I did not score the Manny Pacquiao-Timothy Bradley Jr. fight two Saturdays ago. Having felt cheated out of a chance to be outraged like most everyone else last weekend, I decided to score the fight during its televised replay as part of HBO’s World Championship Boxing broadcast last night. In addition to tabulating my card for the first time, I decided to critique the cards of Duane Ford (115-113, Bradley), C.J. Ross (115-113, Bradley) and Jerry Roth (115-113, Pacquiao) on a round-by-round basis. My findings were somewhat unexpected.

Firstly, my scorecard read 117-111 for Pacquiao. I gave “the Pride of the Philippines” rounds one through nine, marking rounds three, seven, eight and nine as rounds that could be argued for Bradley. I gave rounds ten through twelve to Bradley inarguably.

My biggest issue with folks that take umbrage to a “controversially” scored fight, is that they rarely take into account how many rounds in a given bout which could be scored for either fighter. Even though I had it wide for Pacquiao on my card, if Bradley had been given the benefit of my four close rounds, I would have had it 115-113 for Bradley.

The folks at HBO made analyzing the three officials’ cards easy, as in typical fashion, they displayed each judge’s card after each round. Having had four arguable rounds, those are the rounds where the judges could have had it for either fighter and I would not take a demerit against their final score.

Of the rounds I found to be poorly scored, Duane Ford had three of them, but one was actually a Pacquiao round I found to be puzzling – round eleven. Ford also had rounds one and five for Bradley. Counting Ford’s highly questionable rounds, it would be a one-point swing for Pacquiao, meaning in my eyes he should have handed in a card that read 114-114.

C.J. Ross called two rounds for the wrong guy, giving rounds two and five to Bradley. The two-point swing in favor of Pacquiao means this card should have read 115-113 for Pacquiao, not Bradley.

Jerry Roth missed the ball just once in my estimation, as he scored the second round for Bradley. This means his score should have been one round wider for Pacquiao at 116-112.

Boxing is a sport where winners are decided based on human interpretation, which means there is plenty of room for error. The Manny Pacquiao-Timothy Bradley Jr. WBO Welterweight title bout was not the worst scored fight of the century, decade or even this year. Four out of the twelve rounds could have been scored for either fighter, a swing which makes several final scores acceptable.

I may be in the minority, but in breaking down the scoring round-by-round, I find little fault with the three judges currently being put under the microscope. Ford, the most outspoken of the three in recent days, had the worst night, which he may have even realized by the time round eleven came around. But in the end, Ford is human and boxing is boxing. We’ve seen computerized scoring, such as in the Olympics, and I’d take Ford over that any day of the week.

POSTSCRIPT

Speaking of human error, that applies to us the viewer as well. Many of us had an invested interest in the outcome of the June 9th bout. Whether it was our love for a national hero, our simple desire to see the two mega stars of the sport enter a ring against one another without a recent defeat on their record or financial – we watch fights with preconceived notions and emotions.

This past April I stood in a Las Vegas media room and heard Top Rank head Bob Arum tell his publicist he had Brandon Rios a winner on points over Richard Abril. I need no replay to tell me there is no way Rios should have left the Mandalay Bay with a decision win on that night. Giving Mr. Arum the benefit of the doubt, and let’s say his financial connection to a Rios win had no bearing on his card, than it must have been his preconceived expectation that Rios would win that swayed his opinion of the fight. Maybe that has a lot to do with his outrage this time too.

Photo by Chris Farina/Top Rank

Mario Ortega Jr. can be reached at ortega15rds@lycos.com.

We are where we were 20 months ago. Floyd Mayweather knows he can beat Many Pacquiao, doesn’t understand why the rest of us don’t, and wants every detail just so before he’ll agree to do it. Pacquiao, when he thinks about boxing at all, fears Mayweather less than he feared a half-dozen previous opponents. Promoter Bob Arum wants no part of a Mayweather match. Boxing fans are polarized. Everyone else has moved on.

In frustrating and disillusioning moments such as these, it can be a valuable exercise to imagine the future, 30 years along, and ask yourself if any of this will truly matter.

If Mayweather and Pacquiao never fight, none of this will matter even a little. That’s worth remembering as you look back on two years of Mayweather and Pacquiao fights and imagine two more years of Mayweather and Pacquiao fights.

Probability says neither man will retire. Probability also says they will not fight each other. There will always be something. If the drug-test hurdle is surmounted, it will be a matter of what gloves to use. If there’s a treaty on the gloves, it will be a question of who enters the ring first. And all of this assumes – assumes ridiculously, by the way – that a revenue-sharing agreement could ever be reached between Mayweather Promotions, Top Rank and HBO.

