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The Best Damn Sports Show, PeriodThe greatness of HBO's boxing documentary De La Hoya/Mayweather 24/7.

By Robert WeintraubPosted Thursday, May 3, 2007, at 7:25 AM ET

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Allen Barra argued that De La Hoya got robbed in his 2003 loss to Shane Mosley. Robert Weintraub explained why nobody loves Lennox Lewis. Daniel Engber asked if boxing records mean anything. Nan Mooney filed dispatches from the Golden Gloves boxing tournament. In 1999, David Plotz lamented that cable companies, John McCain, and a squeamish public were killing ultimate fighting.

Where Junior comes off as an incorrigible (if entertaining) blowhard and Senior a bitter cutman relegated to a neutral corner, Roger is the crazy uncle one likes to keep locked away when company arrives. While his acumen as a trainer isn't questioned, he seems—to put a fine point on things—completely insane. (This punch he took back in the '80s may be the culprit.)

The first episode of 24/7 chronicled Roger's quest for reinstatement by the Nevada State Athletic Commission. The trainer had entered the ring to brawl with Zab Judah after Judah had smacked Floyd Jr. with a low blow. He was suspended for a year, which elapsed just in time for HBO to tag along to the hearing. Roger is properly sycophantic to the commission and has his license restored. On the way out, he thanks the deceased "Johnnie Cochran" and compares himself to O.J.—"Somebody got off," he says with a cackle.

Amid all that Mayweather Madness, De La Hoya is the picture of decorum. He's seen lounging in his Puerto Rico manse, watching the Masters as his lovely wife makes espresso and playing with the dogs out by the pool. It's a scene straight out of Rocky III—all that's missing is Mick growling, "Ya got civilized!"

De La Hoya stares into the camera and predicts punishment for Mayweather, but his heart isn't in it. While still a formidable fighter and the sport's top draw, De La Hoya hasn't had a win over a quality opponent since besting Fernando Vargas in 2002. Since then, he's been pummeled by Bernard Hopkins and whipped twice by "Sugar" Shane Mosley. Win or lose—more realistically, lose or lose—his legacy won't change much. He's going through the motions until fight night, after which he'll transition into his promotion career.

The only thing 24/7 lacks, then, is what When We Were Kings had in spades: historical importance to match the spectacle. Since De La Hoya has so little chance to win, the stakes of the fight are much lower than the promotional bluster would lead you to believe. As a result, De La Hoya/Mayweather 24/7 comes off less as a celebration of two great fighters than as a last-gasp attempt by HBO to revive its flagship sport.

A sure sign of boxing's growing irrelevance came immediately prior to the second episode of 24/7, when Ultimate Fighting Championship stud Chuck Liddell made a cameo on Entourage, a role that surely would have gone to a boxer as recently as five years ago. As great a gift to viewers as De La Hoya/Mayweather 24/7 is, even HBO knows where the future lies.