by David P. Greisman
We used to have countdowns for these fights, one last 30-minute gasp to sell a major HBO pay-per-view or “World Championship Boxing” broadcast. If you were already thinking about seeing the big fight, then this was the network’s bid at closing the sale. And if you hadn’t yet considered tuning in, then the “Countdown To…” formula got straight to business.
You learned who the fighters were and why they were important. You heard about the stakes of the fight, the storyline coming in and what victory would mean. It was a commercial, yes, but one with documentary value. You left a better-informed customer, energized and excited.
At some point the idea of pre-fight documentaries became corrupted by the contrived nature of reality television. The featured players act for the cameras rather than have their actions captured by them. The scenes and storylines become less about the fight than about establishing characters and conflict.
At some point the idea became making sure we weren’t only pondering the big fight just before it arrived, but that we were sold from the beginning, thinking of it “24/7.”
There is no featured player who has taken better advantage of such marketing than Floyd Mayweather Jr. He has been integral in making the “24/7” franchise a success, and he has in turn been made by it. His personality, as well as the characters and conflict that surround him, make for compelling television. He attracts attention. He sells pay-per-views.
He returned this past Saturday, appearing on the franchise for the first time in 16 months, this time in advance of his Sept. 17 fight with Victor Ortiz.
As expected, his personality, and the characters and conflict that come with it, had people watching. As expected, the show got people talking.
Let’s talk about the first episode of “24/7 Mayweather-Ortiz,” then.
With a nod to syndicated columnist Norman Chad, I took notes:
10 p.m. Eastern Time Saturday: We open, of course, with Floyd Mayweather Jr., last seen in May 2010 dominating Shane Mosley, one frightening round notwithstanding. He is approaching 35, a pro fighter for nearly 15 years, a boxer for essentially his whole life. He has retired and gone on sabbatical multiple times.
“What motives me,” he says, “is just putting the finishing touches on my legacy.”
Mayweather doesn’t need to fight. He presumably has enough money, even with the mounting legal bills and the continued tax troubles. He doesn’t need to prove anything – so long as he’s content merely being in the Hall of Fame. He is a fighter with transcendent talent, but we have always wanted him to do even more with it than what is already contained within his 41-0 record.
The proverbial feather in his cap begins with Victor Ortiz.
Ortiz ain’t Manny Pacquiao. We opened with Mayweather, a man who didn’t need an introduction. If Ortiz is going to be portrayed as something other than a fall guy to the less-informed casual viewer, his introduction needs to start here.
“This isn’t half as bad as my youth was growing up,” Ortiz says. “As of today, I’m not content. I’m not happy. I’m knocking at the doors. I’m at the footsteps of something big.”
We’ve got two guys with noble intentions, but that’s not good enough. Not in this reality era.
10:02 p.m.: “Who work harder than me?” Mayweather asks, his eyes wide, his right hand on the side of his face, his posture agitated. “No athlete work harder than me. F**k fighters. No athlete works harder than me.
“We on 24/7 right now,” he says. “You tell me one athlete right now that’s been dominating the game for 16 years straight without a loss. Tell me one. Tell me just one. That ends it all. I’m gone.”
Boom. The fourth wall is broken. Mayweather, with that, is beginning to cast himself again as the antihero.
The narrator jumps in: “This is ‘24/7 Mayweather-Ortiz.’ ” You heard the man. Ortiz, the titleholder, doesn’t get his name first. This is Mayweather’s show, after all. Ortiz comes second.
10:03 p.m.: That won’t mean short shrift will be given to Ortiz, however. He has a compelling story outside of the ring and a compelling story inside of it; both can be used to drive the sales of this fight.
We meet Ortiz’s trainer, Danny Garcia, and see that he works in the wee hours driving a truck for Coca-Cola. I trust that this isn’t product placement, though the narrator sure doesn’t shy away from dropping the brand name on several other occasions in this episode.
The rest of us hacks must settle for referring to a company and just hoping that someone sees it and will send free stuff. This week’s column, then, is brought to you by Yuengling. And actress Christina Hendricks.
