LAS VEGAS -- They are looked upon condescendingly, as glommers who hope to leech Floyd Mayweather's pockets and lifesytle as part of his entourage: Perhaps a little thuggish, definitely bloodsucking, and likely not thoughtful enough to consider the ramifications of giving over one's life to one man's whims, be he Earth's highest-paid athlete or not.

Ramifications like the loss of self, and questioning whether this level of subservience is what you sought in your life's work.

Or the detachment from reality -- and the hard thud once it reconnects.

Or the ceaseless attention you receive for the person you know, not the person you are.

In truth, they often find themselves individually analyzing precisely those issues as they wield spit buckets, or mop sweat on demand, or smear petroleum jelly into the champion's nostrils, or cook his food, or place his wagers, or carry his championship belts into the ring like they will for yet another Mayweather title fight Saturday against Saul "Canelo" Alvarez.

They are computer techs and college graduates and photographers and businessmen. They are massive bodyguards earning $150,000 a year to protect the pound-for-pound king of the ring. They are boxing insiders who sometimes receive diamond-studded platinum watches as bonuses.

They are Mayweather's family members, like his uncle John Sinclair, the camp masseur. They are his specialized employees, like James "P-Reala" Mcnair, the CEO of Mayweather's Philthy Rich Records. They are his old friends like assistant trainer Nate Jones, Mayweather's 1996 U.S. Olympic teammate.

Assistant trainer Nate Jones is former Olympic teammate.

What they aren't is a bunch of unemployable do-nothings.

"My employees would go to war for me," Mayweather said. "And it's just like any other business. I've got disgruntled employees, people that are upset, and when they leave the company they've got something negative to say, or make up lies."

That isn't the case with those who stick.

"I genuinely love the people who are with my company," Mayweather said, though he refused to specify how many many there are.

What is certain is there are dozens, with front-row seats to history, and vivid tales to tell.

*****

Marcus Hutchins served as court jester before the international boxing media this week when he sweetened Mayweather's coffee with honey.

"Honey goes with tea, not coffee," Mayweather chided, then went into a good-natured rant about what a ne'er-do-well Hutchins is.

"He's the only employee I've got who (messes) up every day," Mayweather said. "One day, he told me, 'I can drive one of the exotic cars.' Then, he was about to put diesel in a Ferrari! I'm going, 'What are you doing?' He's steady (messing) up."

Hutchins, 37, took in stride the highly public ribbing, before a cache of recorders and reporters in the VIP room at MGM Grand.

Floyd Mayweather keeps most of his staff on call 24 hours a day.

"I laugh it off because that's just him," said Hutchins, one of the newer camp members. "He's got a great personality and he's always going to be like that. It makes me smile and it brightens up my day. I know I (mess) up sometimes, but who doesn't (mess) up? Nobody's perfect."

Hutchins and Mayweather met in an Atlanta barber shop. Mayweather mentioned an interest in local real estate. Hutchins, a one-man small business who made his living helping celebrities cut deals, offered help.

The two "just connected as friends," Hutchins said.

After Mayweather's jail stint on a domestic conviction in summer 2012, he summoned Hutchins to work for him.

Hutchins fits the prototype of the boxing entourage member more than most on "The Money Team." He has limited experience in the sport and works more go-fer tasks than others. Mayweather's nickname for him -- "The Butler" -- reflects as much.

Mayweather said he wanted Hutchins here because the two have a close friendship which isn't tainted by jealousy, like so many of the boxer's failed friendships.

Not that Mayweather expresses supreme faith in Hutchins otherwise.

"This is honest," Mayweather said. "Say I give him 50 jobs to do over 365 days. Forty-five of those jobs are gonna be (messed) up. But I keep him around because he's my real friend. He's not really my employee, he's my friend."

For the record, Hutchins didn't really try to put diesel in a Ferrari.

*****

Rod Braswell, three years older than Mayweather, was 13 when he moved to Grand Rapids from Little Rock, Ark. His mother made the move a year earlier and had struck up a friendship with the aspiring boxer's parents, Floyd Mayweather and Deborah Sinclair. The couple's son, Floyd Sinclair, would change his name two years later.

Braswell lived on Packard Avenue SE, at Lake Drive SE, and sometimes baby-sat Little Floyd, as most called the youngster. They called each other "Big Bro" and "Little Bro" and enjoyed going to Splash, the defunct water park on 28th Street SE.

Big Bro went to college, had kids, went his own way. He started a career as a music booking agent, traveling between Grand Rapids and Los Angeles.

Rod Braswell, left, spent his teenage years with Mayweather. Now, he serves as the equipment manager and arranges personal appearances.

