Once, during my Pulitzer Prize-winning days as an editor at Maxim, I interviewed the boxer “Pretty Boy” Floyd Mayweather before his much-hyped title fight with Oscar De La Hoya. I’d already chatted with Oscar about his favorite fashion accessories — like I said, some serious journalism was going down — and Oscar revealed he wore a watch that cost roughly as much as an Ivy League education, grad school included. Floyd revealed that he sported a timepiece that was much pricier than the Golden Boy’s piece of crap and added, “I have to treat myself. I work so hard…”

And whether that quote makes you want to laugh or jack the tax rate way up on luxury goods, you have to give credit: the man knows how to give an interview.

Sadly, since then he’s seen fit to turn boxing from a joke that isn’t funny into a joke that actually makes baby Jesus cry. Boxing is a sport — sort of — where a handful of fighters manage to establish themselves as gate attractions and then, for a time, call the shots. (It should be noted “skill” and “popularity” are often unrelated: Sergio Martinez is one of the most exciting athletes I’ve ever seen and remains largely unknown, while the Brit David “I broke my little toe!” Haye was once considered a superstar.) (Yes, in a sport where guys are beaten until they pee blood he really did cite a sore wittle piggy as the reason he embarrassed himself and the entire British Empire with his showing against heavyweight champ Wladimir Klitschko and seemed genuinely shocked that everyone didn’t immediately go, “Oh, that completely explains you sucking!”)

Once on top, the fighters (with a little guidance from the assorted sanctioning organizations and promoters and pay-per-view execs) mull three key factors before a bout:

1. How much money will this earn me?

2. How dangerous is the opponent?

3. How will this affect my legacy?

As a fan, I like to believe that point 3 is the key factor; as a human being, I assume it’s always point 1; as a dreamer, I pretend that point 2 barely enters into it at all. Of course, that’s not the case, because if a fighter reaches the level where he’s capable of selling tickets, he doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize his status, such as getting his ass whipped. And, equally importantly, he doesn’t want to get his ass whipped because getting your ass whipped — try to follow me on this — hurts.

And so he goes after a guy too young to know what he’s doing (like Floyd’s most recent opponent Victor Ortiz) or too old to pose a threat any more (like Floyd’s second-most recent opponent Shane Mosley).

It’s particularly tricky in Floyd’s case, because he’s undefeated. Never been beaten. It sounds impressive when a fighter is without a loss, until you remember this: he picks the guys he fights. Takes away some of the mystique, doesn’t it? Rafael Nadal doesn’t have the right to cancel a match with Novak Djokovic so he can face Andy Roddick. The New England Patriots don’t get to say, “New York Giants? Ooh, that’s not the ideal match-up for us… so instead we’re going to play the St. Louis Rams in the Super Bowl again. YAY, FOOTBALL!!!” And Michael Jordan didn’t become a legend by announcing, “Wait, in the Finals I’m facing Karl Malone and John Stockton? Two future Hall of Famers? Nah, I ain’t down with that. Y’all need me, I’ll be making Hanes ads.”

Level of competition matters in sports, which is why we hail Sandy Koufax as a pitching icon, not the guy who on weekends totally dominates his Beer League.

The fight that everyone wants is Floyd versus Filipino congressman/mediocre lounge singer Manny Pacquiao. (I’d actually prefer to see either of them battle Sergio, but he offers limited financial rewards/a serious risk of a whupping, so that’s not even on the table.) The fight’s good for legacy — whoever wins is, for a night at least, undisputed pound-for-pound champ — and better in terms of bucks, as it’s a lock to generate over $100 million.

Yet it hasn’t happened.

Why?

Not to put too fine a point on it, but Floyd’s a pussy.

Wait, that word is harsh and judgmental.

He’s a mangina.

And he’s a mangina by his own admission.

You can read all about Floyd’s recent explanation for why he can’t face Manny Pac, but it boils down to this:

1. I fear no one.

2. I am very afraid to get in the ring with Manny Pacquiao.

3. I fear no one. I am just deeply concerned about what that man might do to me if we got in the ring together and hence I heroically decided not to get into it.

4. I do not want to get in the ring with Manny Pacquiao cuz dude punches hard and that’ll mess you up, yo.

5. How is admitting that something terrifies you and you’re fleeing from it the same as being scared? Fetch me a dictionary, lackey!

6. For the millionth time I claim without proof Manny’s using performance-enhancing drugs and I have to think of my health and my future and that’s why I’m so scared. Not that I am.

7. Sometimes people confuse “scared” with “smart.” Like if there’s a shipwreck and a guy shoves past the old women and toddlers to get to a lifeboat, everyone watching would cry out, “Smart!”

8. Everyone’s stupid but me.

The article notes that at least one of Floyd’s musings “eventually drew applause from his entourage.”

For the record, I completely respect Floyd saying he’d prefer not to have a crazed man with hands of stone shattering his ribs. And, while there is zero evidence so far, it’s possible Manny’s on performance-enhancing drugs… though his lawyers say otherwise, since they’re suing Floyd. (I should note it’s every bit as likely that Floyd himself is taking something — I tend to assume all athletes from this era have juiced, with the possible exception of Philadelphia’s own beloved tub of goo John Kruk.)

I would happily duck a fight with Floyd or Manny or any other number of people.

But I would not try to spin it somehow so that the other guy is the problem.

The fact is, Floyd is currently turning down at least $50 million — possibly significantly more, as he insists if there is a fight, he deserves the majority of the money — because he watches film of Manny fighting and it so utterly freaks him out that he has to keep insisting that there must be some underhanded explanation for it.

Which, according to Webster’s, is the very definition of scared.

So instead he lines up another hand-picked opponent… and expects us to pay for the privilege of him taking on this “challenge.”

Lucky us.

I predict Floyd will beat current straw man Miguel Cotto this Saturday.

And if he wins easily enough, maybe Floyd will test himself a little in the future and grant rematches to two past foes: insubordinate security guard and mother of some of his children.

Let’s get it on.

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