Mayweather in 2044 : (humor)

http://www.boxinginsider.com/columns/boxing-correspondent-drops-floyd-mayweather-year-2044/



By Ivan G Goldman
After many communications between me and a group of nerds at their

secret Silicon Valley startup they finally agreed to launch me through the

fifth dimension to visit Floyd Mayweather in the year 2044.


I found the ex-champ at Caesars Palace on the Las Vegas Strip, where he’d

been working as a greeter for the last twenty years. He looked in top

shape. It was hard to believe he was almost 67 years old.

Knowing he might be wary of me, I brought him a peace offering – one

notarized liter of bottled water I found on the black market. I know it

doesn’t sound like much of a gift in the year 2014, but in 2044 the

standard price for a liter of top-grade drinking water in Nevada was 450

Chinese dollars – the only negotiable currency on three continents.

“Thanks, man,” he said, accepting the present. “I’ll save this for some kind

of occasion. What can I do for you?”

I explained that I came from the year 2014 and that fans had lots of

questions about how he was getting along. I asked him how he was doing

financially.

“Not so good after that last Super Bowl,” he said. “I took the four points

and went with Rio De Janeiro over Green Bay. Damn expansion teams. I

oughta know better by now. Hey, what do you think of the Celtics’ chances
against Dallas Wednesday night? I’d have to give up two and a half


points.”

I reminded Floyd that I came from 2014, before most of those players had

even been born.

As he held the door open for a stoned group of PTA members from Colorado

I asked him about his lifestyle these days.

“Can’t complain,” he replied. “Caesars lets me sleep in the basement and I

have a lifetime free pass to the buffet. Every summer the Hall of Fame flies

me to Canastota and I talk shop with everybody – you know, Sergio
Martinez, Pernell Whitaker, all the guys.”

I asked about Bernard Hopkins. Surely he made it into the Hall, didn’t he?

“You gotta be retired,” Floyd explained. “B-Hop’s still ranked near the top in

two weight divisions. Some people say he could be slowing down any time

though.”

I was aghast. Wasn’t Hopkins 79 years old in 2044?

“Yeah,” Mayweather said, “but on the planet he’s from, 79 is the new 29.”


You mean he’s really an alien?

“After one of his fights somebody took a swab from the spit bucket, and

they traced his DNA to another galaxy. Nobody was much surprised.”

I’d talked to a few fight guys on the way to Caesars so I asked Mayweather

about the rumor that he was in the midst of negotiating for one last

contest.

“Oh, I know which fight you’re talking about. Listen, I don’t need that

fight.”

Well, I said, the way I heard it, Floyd was demanding something larger

than a standard 20-foot ring.

“I want it a little bigger, yeah, but one by one we settled all the other

issues.”

He refused to either confirm or deny that he was seeking a 200-foot ring.

“It doesn’t matter anyway he said. “I don’t think President Pacquiao really

wants the fight. Not even after I gave in on the blood thing.”

But I thought the blood tests were all agreed to, I said.

“Sure, but I also wanted all his blood drained and replaced a day before the

fight. He claimed I was just looking for excuses. Anyway, like I said, I let

him have his way. He can use his own blood.” Very generous, I agreed.

I asked him when negotiations on a Pacquiao fight got started again.

“Oh, they never really ended,” he said. “Although some of the negotiators

died of old age right at the table. Also one guy started screaming he

couldn’t take it anymore and ran in front of a bus.”


I asked him what he thought were the chances of the fight ever taking

place.

“Well, you know, if it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen. Everything happens

for a reason. It is what it is.”

I looked around but couldn’t find a bus.

sick Sick Justice: Inside the American Gulag

 

Just copy and paste.

 

Every summer the Hall of Fame flies

me to Canastota and I talk shop with everybody – you know, Sergio
Martinez, Pernell Whitaker, all the guys.”

I asked about Bernard Hopkins. Surely he made it into the Hall, didn’t he?

“You gotta be retired,” Floyd explained. “B-Hop’s still ranked near the top in

two weight divisions. Some people say he could be slowing down any time

though.”

I was aghast. Wasn’t Hopkins 79 years old in 2044?

“Yeah,” Mayweather said, “but on the planet he’s from, 79 is the new 29.”


You mean he’s really an alien?

“After one of his fights somebody took a swab from the spit bucket, and

they traced his DNA to another galaxy. Nobody was much surprised.”