Floyd Mayweather: ‘Everything’s on Me’

Mayweather is standing next to his sleek four-door black Mercedes, one of the more sedate of his roughly two dozen cars, and is wondering out loud how many people he might have to fire over this debacle. A few leggy, extravagantly dressed women watch laconically, waiting to follow the champ to dinner. Curtis Jackson, publicly known as 50 Cent, sits in the passenger seat of the Mercedes, watching the events unfold with passing interest. Several members of Mayweather’s loosely defined payroll are shuffling about in an unreserved panic, particularly those who were at one time in possession of the bag, the slip’s last known residence.

 
The bag is important. The bag — or The Bag, more like — is a small leather duffel home to Mayweather’s walking-around cash and gambling slips. Everyone must know where The Bag is at all times, for it is not unusual for the spirit to strike Mayweather and cause him to ask, with no warning, “Where my bag at?” The chain of custody is stricter than most evidence rooms. 

  

The Bag is being scoured vigorously by Tom, one of many men who help Mayweather train by handing him his jump rope or tying his headgear or merely shouting compliments during a workout. He is at least the fourth person to riffle through The Bag, and he relays to his boss the obvious: no slip. The Mercedes trunk is popped, and a second bag is searched. This bag holds nothing more than 20,000 Mega Millions lottery tickets (prize: $656 million) bought by one of Mayweather’s minions after he stood in line for more than two hours outside a convenience store in California. Imagine being the guy standing behind Mayweather’s guy, there to buy maybe 10 tickets, waiting in line half the damned day only to watch the guy in front of you haul $20K in hundreds out of a bag. There are many Mayweather stories like this. It’s easy to get sidetracked. 

 
But back to the scene at hand. Because right now — with the trunk open and the car doors flung wide and a now-silent Mayweather choosing to direct search operations with nothing more than a glare — is as good a time as any to ask a few important questions: What are we to make of Floyd Mayweather Jr.? What should we see when we see him? Is he to be denounced for his singular brand of narcissism, ego and greed, or praised for his clear-eyed ability to maximize his worth in the sports marketplace? Can you do both? 

 

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