On Saturday, May 2nd, Floyd Mayweather will face Manny Pacquiao in the greatest boxing event of our generation. Never in our lives will we experience a boxing match as momentous as this one. Unless, of course, you know as much about boxing as I do, in which case your last move was the most momentous boxing event of your life.
While I understand that this is a huge fight, and even a boxing dunce like me knows who Pacquiao and Mayweather (and their reputations) are, there’s one aspect of the fight overshadowing all the rest. Which is that, all told, it will pull in around $300 million dollars.
Let that sink in. $300 million. You could buy almost two 747s with that money. You could basically finance the Healthcare.gov website. Or, for a relatable analogy, that’s a little over half of what Jay-Z’s worth. And it’s all for around 36 minutes of actual sporting (assuming 12 3-minute rounds). For that kind of money, it better not be two dudes just punching each other. No, sh*t’s gotta go down, SON. Here’s what’s has to happen:
Pacquiao rides a hippo into the ring. Mayweather rides an alligator. The aforementioned Jay-Z provides walk-in music, and his backing band is a mixture of The Who, The Rolling Stones, and Paul McCartney, who had a no-holds-barred Jello wrestling match (billed as the preliminary bout) to see who’d win a spot in the band. Upon entering the ring, both boxers dismount, and the two animals don a ballerina outfit and fez and carry out a live version of that Fantasia dance. Thankfully, there’s none of that annoying announcer guy (we get it, you can draw out words for a really long time. NO ONE CARES). The fight begins.
After the first round the pyrotechnics start. It’s your usual fare of giant flames and over-sized roman candles. Periodically, the ropes are electrified to ensure that the fighters actually spar. By the third round a Thunderdome-style cage is lowered to ensure neither boxer can leave and to justify Tina Turner’s attendance.
The fight reaches the midway point. In preparation for a fight to the death, each boxer is forced to atone for their past sins. Pacquiao must sit through all of the congressional sessions he missed. Mayweather’s forced to re-enact all of his acts of domestic violence from the perspective of the woman. Which, is to say, he gets the sh*t beat out of him. ‘Cause he’s a piece of sh*t. As there’s only one other boxer at his level, Pacquiao is chosen to play Mayweather in each scene. In fact, he does such a magnificent job embodying the real ethos/sh*ttiness of Mayweather, the Academy takes notice.
When the last round begins, things escalate quickly. Various Running Man-worthy weapons are scattered around the ring (chainsaws, cattle prods, etc.). With each 30 seconds that go by, a panel of the ring drops open, revealing a pit of molten lava. Confetti falls from the ceiling to both disorient and amuse. As the last 30 seconds start, a giant disco ball enters from the ceiling to aid in the countdown. Tourists flood the arena wearing neon glasses shaped to spell “BOXING” and stupid hats. Everyone counts down in unison. Ryan Seacrest accidentally gets startled by a piece of confetti he thinks is a “stingy bee,” and falls into one of the open pits of lava. No one notices. Upon reaching 0, an animatronic Sandworm, ridden by a very real Michael Keaton, bursts through the floor next to the ring and swallows up both Mayweather and Pacquiao. Everyone is stunned by the ending, but agrees it at least was better than if they had just punched each other for a little over half an hour.
