Tribute to Mayweather....good reading
Floyd Mayweather was - and still is - the best pound-for-pound fighter. But he had never had that one defining fight that rubber-stamped his greatness. It may have been one-sided in the end but, says Tim Hobbs, it took Ricky Hatton to remind us all just how good and indeed great, the Pretty Boy is...
You've got to hand it to Ricky Hatton. Even in defeat he managed to treat us all.
Not to the sort of barnstorming display that stunned Kostya Tszyu into submission. Not to a blood-and-guts battle that will go down in boxing folklore.
And sadly, not to the sight of a Briton stood proudly at the top of the pound-for-pound rankings, the WBC belt round his waist and the world at his feet.
Instead, what Ricky gave bleary-eyed boxing fans and interested newcomers in the small hours of Sunday morning, was proof that Floyd Mayweather Jr is what he told us all along: the very best there is.
In dismantling the very live challenge of Manchester's finest, the Pretty Boy produced a display so shrewd, so slick and so stylish that even the most ardent Hatton fans had something to cling on to.
And those newcomers had the pleasure of witnessing something close to perfection. And he did it without even breaking sweat.
From the moment he marched into the ring, without a trace of pomp or ceremony to when he left it, undefeated record intact and the thousands of Brits applauding, Mayweather was a man in complete control. Of his own destiny, of his opponent and indeed the outcome.
Admittedly, referee Joe Cortez deprived Hatton of his only real chance of ruffling Floyd's millionaire feathers, but you still got the feeling that even if he had been allowed in close, the challenger could have come a cropper even quicker.
For once the Hitman's irresistible force came up against an object that was anything but immovable in Mayweather. We knew about the fleet of foot and speed of hand, we had seen him leave some of boxing's biggest reputations - and Arturo Gatti's face - in tatters.
Admirer
But did everyone inside and outside the Phoenix Camp, under-estimate the Pretty Boy? Guilty as charged. And I considered myself an admirer.
Parallels to previous eras do no-one any favours, but give him his dues, defensively Mayweather can compare to anyone. The half-turned shoulder, the blocking with elbows and arms, the slight faints that, more often than not, squared Hatton up as he honed in were - if you were quick enough to catch them - a sight to behold.
Offensively, you don't win world titles at five weights with speed - or knockout power - alone. Mayweather has them both as he showed in round eight, when the slightest gap opened up between them and before Hatton could think about landing and even before Cortez could step in, he unleashed a sickening five-punch combination, all of them spot-on, all of them sending Hatton's head rocking back.
The finish, when it ultimately came was emphatic. He'd spent six rounds setting it up - he'd taken the fifth round off as only he can do in a world title fight - he lured Hatton in, stepped to the side, turned him onto the ropes and as he did so pivoted off the left foot and whipped in a short left hook that was right on the (sizeable) money.
Hatton's look said it all from the floor. He knew it was no good. He made the count but he knew he was beaten. And by the better man. He knew he was going to have to produce something special anyway, and had his senses not been scrambled, he would have realised that even then it was probably doing Floyd a huge disservice.
It may be because we all wanted Ricky to win so badly we were looking for any which way to belittle Mayweather's skills.
It may be because we in Britain find it hard to put sportsmen on a pedestal for any other reason than to knock them off.
And it probably was because we just didn't like him.
But either way, it took the downfall of a national hero to remind us that boxing already has its own Tiger Woods, its own Roger Federer. Record-breaking, money-making and just downright exceptional. Way too good for Ricky, just as he was way too good for the 38 that had been beaten before him. And too good for his own good.
Weakness
OK, he did himself few favours, with the trash-talking and arrogance. But it sold tickets and pay per view buys and the grace - and shrewdness - in paying homage to Hatton and his fans he showed afterwards proved us all wrong. He's not the devil incarnate after all.
We all thought he was taking Hatton lightly, another routine defence in a long line of stellar challengers that have all been beaten. The straight right leads that landed with alarming ease were not off the cuff. He had no doubt seen Kostya Tszyu do the same and seen a weakness in Hatton. We were wrong again.
He was supposed to have hand problems. He had barely dented the heavybag in training and even if 100 per cent he couldn't punch; he hadn't stopped someone in two years. Someone's 'o' had to go, but that left hook nearly took the 'h', the 'a', the double 't' and the 'n' with it. Wrong again.
And with millions in the bank, surely the king of bling was lacking motivation. His mind shouldn't have been on it. Well, 50 Cent was kicked to the curb for Bruce Springsteen's Born In The USA. The ringwalk was for once just that. No chariots, no headgear, no dancing girls. Instead just a plain robe, hood up, eyes down, focused. Another mistake on our part.
In our defence, we hadn't questioned Mayweather's pound-for-pound title. But we needed proof of just how good he was. Warriors like Gatti couldn't help us, slicksters like Sharmba Mitchell and Zab Judah couldn't either.
Oscar de la Hoya gave us a hint for the first six rounds but ultimately it was left to Ricky, bloodied, but brave to the bitter end, to show us what we'd all suspected, but refused to buy into all along... that Floyd Mayweather Jr is in a class all of his own.
As I say, I was a confirmed admirer before. Now, although I am not about to start up a club or a facebook group and expect you all to sign up, I am a Floyd Mayweather fan.
Watch the re-run on Friday night, buy the DVD when it's out, even ask Ricky should you bump into him in a Manchester watering hole and you'll find at last, I'm not wrong.