10:04 pm.: It’s easy to root for the underdog, but it’s difficult to invest emotionally in someone you don’t think will win. Mayweather is the known quantity, both for who he is and what he can do.
Boxing’s most common archetype is the blue-collar guy of an underdog, the one who beats the odds and works his way to a better life. It’s hard not to be amazed at Victor Ortiz’s story.
“I grew up pretty poor – very poor,” Ortiz says of the life he and his younger brother had as kids in Kansas. “We definitely didn’t have a whole lot, but we had each other.”
Their mother abandoned them when they were barely old enough for elementary school. Their father soon did the same. They were just children in a trailer that had no food or electricity, we learn. They stayed with friends for a few years before entering foster care. Victor soon took up boxing.
Now Ortiz is a 24-year-old fighting for millions of dollars. His brother, Temo, is 22 and is running his own trucking company when not helping Victor in training camp.
Victor Ortiz has been criticized for sounding artificial in past televised interviews. This? This is who he really is.
10:07 p.m.: If Ortiz’s camp can get product placement through Garcia’s affiliation with Coca-Cola (Side note: Have I mentioned how much I love Yuengling? And Emma Stone?), then Mayweather’s camp will have its fill due to the fighter’s friendship with rapper 50 Cent.
Several years ago, 50 Cent promised he’d quit music if his newest album didn’t sell as many copies as that of another coming out at the same time, this one by Kanye West.
Mayweather has a music label that still, to this date (and to my knowledge), hasn’t released a record. Ortiz had a dance single come out earlier this year.
I’ve heard both sing. I’ll gladly pay the $60 to see them fight instead.
10:08 p.m.: Says Mayweather: “Man we is so many people on this staff and on this team I don’t even know everybody name – first and last name.”
Better to admit it than to pull an Antonio Cromartie and fail at naming all of your children while HBO cameras roll.
10:09 p.m.: We see Floyd Mayweather Sr. “I’m the motivator, innovator creator of the game,” he says. “I’m the one that taught them. It would’ve never happened to either brother. I was the first one to ever do this.”
We get the usual background on the strained relationship between Junior and Senior, how Floyd Jr. is trained by his uncle Roger, but how Floyd Sr. is still in the gym. Floyd Jr. speaks of being at peace with his family situation, but we’re getting this information once again for a reason. This knowledge will be necessary for later.
10:11 p.m.: Ortiz’s strength and conditioning coach affixes a photo of Mayweather to a heavy bag. Mayweather only uses such measures when it involves Brian Kenny and a SportsCenter commercial.
10:12 p.m.: We get our first mention of Victor Ortiz’s loss in June 2009 to Marcos Maidana, a defeat that saw the young fighter quit in the face of adversity. Good for HBO for including this. It’s an essential part of the story, and it does nothing to hurt the selling points for the Mayweather fight.
That’s a lot different than how Showtime’s “Fight Camp 360” ignored Shane Mosley’s previous two fights (a loss to Mayweather, a draw with Sergio Mora) while selling Mosley’s fight with Manny Pacquiao.
Temo Ortiz says to Maidana: “Thank you. It was a blessing in disguise.” We see a montage of Ortiz’s fights since, wins that were “rebuilding his reputation,” though most of that rebuilding came in the next footage, a big win in April over Andre Berto.
The underdog story, fighting his way toward his biggest toughest challenge yet. Works every time.
10:16 p.m.: We’re not hiding any elephants in the closet. The HBO interviewers apparently ask Mayweather about what the narrator says are “six separate pending legal cases.”
Says Mayweather: “You know as far as the cases, my mentality is like it’s always gonna be: ‘F**k it.’ It’s gonna be what it’s gonna be. If I’m innocent, leave me alone. If I’m guilty, do what you gotta do. It’s lies, lies. Period. Lies. When it’s all said and done, it’s bullshit.
“So what you do is go get the best team you can get. You go get the best team that money can buy. Have I paid a lot of money in lawyer fees? Absolutely. Millions. It come with the territory.”