HBO, after all, is more responsible for Mayweather’s ascension in pop culture than even Mayweather is. It has also put its weight behind making a Mayweather-Pacquiao fight before. Forget not: It was an HBO executive who told the MGM Grand media center immediately after 2009’s Pacquiao-Miguel Cotto fight that a Golden Boy Promotions rep had just called and promised negotiations with Top Rank to begin Monday. That was 23 months ago.

While the subject of HBO is up, let’s discuss the rousing finale of the HBO Mayweather-Victor Ortiz movie that premiered Saturday. Along with showing us Ortiz was two parts the guy exposed by Marcos Maidana and one part the monster Andre Berto built, episode 5 of “24/7” provided this: All-access passes make us dumber about boxing, not smarter.

When Mayweather announced he would fight Ortiz, every aficionado said it was easy work for Mayweather. Professional gamblers concurred. Then four, all-access episodes narrowed odds and made aficionados consider a way for Ortiz to win. Most of us didn’t do anything crazy as change our picks, but with the one noble exception of Thomas Hauser, we all wrote previews and watched to see if something unexpected might happen.

Alas, something unexpected and ultimately unsatisfying happens in every Mayweather fight, no? This time it was Mayweather’s exploitation of Ortiz’s fragile brain. Last time it was Mayweather’s exploitation of Shane Mosley’s eroded reflexes. Time before that, it was Mayweather’s exploitation of Juan Manuel Marquez’s slighter frame. There’s always some exploitation.

Mayweather fights are marketed at a very specific type of fan. When a Mayweather fight ends, this sort of guy immediately tells whoever is in earshot that Mayweather reminds him of that time he almost had to throw a beatdown on a guy at the mall. Then this guy goes back into hiding. He threatens to support Graterford Prison’s own Bernard Hopkins, of course, but pay-per-view receipts later prove that threat hollow.

The rest of our sport’s casual fans feel dissatisfied and sort of stupid. They punish what Mayweather did to them with a tool devastating as it is unnoticed: their indifference. That is how it happens, ultimately. It’s a thing Mayweather senses even if he does not know what to call it. But for the 30 minutes he spends in a boxing ring every 18 months, he does not exist in the collective mind of the American mass. It makes him loopy.

Like General George McClellan at the outbreak of Civil War hostilities, Mayweather wants to win his largest battle without having to fight it. He wants us to credit him with beating Pacquiao without he does it. You know what? Most aficionados do assume Mayweather would beat Pacquiao with something between ease and moderate difficulty, but we’ll be damned if we’re going to shout over Mayweather’s inane self-aggrandizement to tell him so.

If this time in boxing is not the Pacquiao Era, in other words, what is it? A mediocre stretch of lumbering European heavyweights and overpriced mismatches that compose either boxing’s final era or an eventually forgotten one. Mayweather is the king, as the saying goes, and boxing is nothing – and that makes Mayweather the king of nothing. If Mayweather never does fight Pacquiao, he won’t be remembered for not-fighting Pacquiao. He won’t be remembered at all.

Some day 30 years from now, some enterprising journalist may do a retrospective on the Greatest Fight that Never Was instead of, say, a feature on women’s figure skating, and what will he treat? Bob Arum will be long gone. Mayweather will be a broke trainer. Pacquiao will be the former president of the Philippines, a man history regards as a better prizefighter than national leader.

Under the poorly lighted staircase of a defunct gym, Mayweather will shout, “You know that I woulda beat that motherf—er!” Those of us still alive will nod and shrug and think about how little it mattered, finally. For a moment, we’ll remember what we were doing back then, remember it the way we remember our aunt’s wedding reception each time we hear Kool and the Gang’s “Celebration” play. And then all of life that has happened to us since will wash back over the moment, and it will be lost.

Mayweather makes veteran journalists wonder why they still bother. He makes young journalists wonder if they should continue bothering. No Mayweather victory is a victory for anyone but Mayweather. Figures like that do not live on as legends; they are either forgotten in time or become cautionary tales.

Bart Barry can be reached via Twitter @bartbarry

Boxing doesn’t have seasons, or much boxing either, anymore, but it does have pay-per-view events that mark artificial seasons. These happen late in winter, spring, summer and fall. This year’s late-winter and late-summer offerings were weak and dreadful, respectively. This year’s late-fall season kicked-off Saturday with the first episode of “24/7 Pacquiao/Margarito.”

If you’re not thinking that it would be better to read a column about boxing than one about television about boxing, you should be. To such a concern I offer the merest anecdote:

One summer, after suffering through a semester of Eng102 at Arizona State University I happened on its professor in the ASU Rec Center and told him what I thought of his class. And he replied, “Boring to you? I had to teach the damned thing.”

