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Hatton V Mayweather.
From Mark Staniforth in Las Vegas. 

There is nothing else quite as chaotic as a pre-fight press conference, Las Vegas-style, and that's even before a couple of thousand inebriated Mancunians start braying on the door demanding entry.

On Wednesday in Las Vegas, Oscar De La Hoya hosted the ritual bun-fight, which began with the interminable procession of hotel managers and television executives seizing their chance to worship at the altar of temple Golden Boy.

Then came the trainers. Billy Graham shifted uneasily in the spotlight. Roger Mayweather cradled an infant in his arms and explained in great detail how Ricky Hatton could only win if he entered the ring armed with a fishing pole.

Each incendiary statement was greeted by hollers of delight from Mayweather's posse on one side of the room, or from toots of trumpets from the Hatton supporters band across the stage.

As far as Mayweather was concerned, they struck a bum note, not least when they marked his eventual arrival on the dais by regaling the assembled throng with the theme tune to Steptoe and Son.

Eventually, after approximately one and a half hours in which it seemed every one of those in attendance had been singled out and thanked by name, it was time for the obligatory pre-fight head to head shots.

No time for questions, you may be surprised to note. It is one of the peculiarities of boxing press conferences that no press conferencing actually goes on at all, at least not until the fighters have cleared the stage and been steered into separate media huddles by hassled PR executives.

The head to head shot is always a time when the jostling and profanities reach overdrive. And that is just off the stage, where over one hundred journalists charge as one to the part of the room which has been earmarked for sit-down chats.

Compared to the frantic activity going on beneath them, Floyd and Ricky looked like bosom pals joshing around before a play-fight, rather than unbeaten champions preparing for a contest with millions of dollars at stake.

By the time Mayweather had been swept away by a pair of gigantic bouncers, calm had been restored. Deadline writers tapped furiously at keyboards. PR gurus sighed with relief. Caterers cleared away what remained of the pre-conference buffet.

And yet this was really just the appetiser. On Thursday, Graham and Roger Mayweather are due back for the trainers round-table talk. We will all listen intently to Mayweather's incoherent ramblings. We will bring coffee and cakes from the nearby Starbucks and settle in for another long, long haul. Oh, and arm ourselves with fishing poles, just in case.