Some of the legal cases against Mayweather are curious in that they’re civil lawsuits in which no criminal charges were ever filed. But some aren’t. It’d be nice for Mayweather to see the patterns of behavior that lead to this trouble, but it’s also the sign of an elite athlete to be able to block out these distractions and get to work.
10:17 p.m.: And now a tender moment involving Floyd Mayweather Jr. talking about his friendship with 50 Cent while 50 Cent eats ravioli and crackers. This goes down as the most touching moment involving a Mayweather and food since Roger Mayweather went grocery shopping prior to the Hatton fight.
10:18 p.m.: We go from Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson to Shantel Jackson, Mayweather’s fiancée who amusingly is referred to in the broadcast’s caption only as “Miss Jackson,” all while Outkast’s “Ms. Jackson” is heard in the background.
Well played, sirs.
And that rock on Shantel Jackson’s finger looks to be worth more than most fighters earn in their careers.
10:22 p.m.: And now for the culmination of the earlier foreshadowing, the cliffhanger that will bring viewers back for the next episode.
The narrator sets the tone with the kind of extra wording that would make Teddy Atlas proud:
“Fighting runs in the Mayweather blood, which means every day at the boxing club that bears the family name, the rituals completed by the fighter in training are performed innately. In these parts, with this clan, combatancy is the norm. Hostility is expected. Antagonism is instinctual. It is a way of life that has been passed down for generations, and a tradition that continues to endure.”
Floyd Sr. and Floyd Jr. are about to have a verbal throw-down – the narrator says it is over female boxers affiliated with each – but the conversation apparently turns to something relating to the younger Mayweather and his training.
Floyd Jr. shouts that his training camp is fine, that he’s been undefeated. Floyd Sr., still apparently wounded about his tremendously diminished influence on his son’s life, including his entire pro boxing career, tells his son that he was “undefeated when you started with your daddy.”
Floyd Jr. turns to Roger, who has helmed his nephew’s corner since Floyd Sr. went to prison on drug charges. “I started with you, didn’t I?”
Floyd Jr. keeps looking at the cameras, but one doesn’t get the sense that this is being played up for television. Perhaps the earlier argument about female fighters might’ve been. But this? This is long-lingering, long-festering familial frustration. No matter how many times father and son talk about the bond of blood and letting bygones be bygones, the well that is their relationship was poisoned a long time ago.
For several minutes the cameras capture the confrontation, Floyd Jr. tearing into his father, assaulting him regarding his criminal history and over his record as a boxing trainer.
Floyd Jr. eventually demands his father leave the gym. As much as his persona has thrived on conflict, he has – as he’d said time and again – worked exceptionally hard to get to where he is. This is a disruption in his training camp, a disruption in his routine, a disruption in his life.
Yes, this is family, but some wounds just never heal. Floyd Jr. never says anything about his father as a father, but more about his father as a fighter and a trainer, calling him a cab driver, telling him he “couldn’t fight worth shit.” Later, Floyd Jr. calls his father a homosexual slur.
The last line the camera captures from Floyd Jr., now in a separate room from his father, is this: “And motherf**ker, I’m not no junior.”
It’s compelling footage. But it’s sad.
It’s the same dichotomy we get while watching the breakdown in humanity that is Jersey Shore.
But this is the reality era, and “24/7” isn’t just about the fight, but about the fighters and the build-up in the months and weeks before they step in the ring.
This conflict between father and son wasn’t manufactured, though, and the storyline in this first episode didn’t come off contrived. We’re in with the fighters as they start camp, learning about who Victor Ortiz, seeing where Floyd Mayweather Jr. now is in life.
Next the attention needs to turn to the individuals as they relate to each other. Though this is the “24/7” show, there is still a countdown to when Ortiz and Mayweather will face off in the ring.
As the narrator has been known to say in past seasons of the show: The fight, as of this past Saturday, was just 21 days away.
The 10 Count will return next week.
David P. Greisman is a member of the Boxing Writers Association of America. His weekly column, “Fighting Words,” appears every Monday on BoxingScene.com.
Follow David on Twitter at twitter.com/fightingwords2 or on Facebook at facebook.com/fightingwordsboxing, or send questions and comments to fightingwords1@gmail.com