By 2002, his longtime friend had been world champion for four years and was pressing him to join his team. Braswell promised he would "but I never really considered it."

Mayweather and Braswell would spend summers hanging out in Grand Rapids during the early championship years, not even talking business.

"He would hear my artists, I would tell him what I was doing, and I would come to all the fights, but I was never talking about working for him, per se," Braswell said.

After Mayweather's first pay-per-view main event, a June 2005 win over Arturo Gatti, he and Braswell spent the rest of the summer on a road trip.

"We drove all over the United States together," Braswell said. "New York, Miami, we went everywhere driving. So when we got back to Grand Rapids and he was getting ready to go back to Vegas, he was like, 'So when are you coming to Vegas, man? I really need you out there.' He wanted me to come right then and I wouldn't come."

Two months before Mayweather's 2006 fight against Zab Judah, Braswell received a 4 a.m. call, and could stiff-arm his friend no more.

"He basically said, 'This is it, I need you right now,'" Braswell said.

The Money Team brand continues to grow.

On the boxing side, Braswell, 39, is the equipment manager. During the majority of the time when Mayweather isn't in training camp, Braswell uses his booking expertise to arrange personal appearances for the boxer.

Braswell said their history helps their business relationship.

"We've been friends so long, he'll tell you, I can read him," Braswell said. "When he needs something, I'm usually ahead of the game because I've been around him so long."

The enduring problem all Mayweather camp members face is solicitation for access to the champ, to which Braswell applies a blanket approach: "I don't entertain it."

That also applies to the vast majority of business and personal-appearance proposals which never advance beyond him.

"A lot of people want to talk to Floyd," Braswell said. "But you don't need to talk to him, because it's either going to be yes or no. And if he's going to say no, why tell everybody no? Just have someone else tell everybody no."

Braswell doesn't deflect people just for fun. He also has a personal interest. He and camp member Rick Brazil want to establish a sports agency under the Mayweather umbrella. But they need approval from the boss.

"So when people try to get to Floyd through me, I say, 'You've got to get in line because we're in line ourselves, and we're with him every day,'" Braswell said.

*****

DeJuan Blake never wanted to be just another entourage member. He didn't know much about boxing when he joined the Mayweather camp in 2001. But he had no intention of keeping it that way.

DeJuan Blake's role in camp has grown throughout the years.

"I just didn't want to be an older gentleman and say I was around all of this and nothing came out of it," he said. "I refused to let that happen."

Blake, a 32-year-old Bronx native, is a distant cousin of Mayweather and they have known each other since childhood.

He was studying computer networking at a Manhattan technical school when Mayweather summoned him to join the team.

"DeJuan just came around and he wanted to learn," Mayweather said. "Like anything, he wanted to learn.

"He was here around the gym, he was doing things, he saw different things. He picked up and learned everything about the sport of boxing and the game of boxing."

DeJuan Blake is a distant cousin of Floyd Mayweather.

Twelve years later, the only team members with longer uninterrupted tenures than Blake are Mayweather Promotions CEO Leonard Ellerbe and assistant trainer Roger Mayweather.

Blake now deftly referees sparring sessions and can notice the slightest out-of-place element in the gym.

He also has learned enough about boxing to manage fighters himself. One of Blake's fighters, Ashley Theophane, will kick off Saturday's pay-per-view undercard. Blake also advises Ishe Smith, the International Boxing Federation 154-pound champion who fights on Saturday's show.

"I figure this boxing is going to be over pretty soon, so why not take the initiative?" Blake said. "All these up-and-coming fighters I see -- I spend all day, every day with them in the gym -- why not try to manage them and try to help their career out? I've learned the game by being around Leonard and Floyd, so I pretty much know the game already. Most people look at me as I'm young and may not know too much. But if you sit around and watch people do what they they do on a consistent basis, you get to where you can sometimes critique what they're doing. And that's what I did."

*****

Shaun Tyler didn't hesitate when asked the greatest sacrifice for a young entourage member.

"Reality," he said.

Tyler, 33, is different than most Mayweather camp members: He was with the team from the start, left in 2004, initially eschewed opportunities to return, and stayed away for six years.

"I just felt like I was burned out," he said. "It was nothing personal. I just felt like I was burned out and I wanted to do something on my own -- and I wanted to prove to Floyd that I could do something on my own."

Shaun Tyler, left, came back to Floyd Mayweather's camp after a six-year absence. He and Floyd became friends as teenagers.

Tyler was 16 and Mayweather was a 19-year-old, newly minted professional with an Olympic bronze medal when they became fast friends. Tyler lived with Mayweather while finishing high school in Las Vegas. He was there long before the money was.

