While still trying to put that final sentence together to give this piece the proper literary spin wee into the night after Floyd Mayweather dismantled what was left of the Shane Mosley carcass, I have finally figured it out.
I committed the Cardinal Sin. I fell in love with a fighter.
In this case it were the juicy odds and great tale a victorious Shane Mosley would make. This was back around Thursday. What was I thinking?
But early in the night last night, Mayweather took charge of the battle. He violently shook me back to reality, and separated the men from the boys. It was a systematic take behind the woodshed ass-whopping you never forget.
Mosley took his minimum $7 million beating like a man and can act like a gate keeper for the next welterweight feeling cocky to tangle with the big boys Mayweather or Manny Pacquiao.
Brother Naazim Richardson had an Oscar-worthy 11th round emotional “come on I know you can do it” moment including a rarely seen “repeat after me” routine which seemed oddly out of place but what the hell.
Where does boxing find these guys?
I have one friend that always calls me the day of a big fight to talk about being friends and great fights and stuff like that. That’s fine.
I have another that calls me minutes before the main event to tell me where he is sitting at the big event. Thankfully he is not one of the waiver’s showing off on his cell phone.
I like Mosley, but never believed going in to last night that he was one of the top five pound for pound fighters out there. Rather he was always grooming himself for one last payday. He got it last night.
The last five rounds of the fight were amateurish in that Mayweather could have stepped it up and ended the fight any time he wanted.
We can dance around this but it’s time to revisit Mayweather vs. Pacquiao for the fall.
