Ahead of the Press Conference of the Century for the Fight of the Century, Mike Tyson decided to sit up in the cheap seats with the media.
An usher urged Mr. Tyson to move down to the first few rows, which had been taken over by Floyd Mayweather's camp.
"Nah," Mr. Tyson said. "I try my best nowadays to stay as far away from dirt as possible."
This is game recognizing game, or maybe just envy. Mr. Tyson was once the most infamous boxer in the world. Mr. Mayweather has taken that superlative from him.
Beyond the apparent skill of either fighter, that's why Saturday's Mayweather-Manny Pacquiao tilt is so compelling. Mr. Pacquiao is a soft-spoken, relentlessly God-fearing man who wanders the Earth like a battling Mother Teresa.
Mr. Mayweather is pure id, someone both bedevilled and driven by his inner darkness.
Many people are put out by the idea that a guy with a history of domestic violence gets to perform in what might be the biggest sports event of all time. They are offended by his compulsive displays of wealth (he wears his shoes only once, then leaves them behind in hotel rooms for the cleaning staff). He clearly values his title as the richest athlete in history over his 11 world championships.
That elides a key fact – if Mr. Mayweather was a decent guy, he wouldn't be nearly as much fun to watch.
When he was an infant, Mr. Mayweather's father, Floyd Sr., used him as a human shield when a relative threatened to shoot him. The attacker lowered the barrel and shot Floyd Sr. in the leg, hobbling his fighting career.
No wonder, then, that Mr. Mayweather came up in the rich tradition of Insufferable Boxing Loudmouth. This is a guy who once so badly baited a faded Sugar Ray Leonard at a banquet, the two nearly came to blows on stage.
Despite a relatively dreary style that emphasizes defence, Mr. Mayweather established himself as boxing's biggest star largely because he was so easy to hate. Mr. Pacquiao played yin to his yang, off doing good works. Neither would have attracted such devotion without the other to act as a counterpoint.
Mr. Mayweather avoided fighting Mr. Pacquiao for years (or Mr. Pacquiao avoided him – it depends on your rooting interest).
The funny thing – now that he's here, he seems keen to compartmentalize Real Floyd, choosing instead to introduce us to Humble Floyd.
Since the global spotlight tilted toward him about a week ago, he's taken an absolute media battering for his past criminal behaviour.
An ESPN crew nailed him during a red carpet grip-and-grin: "No governing body has ever suspended you or sanctioned you. What message do you think that sends victims of domestic violence?"
His answer, given without missing a beat: "I just want everybody to tune in May 2nd – Mayweather versus Pacquiao. This is a fight you can't miss."
Admit it – there is something visceral about a villain so shameless. It's almost affirming.
At his unveiling here, he was driven the hundred yards from the back of the MGM Grand Arena to the stage. His hype man was hip-hop legend Doug E. Fresh. Thousands had paid to watch perhaps three minutes of preening. They took full vocal advantage. For all the people who despise Mr. Mayweather, there are always plenty of contrarians who rally to a Black Hat.
Mr. Mayweather – petit and graceful – swam through the throng at the front. Four shockingly large bodyguards trailed him. They seemed dangerously keen on flattening anyone who got too close. There's nothing like the energy around a big fight to treble the body's production of testosterone.
Once on the riser, Mr. Mayweather adopted the penitent's pose – head down, hands clasped in front. He is set to make as much as $180-million (U.S.) from Saturday's encounter.
"It's really not all about making money," said the guy whose nickname is Money – "of course, I make a lot of money."
It was an unbalancing display. The Floyd we know may be the most insistently needling man alive. A few days out, we're apparently here to establish Mr. Mayweather's (superfluous) good-guy bonafides. The final question lobbed up at him like a watermelon: "How are your children feeling about everything?"
Mr. Mayweather smiled shyly. "Hopefully, they're doing okay," he said, suggesting he doesn't know.
You can almost believe this is the real him. And maybe, in this environment, surrounded by the sort of hysterical adoration only fighters can elicit, it is.
But the real Floyd Mayweather is the reason this fight is such an event. It's not just his fists or his undefeated record that made him so famous. It's his immoral core that simultaneously attracts and repulses.
A day later, at the presser – after a snippy, meandering oration by his promoter, Bob Arum – Mr. Pacquiao gave all praises to the higher power.
"I'm hoping that after the fight, we can have a conversation on sharing my faith."
Mr. Mayweather didn't bother looking up. He also didn't sneer, which would be more his style.
Refusing to be outdone, he also started on the devotional tip: "First off, I want to thank God …" – then quickly got to his real work – " … I also want to thank the media outlets."
Maybe Mr. Mayweather is finally bending to the demands of normative behaviour. At 38, maybe he's started thinking about his legacy beyond Learjets and Bentley fleets.
If so, he needn't bother. The world doesn't need another solid citizen to cheer. It needs something to lean against.
Based on his actions, Floyd Mayweather is a bad person. It's only in this particular world that that fact makes him good.