"I used to think Floyd was crazy," Tyler said. "He had a one-bedroom apartment and he'd be like, 'I'm going to make $100 million in this boxing.' And I'm 16, saying, '$100 million? Come on, man, you sound crazy.' Because see, back then, Oscar De La Hoya was how Floyd is now, and Floyd would tell me, 'I'm going to beat De La Hoya someday, you watch, I can beat De La Hoya.' He only had a couple of fights at the time. I'd look at him like, 'Man, you're crazy.'"

Tyler was on the team for Mayweather's first 13 championship fights.

But just as Mayweather's journey to power sometimes proved difficult, it also affected the younger Tyler.

"Sometimes, the perks that you get, dealing with Floyd, you kind of lose yourself," Tyler said. "With me, myself, I kind of felt like I was owed certain things."

Leonard Ellerbe, right, helps in the gym and also is the CEO of Mayweather Promotions.

So Tyler left to work on his own in the music business. He remained on favorable terms with Mayweather but viewed the boxer's rise to the apex of the sports world from a distance. He got married, had children.

"I just didn't want to come around for a long time," he said. "I wanted to get myself together. The lifestyle for me was just a lot different. You know how he is, all gas and no brakes."

Tyler was in for a surprise when he finally rejoined the team after the 2010 Shane Mosley fight.

"I found that Floyd had actually changed," he said. "He don't go out and party. He just stays around the house. It's really just family around."

Tyler reassessed his own experience with Mayweather, both before his departure and after his return.

"When I looked at myself and stepped away from the situation, I was like, 'Man, you was trippin', you had it made,' " he said.

Tyler has few direct boxing responsibilities. Most of his work is focused on Mayweather's music business and promoting the career of Earl Hayes, a hip-hop artist.

Tyler said he can see himself sticking with the company much longer this time, advancing the music arm of the Mayweather empire and working for an old friend in a new atmosphere.

"At the end of the day, you take all of this other stuff out of the picture, that's my friend first," Tyler said. "Floyd is loyal. Every time I've needed him, he's been there, and I don't just mean financially. That's why I'd give anything for him."

*****

Many camp relationships have ended, not all of them well. Mayweather has fired, alienated or been betrayed by a wide array of employees, including one bought-out promoter (Bob Arum), one manager whose contract was not renewed (James Prince), and the resignation of his own father as trainer before Floyd Mayweather Sr. returned to that role last year after a 12-year absence.

At least one of the failed relationships led directly to a significant legal issue.

In 2009, former Mayweather associate Ocie Harris fired shots into a car driven by a former camp member, Grand Rapids native Damein Bland, outside a Las Vegas skating rink. Mayweather, who was there when the incident occurred, and had argued with the man accompanying Bland a few minutes earlier, had a search warrant executed on his home and a Rolls-Royce automobile, but was not charged. Harris in 2012 took a plea deal and is serving a two- to five-year sentence.

Mayweather settled a lawsuit earlier this year with Bland and Quincey Williams, the Las Vegas man who was a passenger in the car.

Floyd Mayweather has had various camp members come and go.

He has tried to contain the temperament of his camp members, in particular since that incident.

"It's different when you're young and you've got a bunch of hotheads around you doing a bunch of dumb things and getting you caught up in a bunch of bullcrap," Mayweather said. "But once you get to a certain level, you have a family, you care about your family's stability, you care about your freedom and things like that, that's very, very important."

The most peculiar split-up between Mayweather and a camp member came at the boxer's lowest point, when he lost that freedom and was jailed 63 days in a domestic case last year.

Longtime camp member Tommy Summers wrote Mayweather in jail and urged him to split from his business adviser, Al Haymon, and team up with entertainer and aspiring boxing promoter Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson instead. Summers hoped to expand his own role with Mayweather through the proposed structure.

The letter, which ended with Summers asking Mayweather to rip it up after reading it, ended their relationship, as well as Mayweather's lengthy friendship with Jackson.

Mayweather clearly was upset by the Summers situation but says little about it.

"If he feels that going the other way is the best thing for him, more power to him. Why say anything negative?" Mayweather said.

Braswell, who baby-sat the young Floyd Sinclair two decades before becoming his employee, said he always considered Summers "a positive guy," but also noted there's a common trait among most former camp members who become ostracized.

"Floyd tries to instill confidence in his employees and when a guy gets confidence, he might start getting full of himself," Braswell said. "He might start thinking he's Floyd."

Mayweather-Alvarez: Fight week Monday at the gym 18 Gallery: Mayweather-Alvarez: Fight week Monday at the gym

-- David Mayo has covered Floyd Mayweather throughout the boxer's career. Contact him at dmayo@mlive.com