It has been the most entertaining part of the last week, without question. A raucous and riotous ride that rivals any amusement park roller coaster. I found myself glued to the monitor, winding down innumerable social media platforms and posts seeking out every morsel I could find related to just one topic.
Those indignant and enraged over the single greatest and most effective sports con perpetrated on a planet since Sidd Finch captivated a nation with his marvelous approach to the game of baseball.
Never heard of Sidd Finch? Here, take a few minutes and bathe in the glory that was this prodigious pitcher. We’ll wait and be here when you return.
Nothing has risen to the level of hilarity as those seeking either penance or being pounded for their participation in the Mike Tyson-Jake Paul magnificent mess.
This leads us then to honor the true MVPs of bad sports events, which more often than not involve weighted gloves and suspect outcomes.
The fans.
Yes, I’m pointing my flying fickle finger of fate directly at you, the same fans who gleefully forked over their hard-earned cash to watch Paul stumble around a boxing ring or witness Tyson shuffle through a choreographed pillow fight. The blows in this bout were so soft I’m shocked Mike Lindell wasn’t ringside throwing what’s left of his “My Pillow” inventory at the boxers feet.
Fans fell for a fraud that was so badly scripted and carried out that both Jose Feliciano and Helen Keller would have made for the perfect judges.
These hardy and huckster-driven fanatics are the people who willingly buy tickets, shell out for pay-per-view, purchase a Netflix subscription, hot wire one from a friends house in order to see the carnage for free, or shuffle off to a torrent site on their smartphone for a free and illegal viewing, (something of which I know absolutely nothing about), and then—here’s the kicker—bitch, whine, moan and groan about how they were ripped off.
Newsflash, Skeezix: you weren’t tricked. You were a willing participant in your own fleecing and by wheezing about it admit you’re proud to have the word “SUCKER” tattooed on your forehead for all to see. Those who already have the lettering permanently affixed to any part of their frame were obviously already conned into the nonsense of our recent Presidential pump and dump, but that’s another tale for another round.
Promoters and athletes don’t even have to try anymore, that’s the beauty of the con. They know the formula, and have the bank transfer to prove it: slap together a “can’t-miss” event, sprinkle in a few Instagram influencers, include someone who will pepper TikTok with a lot of “first person’ dribble videos, hand out freebies to third-rate media platforms and “influencers” and get their promotional pushing for not a single dime, and throw in some vague promise of "history in the making." Presto! Millions of fans rush to the altar of hype, throwing their wallets at whatever second-rate spectacle is on offer.
PT Barnum famously said, “There’s a sucker born every minute.” If he were alive today, he’d be a billionaire with a side hustle in pay-per-view freak shows, and be running things in the world of so-called “professional boxing”. He’d be sidled up with the various fraud promoters, renting out hall space anywhere he could jam the suckers into seats, and be lighting his cigars with hundred dollar bills newly dried of the tears from blithering knuckleheads.
As noted, nothing was more entertaining than the social media outcry both before and after this pinhead production. There is nothing like the sweet irony of fans taking to Facebook, Instagram, the X home of mental weed-whackers, and all the other various outlets to rage about how terrible a sporting event was. “I want my money back!” they cry, as if they didn’t already know that something featuring a 58 year old overrated (and not even close to GOAT status) convicted rapist against a "Grizzly Adams" lookalike, wafer-thin short on real boxing skills, bearded blowhard was either going to be a dud or obviously scripted and fixed.
Complaining after the fact doesn’t make you look smarter. It just highlights how easily duped you were. You knew it was a sideshow, but you watched anyway, because deep down, you wanted the train wreck.
Wait, wasn’t that the same line used to describe the recent election cycle? I thought is sounded familiar.
And let’s not forget the faux outrage. Fans lament how these events tarnish the sanctity of boxing.
Excuse me. “Sanctity of boxing”? “Insult to the sport”? Really? From what trough of hallucinogens are you imbibing from? This is the same fan base that lines up to watch “celebrity” boxing matches and WWE pay-per-views. Sanctity went out the window the moment you clicked “buy” on an event featuring a guy famous for TikTok videos.
Of course, this isn’t new. Sports, most notably boxing, has a long history of separating fools from their money. Remember Muhammad Ali vs. Antonio Inoki in 1976? A boxer versus a wrestler—what could go wrong? Everything, it turns out. The “fight” consisted of Inoki crawling around on the mat and Ali trying to look interested. Fans booed, but hey, they paid.
Wait, one more from the world of split lips. The Conor McGregor vs. Floyd Mayweather Jr. fiasco in 2017. The hype promised a clash of titans, and only those with a history of being conned and having finished the 12-Step program from SA, (Suckers Anonymous), recognized quickly that this was a glorified sparring session between a boxer playing defense and an MMA fighter who looked like he’d learned to punch the week before. Fans handed over hundreds, even thousands a pop for the privilege of watching Mayweather extend his unbeaten streak by fighting a novice.
Let’s not even get into the discussion that Mayweather was a master of picking out opponents who were past their prime, would never have a prime, and wild always make for the easiest of paydays he could muster. Anyone calling Mayweather a GOAT has just insulted any quadruped with horns.
Here’s the obvious truth: sports fans don’t care about quality. They care about spectacle. The car wreck, the freak show, the over hyped disaster—that’s what sells. It’s not about athletic excellence; it’s about the drama. Fans would rather watch a dumpster fire in real-time than a well-played game. Promoters know this, which is why they keep churning out these hysterical abominations.
Why put effort into a legitimate competition when you can slap together a circus and laugh all the way to the bank?
Cue the clowns.
Let’s give credit where it’s due. The promoters are the real geniuses here. They’ve perfected the art of milking fans for every penny. They dangle just enough intrigue to reel you in, then deliver a product so bad it makes Sharknado look like Citizen Kane.
And they know you’ll come back, because sports fans are suckers for the next big thing. You could sell tickets to a “fight” between a cardboard cutout of Mike Tyson and a Roomba, and it would sell out in minutes.
I’ve got the Roomba in 3.
Hysterically speaking, none of this is ever going to change. Fans will keep lining up for the next overhyped event, and promoters will keep laughing all the way to the profit statement. You’ll keep whining on social media about how awful it was, but deep down, you’ll be ready to buy into the next spectacle because how terrible if you couldn’t spit and spew the morning after on social media? I mean, you wouldn’t be a member of the “cool” crowd.
So, please. Don’t let me stop you. You go right ahead. Waste your money, waste your time, and then pretend to be surprised when you’re disappointed. I and others will just grab another bag of home popcorn and delight in reading about all of your fun indignities and screeds about how the sport has been “tarnished”. Now that is true, and free, entertainment.
The con works because you let it. Just remember: when the next Jake Paul fight rolls around, don’t cry about how you were fooled. You weren’t. You just couldn’t resist watching the freak show.
Again.
I’ll take my popcorn with extra butter, please.
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