals on Sky were expected to be stratospheric- and the United States, where punters paid nearly $100 for the privilege of watching this unique reason at home or $40 in barrooms like the Lansdowne Road on 10 th Avenue.
Mayweather constructed room north of the rumoured $100 m and is now a billionaire. McGregor went home with a kitty close to the $30 m digit that revealed out from generators. Showtime and other outlets cleaned up too. It was, as they claimed, the most difficult push in history, financially at least.
And that was the moment of everything there is for the fighters. Contrary to the wider feeling, they cared not a lot for the integrity of their penalties. They very much appreciated opening appearings to the contrary, however, which left the wholly false impression that boxing’s future was in the hands 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 held no chance.
That does not mean boxing is better than MMA. If McGregor had prevailed, neither would it have proved the opposite. They are as different as rugby tournament is from rugby union.
Boxing is a sport imparted immediately over the leading leg, with the heavines contained there as a fulcrum through which all meaningful punches are propelled, with spontaneity and acceleration; MMA, a play of punching, knocking and striving, relies on the mutual agreement of interval and pausing and is being carried out in staccato flares of winging legs, gloves and leaping. So fair play to Ireland’s finest exponent of the mixed prowess for even attempting to compete with the most significant boxer of this generation while leaving most of his weapons at home.