Which would all be fine.
Except for this.
"I was powerless. He was holding me down. I couldn't fight back. The kids were screaming and crying, 'You're hurting my Mom.'" -Josie Harris, the mother of three of Mayweather's children
Except for this.
“He was punching her and kicking her. He was punching her in the head and he was stomping on her shoulder.” -Zion, Mayweather’s then-9-year-old son, describing Mayweather’s beating of his mother, in a statement to police
Except for this.
"I fell to the ground, and Karra tried to help, and as she was, Mr. Mayweather hit her as well ... I have no clue [why Mayweather punched me]. I still have no clue. I think it was because I was friends with his kids' mom. He didn't like her to have friends.” -Herneatha McGill, whom Mayweather assaulted in a Las Vegas nightclub
Except. Except. Except.
“After the dust settled, club security instructed McGill and Blackburn not to file a formal complaint against Mayweather or they would "pay for it in the streets," according to the women's testimony.” -Deadspin
"I saw my dad was on my mom and my dad said go to the ofice my dad was hiting her... Then I heard yelling and I came out and my dad was hiting my mom. It happened at 4:00 a.m. in the morning." -Koraun Mayweather, then 10 years old, in a self-written statement to police
“Just last month, a report surfaced that Mayweather allegedly put a rear naked choke on his ex-girlfriend's 19-year-old son." -ESPN, earlier this week
There is a certain purity to boxing. Sweat sprays, yes, and blood streams, yes, and bodies crumple in pain and defeat; combat waged in the ring, however—devoid of the typical causes and contexts and angers—strips the fight to atomic units of athleticism. Floyd Mayweather is sometimes described as “scientific” in his movements in the ring, boasting a precision to his punches that suggest not just the marvel of the human machine, but a triumph of a more symbolic strain: brain over brawn, control over chaos. Mayweather is smart and strategic, his hooks and jabs surgical in their accuracy and eloquent in their efficiency. Which is to say that Mayweather, as someone who is paid to punch, is great—not in the casual sense of the word, but in the epic. He may indeed be, as ESPN recently dubbed him, “the last great prizefighter.” Mayweather has, in some sense, already won the Battle for Greatness.
And so “TBE”—short for "The Best Ever," a nickname Mayweather gave to himself—is a bona-fide celebrity, greeted with Roman-arena levels of adoration whether he’s in the ring or outside of it, whether he’s appearing on The Tonight Show or the ESPY Awards or Nickelodeon's Kids’ Choice Awards. He competed on Dancing With the Stars, and danced a delightful cha-cha. He is supremely talented. He is extremely charismatic. He is widely beloved.
But that is Mayweather, the boxer. Mayweather, the athlete. Mayweather, the celebrity. The far more complicated character—Mayweather, the person—is very much not The Best Ever. Mayweather views women, it seems excruciatingly clear, as little more than property—as extensions, essentially, of all those collectible Bugattis and Gulfstreams and $10,000 suits. And he treats them accordingly. Last year, Mayweather produced an hour-long documentary about himself. In it, he explained:
When it comes to females … even though you can't drive 10 cars at one time, but … you got people that got 10 cars. So, you're able to keep maintenance up on 10 cars. So, I feel that, as far as when it comes to females, that same thing should apply. If you're able to take care of 20, then you should have 20.
Around the same time, Mayweather used his Instagram account to offer some unsolicited advice to women. "How a female dresses is her advertisement," the boxer’s pictogram—scrawled, as if in schoolhouse chalk—began. "If a female shows half of her body, she's asking to be disrespected."