HE IS IN the ring at his gym in Vegas working with his uncle and former trainer Roger Mayweather, whose role has been reduced partly because of health problems related to diabetes. Floyd is wearing striped socks straight out of 1979 and chomping on a clump of bubble gum. He will throw somewhere in the neighborhood of 8,000 punches in the course of a normal session. At this moment, as Uncle Roger waves the mitts in front of him, Floyd's eyes are closed. And yet, somehow, he manages to hit each one squarely. Roger moves the mitts as fast as sign language, and still Floyd hits every one without the benefit of sight. It's sorcery.
Mayweather's dominance has been so complete and his personality so outsized that sometimes the craft gets lost. His speed and defensive abilities have frustrated 44 opponents and kept him outwardly unscathed. "Ain't nothing cool about taking punishment," he says. "People can say, 'He's a runner,' or whatever they want. Truth is, I've been at the top for 17 years. You think I could say that if I just stood there and traded punches?" Still, there are exceptional defensive fighters and there is Floyd. His head bobs out of trouble before trouble is even a gleam in his opponent's eye. He talks about playing "chess, not checkers," but the way he moves suggests something closer to wizardry.
His eyes, when open, see everything in the gym. One day his personal assistant, Dave Levi, had a brief conversation with a friend in the back of the gym while Mayweather was sparring. After the workout, Floyd asked him what they were talking about. "It blew me away," Levi says. "I don't know how he could have possibly seen us." Perhaps it's no surprise that in the ring, during a fight, he picks up the slightest changes in his opponent's approach. It must feel like fighting a machine.
It's difficult to imagine that anyone near his weight class -- including Alvarez, maybe especially Alvarez, who has never seen anything like this before despite a 42–0–1 record -- can be patient enough and observant enough and opportunistic enough to find the infrequent cracks in Mayweather's defense and exploit them long enough and well enough to beat him.
There is an undercurrent in the Mayweather camp that the 23-year-old Alvarez is getting ahead of himself with this bout. They might understand the strategic importance of the square-headed Canelo doing well enough to at least merit a rematch, but they're having a hard time faking any emotion over him. For the most part, Alvarez's record is met with shrugs. "Tell me 10 world champions he fought," Floyd says at one tour stop. "All I'm asking for is 10."
Alvarez is a sturdy fighter, far bigger than Mayweather. The fight is at a 152-pound catch weight, and Mayweather -- with his hummingbird metabolism and activity level -- will struggle to maintain that weight. During training, he had to cancel workouts because he felt too light. Alvarez, on the other hand, will weigh in near 152 on Friday and rehydrate to at least 170 when the bell rings the next night.
Mayweather's preparation for Canelo's size is limited to his choice of sparring partners. Most are bigger, in the 160- to 170-pound range, and Mayweather spent eight weeks avoiding their punches and knocking them around the ring. Boxing, or at least Mayweather, remains old-fashioned. There is no film studyor scouting report.
"I seen Canelo fight one fight and that was enough," Big Floyd says. "I seen what can be done. He got tired and nobody even hit him to the body. When he gets hit in the body and the head, trust me: It won't last 12 rounds."
Floyd has a simple reason for not watching film of Canelo's fights: Alvarez has never fought him. "When you fight Floyd Mayweather, you have to come with a different game plan," he says. "It doesn't do me any good to watch him fight somebody else."
HE IS IN the ring in Vegas, unleashing a series of combinations on the welcoming face of Ramon Montano, a sparring partner forced to go round after round with Mayweather after it was decided that another boxer was leaving too much blood on the canvas. Generally, Mayweather's sparring sessions consist of two or three fighters alternating rounds, but Montano is on his own. Floyd punctuates every well-placed jab with a perfectly timed "Shut up."
The gym is full. There are at least 100 people here to watch him train -- women trying to attract attention, men auditioning for anything available. There is a man best described as outside the inner circle with floyd tattooed on the right side of his neck. He has his young son with him. The boy's name? Floyd.
As the depth and breadth of Montano's punishment unfolds, the reaction goes from wincing compassion ("Ooh") to outright mockery. A member of Floyd's security detail issues a succinct analysis: "shyt's fukked up. This guy ain't going to be able to talk by the time he's 40, but people shouldn't be laughing at him."
After the workout, Montano stands in the parking lot, the heat rising from the asphalt on a 106-degree day. Floyd's bodyguards sit bored in folding chairs on the sidewalk outside the gym, and one of them tells Montano: "Don't worry about that. None of those other people were in there like you were." Montano is 17–10–2 as a pro fighter but spent most of the past three years as a sparring partner. He has worked the camps of 23 champions, including Pacquiao, Zab Judah and Jose Luis Castillo. "Nobody compares to Floyd," he says. "He's the most unique fighter on the planet. Every time I spar with him, he's different. If I fought tomorrow with him, he's totally different. He's the best, and I make my best money with him."
Back inside, Mayweather hits the speed bag for about a minute, the sound thrumming through the gym like automatic fire. When he finishes, he stares at the poster of him and Alvarez that hangs on the wall next to the bag. He calls cut man Rafael Garcia over and tells him to bring tape. At Mayweather's direction, Garcia tapes a large X over one of Alvarez's eyes, then the other. Floyd steps back and takes a look, ignoring the professional laughter in the room.
"Now tape his mouth shut," he tells Garcia.
The place erupts in hooting. Mayweather remains serious. He shows Garcia exactly how he wants the tape to run across Alvarez's mouth.
Mayweather nods. He appears pleased.
working for me
