Is Floyd Mayweather Returning to Villain Role to Sell a Manny Pacquiao Rematch?

Let's say you're Floyd Mayweather Jr.

You spent more than half a decade answering questions about your only perceived rival to a fictional “fighter of a generation” throne. You spent 10 or so weeks training to finally get in a ring with said rival. And you then spent 36 minutes of “combat” distinguishing yourself as his clear and conclusive superior.

But then things take an unplanned turn.

Because your brand of one-sidedness leans more toward strategic parry and thrust than ferocious bludgeon and batter, the bloodthirsty fans who were lured in by pre-fight hype walk away from the $100 master class with your name on their lips and a sour taste in their mouths.

Then, rather than spending subsequent days reveling in the sheen of a validated legacy, you're forced to reply to the suggestion that your rival was damaged goods long before he reached the MGM Grand and forced to stand idly as his injuries—rather than your technique—are deemed the decisive factor.

You initially react as any competitor would...defiantly.

Soobum Im-USA TODAY Sports

You punch up a text message to ESPN-embedded cheerleader Stephen A. Smith, saying that if Manny Pacquiao wants to spend 36 more minutes on the short end of a nine-figure stick, you're on board.

But upon further corporate review...you decide to change tactics.

Though the first match was a financial windfall by every conceivable measure, it's no guarantee—given both the chess-like nature of the fight and the bush-league theatrics since—that a second go-round packaged in the same overly reverent manner will generate anything more than self-righteous backlash.

The baseline disgust over a career's worth of domestic violence won't go away in nine to 12 months, and it'll be joined this time by folks who've already shown no compunction about pulling pins on their “boxing is dead” grenades as a response to an ill-conceived C-note sacrifice last weekend.

To get those people back in the boat, you're going to need some fresh new bait.

And in that case, what could be more intoxicating than Mayweather simply being Mayweather?

“Excuses, excuses, excuses,” a suddenly caustic Mayweather said, as part of an interview with Jim Gray that'll air Saturday night on Showtime. “I'm not going to buy into the bulls--t, and I don't want the public to buy into the bulls--t. He lost. He knows he lost. I lost a lot of respect for him after all of this.

“Did I text Stephen A. Smith and say I will fight him again? Yeah, but I change my mind. At this particular time, no, because he's a sore loser, and he's a coward. If you lost, accept the loss and say, 'Mayweather, you were the better fighter.'"

It was the first time in months Mayweather was anything less than civil to his longtime rival.

And while it could certainly be explained as a sequential step in a typical post-fight process, there's no less reason to believe it wasn't step one in reframing the discussion that'll lead to a second go-round.

If a shelved Pacquiao is unable to repolish his brand, it's going to take more to generate interest in a year than simply referring back to the “we've waited so long for this” mantra of Superfight I. And while a wrestling-style heel turn would hardly be novel in execution, it would allow for Mayweather to flex the antihero muscles he's relied on in the past to both build a financial empire and get himself over.

Much like the Yankees, Notre Dame and Jeff Gordon, a charmingly villainous Mayweather provides polarity that'll continue to separate fan from fan in a return bout against the sport's other superstar.

Hardcores will tune in again to see the sublime elements of Mayweather's defense and a healthy Pac-Man's multilayered violence, but the remaining masses may watch again just to see an irritatingly full-throated Money—like the Bronx Bombers, the Fighting Irish and the No. 24 car—get what's coming to him.

His regal entrance through thousands of jeering fans in Arturo Gatti's backyard was the stuff of bad guy genius in 2005 and preceded a six-round beatdown that he'd promised all along while referring to his popular foe as a club fighter and the product of preferential complexion-based TV coverage.

Add a mariachi-playing, sombrero-wearing ring walk against Carlos Baldomir and a series of money-tossing “make it rain” scenes during run-ups to the Oscar De La Hoya and Ricky Hatton wins, and you have exactly the stuff that made old-school pro wrestlers like Ric Flair and Roddy Piper rich men.

The more they hate you, the more they'll pay to see you.

And based on initial returns from last weekend, it's going to take something extra to make them care again.