We make a mistake if we discount the need for boxing on television, though, and that is why we take a look at HBO’s “24/7” program and its effect. Much as we make of competitive undercard matches and b-side fighters in main events, network researchers snicker at our concerns because they know what we do not believe: Once the a-side fighter is in place, the success of a pay-per-view is determined by “24/7.”

Mayweather-Mosley in May was a more compelling spectacle than Pacquiao-Clottey in March, as we all knew it would be, but not twice as compelling. The difference in pay-per-view sales these shows garnered, if those numbers are to be believed, was roughly 100 percent. That is, Mayweather-Mosley sold about twice as many pay-per-view buys as Pacquiao-Clottey. One had “24/7.” One did not.

Look, “24/7” is not for you, the serious fan. It is for the wife or father of a casual fan. It is about helping a casual fan attain $50 of permission from his spouse or guardian by offering variable plotlines. That’s how Pacquiao’s puppy featured prominently in “24/7” before the fight with Miguel Cotto; that’s why we now know Margarito’s wife hates her husband’s flatulence.

Super fights need that sort of promotion today because there are no longer a million serious boxing fans in the United States. Boxing lost most of its fans when it left network television, though it still pretends otherwise. It lost more fans when it put an additional purchase price on meaningful fights. And it lost another healthy chunk this year when it promised something real, failed, then delivered, instead, something broken.

Which gets me thinking about Mexico. Today, having backed away from the failed American model, Mexico has great fights on basic cable. It’s a new thing. Mexicans are embracing it enthusiastically. When I talk to folks in Tamaulipas or Jalisco, now, I hear about fights in Germany and Poland I did not know about and could not have seen if I had. Beyond that enthusiasm, though, is a coming sadness.

Boxing did not suffer too much when American kids could no longer watch it on public airwaves. That is, American boxing suffered, suffered terribly, but the sport wasn’t ruined. Because of prosperity, Americans were destined to supply boxing’s audience, not its participants, soon, anyway. Not so with Mexico.

Boxing was not on Mexico’s public airwaves for most of the last decade because of the same shortsighted greed that afflicted, and afflicts, things here in the U.S. Mexican great Marco Antonio Barrera, in fact, cites the renewed availability of boxing in Mexican homes as a reason for his comeback: None of his countrymen saw his glory days. Unless you were a Mexican with a satellite dish or access to a sports bar that had one, then, you probably gave up on boxing sometime after 2001.

Ten years is a long time. Imagine a Mexican who turns 20 this year; he’s spent half his life without boxing. Now imagine that Mexican was to be the next Barrera. Whatever else he may be, he’s not the next Barrera anymore.

Today, we are told Saul Alvarez and Julio Cesar Chavez Jr. are among Mexico’s greatest young fighters. The troublesome thing is that it might be so. Expect just as many Mexican “greats” to be fed to us by promoters in the next decade as we had in the last, but don’t expect many actual great fighters out of Mexico for 10 years to come.

Oh, enough of the dreary prognostications already! Very well. Back to pay-per-view season.

The first episode of “24/7” was better than it could have been. There were the same old overwrought and overproduced elements, sure. Freddie Roach’s pursuit of anonymity in a mall – while accoutered in bright Team Pacquiao garb and followed by a camera crew – was the best example. But anyway.

The first episode dealt fairly with the issue of Margarito’s hand wraps. It reported the facts of the case; the discovery of the pads, the result of the California State Athletic Commission’s investigation, the revocation of Margarito’s license, and the restoration of Margarito’s license in Texas. Then it gave Margarito his chance to convince potential buyers “he didn’t know” – that he still “doesn’t know!” (not in subtitled translation) – anything was wrong with his wraps the night he faced Shane Mosley.

And then “24/7” went to Roach casually saying Margarito is lying before showing Pacquiao, in an uncommon bit of satire, pantomiming Margarito’s path to obliviousness – complete with covering his eyes with one hand while extending the other to an imaginary trainer. Yes, Margarito’s explanation remains, in the strictest sense of the word, unbelievable.

But he still won’t make much of a villain. He has a sleepy-eyed humility that makes him pretty hard to hate. He is not going to cut it as a Mexican hero, either, though; wherever they found those extras for the car-wash plot, Margarito now cuts things a little too fine, in both beard and palliation, to be a working-class hero.

But this is good as it gets right now. Take it or leave it.

Bart Barry can be reached at bbarry@15rounds.com. Additionally, his book, “The Legend of Muhammad Ali,” co-written with Thomas Hauser, can be purchased here.

Photo by Chris Farina/Top Rank