by David P. Greisman

Upward mobility has brought fighters out of poverty and beyond adversity, taking them to a world where fame is measured by fortune, where seven-digit paydays are the ideal, each additional zero demonstrating how far they have come from when they had nothing.

On their way up they were hungry – for change, for accomplishment, for rising as high as their fists, wits, determination and discipline would take them. But upon arrival the idea of competition applied not just to pugilism, but also to prosperity and its requisite prestige.

Not that they’ve become complacent. They’ll still put in the roadwork and sparring, the crunches and dieting. The readier they are for the next challenge, the richer they’ll become when the next one arrives. As important as winning in the ring has always been, landing the first blow in negotiations is now the same.

Getting the most favorable terms possible on a contract before signing on the dotted line has made the pen as mighty as a left hook to the liver. And it’s not just about money. Sticking points have included the size of gloves, the brand of gloves, the weight class, who walks out to the ring first, the size of the ring itself, where the bout takes place, cuts of domestic and foreign television fees and whether Gatorade could be given to fighters between rounds.

Manny Pacquiao’s proposed showdown with Oscar De La Hoya reportedly got many of the usual sticking points unstuck. But then a sharp difference in the financial breakdown punctured any hopes that the five-division-titlist Filipino Firebomber would take on a Golden Boy who captured belts in six different weight classes.

De La Hoya, who began his career at lightweight but had been competing at junior middleweight and above since 2001, wanted to be able to jump on the scales at 150 pounds, according to ESPN.com scribe Dan Rafael. De La Hoya wanted to wear 10-ounce gloves, to get 80 percent of pay-per-view revenue after a certain number of purchases.

He ultimately agreed to fight at the welterweight limit wearing 8-ounce gloves, and to get 70 percent of all revenue in balance to Pacquiao’s 30 percent.

Pacquiao had turned pro two pounds below the junior-flyweight limit of 108, going on to capture championships at 112, 126 and 130 and to win titles at 122 and 135. He would be the smaller man between the ropes, but he didn’t want to be as out-sized in bankroll. He wanted 40 percent.

Never mind that the terms De La Hoya had agreed to were likely to give Pacquiao twice the paycheck than his previous career-high. It was 40 percent or nothing.

He got nothing.

Floyd Mayweather’s latest retirement, announced in June, was speculated to be a negotiating ploy in protest of possible difficulties cementing the terms he wanted for a rematch with De La Hoya. But Mayweather had reached the epitome of financial security with his recent run of pay-per-view performances, and he had either referenced retirement or actually called it quits more than once in previous years.

Despite Pacquiao’s superstardom in his native Philippines, the measurable acclaim and popularity he had earned in the United States still translated into merely respectable pay-per-view buy rates against fellow marketable fighters Marco Antonio Barrera, Juan Manuel Marquez and Erik Morales. De La Hoya had long been able to persuade fans to drop $50 for his performances. Against De La Hoya, Mayweather was able to cash in on a percentage of approximately 2.4 million pay-per-view buys, which brought in more than $130 million in revenue. The man who nicknamed himself “Money” then translated the De La Hoya fight into a lucrative knockout of Ricky Hatton, a victory that some 900,000 people paid to see.

Pacquiao would have been taking a chance against an opponent who held a distinct advantage in size. But it would’ve been a no-lose proposition – he could either come up short against a much bigger man and return to lightweight with little shame, or he could topple De La Hoya and capitalize on having struck the Golden Boy.

Instead, Pacquiao is apparently taking a chance on the slate of fighters at and around 135, foes who are quite solid but nowhere near as saleable. He can set up bouts against junior lightweights such as Humberto Soto and Edwin Valero, settle into a deep lightweight division containing Nate Campbell, Joel Casamayor and Juan Diaz, or he can set out for junior welterweight and a brawl with Ricky Hatton.

All would bring the seven-digit paydays that have become ideal. Only Hatton, overseas in Manchester, would come anywhere within range of the eight digits Pacquiao could have expected to see on his De La Hoya paycheck.

Pacquiao at least has the fortune of not needing to worry about fleeting fame. Others have negotiated themselves into corners.

Former super-middleweight titlist Jeff Lacy announced his retirement shortly after winning a tough fight against Epifanio Mendoza. He was set to receive $550,000 for an upcoming bout with deposed middleweight champion Jermain Taylor, but Lacy termed more than half-a-million dollars “an insult” and said the sport that made him rich and famous was “a very dirty business.” Then he quietly came out of his self-imposed exile less than a week later.

Winky Wright had once made a living as an accomplished but relatively underpaid junior middleweight. But in 2005 he translated his wipeout of Felix Trinidad into a profitable campaign at middleweight. After fighting to a draw with then-champion Jermain Taylor, however, Wright issued an ultimatum of purse parity for a rematch and was left on the outside. Since then, he was overpaid for a televised sparring session against Ike Quartey and then disappeared following an ugly pay-per-view wrestling match last year with Bernard Hopkins.

The tactics are nothing new – Sugar Ray Robinson was known to hold up promoters for more money, and he had the sway to get it. But Robinson was regarded as, pound-for-pound, the greatest boxer alive in an era when fighters stepped into the ring far more often, took on more challenges and saw the sort of fame that their contemporaries in this now-niche sport would be all-too-fortunate to have. Instead, modern-day fighters have taken on relatively obscurity as a trade-off for financial security, taking their battles to the bargaining table for a cash course in negotiating.

The 10 Count will return in two weeks.

David P. Greisman’s weekly column, “Fighting Words,” appears every Monday on BoxingScene.com. He may be reached for questions and comments at fightingwords1@gmail.com