This weekend, in the punters' paradise of Las Vegas, two men will attempt to ruthlessly renovate boxing's ravaged respectability. Oscar de la Hoya and Floyd Mayweather Jr have more in common than they would be prepared to concede. In a sport polluted by mediocrity, they need each other: just not as much as boxing needs them.

The fight game was founded on fierce rivalries but of late, precious few have resembled anything other than contrived pantomime. The Golden Boy versus the Pretty Boy depicts the contrasting personalities. There is fear and loathing in Las Vegas. Mayweather's legacy is dependent on him preserving his unbeaten status, a task made all the more intriguing given the two fighters have agreed to meet at light middleweight.

Sharmba Mitchell and Zab Judah have already been vanquished at welterweight, Arturo Gatti at light welterweight, Jose Luis Castillo and Jesus Chaves at lightweight and Diego Corrales at super featherweight.

Still the critics are reluctant to lionise a jive-talking loudmouth they perceive to have consistently disrespected boxing.

For de la Hoya, legend has already been bestowed and at 34 he has been cast in the role of the universally popular underdog. It is fitting that the grudge match will take place close to the 20th anniversary of a fight fuelled by hatred. The outlandish scoring of a Mexican judge, Jo Jo Guerra, at Caesar's Palace remains as controversial today as it was two decades ago.

Sugar Ray Leonard was the beneficiary of a split decision that so infuriated Marvelous Marvin Hagler he retired immediately to Milan, where occasional reruns in the family home have invariably resulted in the need for a new television.

Then, as now, the fight was arranged almost out of necessity for an ailing sport. Leonard, at 30, had been out of the ring for five years, save for an unedifying slog against Kevin Howard, owing to a detached retina. Hagler, in that time, had become the most feared middleweight in the world.

He caused a riot when a cut eye forced the stoppage of Alan Minter at Wembley in 1980 and he memorably defended the WBA and WBC versions against Roberto Duran and Thomas Hearns. Still, he was haunted by the legacy and popularity of Leonard.

While Hearns contemplated retirement after a laboured win against John Mugabi, Leonard had convinced himself over a beer or two with Michael J Fox that he was ready to return. Bob Arum, the promoter who now spearheads the Ultimate Fighting Championship explosion, raised $23m - a record outside of the heavyweight division - and Leonard won the 12-round contest with a hit-and-run technique that pains Hagler to this day.

Fast forward 20 years, and that intense rivalry has been recreated in timely fashion. De la Hoya and Shane Mosley have already turned their love of the sport into a successful promotional company but, like Leonard, the lure of a 20-foot canvas ring remains irresistible. Frankly, the majority of the boxing firmament would relish the sight of Mayweather on his ass and taught a lesson by the old master. Conventional wisdom suggests otherwise.

Like Leonard and Hagler, both fighters have been obliged to undertake a promotional tour. While the old pro spoke respectfully of his opponent and the sport itself, Mayweather's child-like antics included introducing to the assembled media a chicken named Oscar.

In examining his upbringing, it is easier to understand and even forgive Mayweather's social deficiencies. Reared by the obsessive Mayweather Sr, himself a notable prize fighter, junior was born into a family who thought nothing of celebrating birthdays, boys or girls, with unforgiving boxing parties'.

As the most prodigious of the offspring, Floyd Jr's destiny was clear. School gave way to sparring, play-time was extra pad work and adolescence was spent preparing for the amateurs.

The preparation made him a world champion, but at what cost? There is as much interest in their respective trainers than the warriors themselves.

The inevitable estrangement prompted Mayweather Sr to offer his services to de la Hoya, a bond that remained until preparing for this fight. He returned to his son's camp only to be met with indifference and, in the case of his brother and trainer, Roger, outright contempt.

De la Hoya's camp is distinctly more harmonious but no less compelling. Freddie Roach has been called-in to fine-tune the former champion for arguably his greatest test yet. He has done so while fighting the ravaging effects of Parkinson's Disease attributed to his long career as a journeyman.

His speech slurred and body afflicted by involuntary ticks, he has put as much physical exertion into the training regimen as de la Hoya has for his defining moment.

Greatness will be guaranteed for the winner, grudgingly should Mayweather's savage power prevail. With Peter Manfredo Jr's shot at Joe Calzaghe's super-middleweight title ending in embarrassment, and the heavyweight division now the sole preserve of former Soviet satellite states, de la Hoya and Mayweather will bring some American razzmatazz back to elite pugilism.

The promoters can only hope they will still be talking about this fight 20 years from now.

AND ANOTHER THING . . .
Neil Lennon, wherever he winds up next, will surely spread his media wings now he is free of the Glasgow madness.

A natural raconteur, and a welcome ally in any quiz team, one of his little-known successes in more than six years at Celtic was a wonderfully emotive narration of the Brother Walfrid Story on Celtic TV, a performance so accomplished it put many of today's supposed broadcasting professionals to shame.