Floyd Mayweather Jnr’s brash confidence is born of his sumptuous skills and high boxing IQ. But Mayweather grasped an important concept early in his stellar career. Being a 'heel' puts bums on seats. The role of ‘the heel’ originated in pro wrestling. The heel is the villain — the bad guy who uses the dark arts to antagonise a crowd. Some pay to watch these antics, others to see the rogue get their comeuppence. Either way, the heel gets paid.

Muhammad Ali is often credited as the first boxer to use this money-making trick. He credits his trash talking persona to a wrestler named Gorgeous George. I’d suggest he also borrowed from Jack Johnson. Johnson — the first African-American Heavyweight Champ — revelled in his outsider status. He used the race-fuelled jealousy and hatred he encountered. He filled his pockets with the money of those who abused him.

This brand of fight hype was the domain of the glamour heavyweight division. Nobody from the lighter weights had taken a run at it. That was, until a featherweight from Sheffield blazed onto the world stage. Naseem Hamed had the antics, bravado and brashness of Ali. He also had the outrageous boxing skills to back it up.

‘Prince’ Naseem Hamed didn’t just beat his opponents. He humiliated them in the process. He used lightning reactions to make very good boxers look pedestrian and foolish. He possessed freakish knockout power and landed punches from unpredictable angles. I still recall watching him win his first world title in 1995. I wondered what my late father would have made of him. I’m sure he would of admired the sublime skills on show. But what of the way he lampooned Welshman Steve Robinson in front of his own people in Cardiff? For some boxing purists, his antics were uncouth and unnecessary.

Hamed blazed a trail through the top featherweights of the day. But a couple of those opponents had proven that ‘Naz’ could be hurt himself. I was lucky enough to be in attendance to see The Prince hold court at Newcastle Arena in June 1996. He ran out a convincing winner — but not before Daniel Alicea had dropped him for the first time in his career.

And then there was the thrill-a-minute shootout at Madison Square Garden. In December 1997, Hamed made his US debut, stopping Kevin Kelley in the 4th Round. But the Brooklyn native managed to drop the Sheffield man three times in the process.

In 2001, Hamed got his anticipated megafight with Mexican superstar Marco Antonio Barrera. But things were going downhill. Rumours of friction with his mercurial trainer — Brendan Ingle — was now an open secret. Stories of lacklustre training and diva demands leaked from the training camp. Meanwhile his opponent trained methodically — sometimes in no-frills public gyms. If Rocky 3’s excess to downfall montage has a real life equivalent, it’s this one.

How much of the Kelley fight prepped Barrera’s game plan? A great deal, I'd imagine. The evidence was there for all to see. A disciplined, accomplished fighter would always have a chance against Hamed.

On that fateful night in Las Vegas, Barrera dismantled Hamed over 12 lopsided rounds. To me, the beauty of the performance comes from the basic styles he used to achieve this. This is not to say that Barrera was workmanlike. He is a modern-day great: superb footwork, a fearsome puncher to head and body and teak-tough.

But here, Barrera uses key boxing concepts that most boxers learn early in their tuition. Hamed was a renowned switch-hitter (a fighter who switches stance during a fight). When facing Hamed’s southpaw stance, he circled away from the dangerous left hand. He jabbed as he moved, keeping himself safe and his opponent off-balance.

Barrera finished most of his combinations with the lead hand which returned him to guard. This made him less vulnerable to Hamed’s unpredictable counters.

When Hamed switched to orthodox, Barrera adjusted. He slipped outside the left jab, nailing him with the right cross.

In his ascent, Hamed's excellent reactions allowed him to take liberties with defence. He swayed out of range while holding his feet to launch deadly counter attacks. He got away with this against less accomplished fighters. But a wiley operative like The Baby Faced Assassin was wise to this. Barrera doubled up his attacks, catching the flat-footed Hamed again and again.

By the 12th, Hamed was done. Both in the fight and to all intents and purposes, in his career. Barrera stripped away every layer of hubris. He put exclamation marks on the beatdown. He ignored Hamed's outstretched glove of hard-earned respect. He completed the ignominy by manhandling Naz face first into the turnbuckle.

The Prince sidestepped a rematch. He retired after a tepid points win against Manuel Calvo over a year later.

Watching Naseem Hamed in the 90s was a wild, enjoyable ride. He will go down in history as one of the most exciting boxers of all time. But this fight should warm the heart of any aspiring boxer. Anyone prepared to put in the hard work and perfect the fundamentals. It is substance over style writ large, over 36 minutes. To watch it is to see a master of his craft at work.