The only thing missing Wednesday was a closer. You know, the guy with a fresh face and renewed sense of enthusiasm. The one who reeks of commission and within a few minutes has successfully disintegrated hours of negotiations into a sheet of smoke and flame.
Floyd Mayweather’s immense popularity at the box office and through pay-per-view receipts is born directly from two factions. Those who love him. Those who, well, don’t.
The doorstep calls them all at some point. It beckons with truths about age and fading skills and stories about greatness abating from one’s Hall of Fame resume. Manny Pacquiao is being called, but is convinced it’s far too early.
Timothy Bradley is taking life’s journey seriously, following the idea that our legacy should be etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about us.
This really does make perfect sense, that the new, big (really big) thing in the Ultimate Fighting Championship is our very own version of Ivan Drago.
