He's a flamboyant con man, a hustler and the consummate promoter.

There are even those who say he's the devil incarnate.

He rules over the modem-day Sodom and Gomorrah better known as Las Vegas. His kingdom is the realm of the fistic arts ... the sweet science ... the carnival of carnage ... the ballet of blood. Boxing.

Meet Reverend Fred Sultan. In a sport of wannabe kings, Sultan is the mightiest of monarchs. Yet his reach extends far beyond the ring. Rich, powerful and dressed like a prince, the bigger-than- life Sultan is nothing less than the American Dream personified. He's the ultimate capitalist, as comfortable in the boardroom as he is in the locker room. You'll hear him explain "adjusted net profit with a sliding scale" much more frequently than the ins and outs of organized fisticuffs.

But despite his hustling and financial wizardry, Sultan's Vegas fiefdom is fading. Boxing attendance is dwindling, along with public interest. Even pay per view is down 50 percent. The problem, according to Sultan, is that people are tired of paying money to see 'brothers' beating up 'brothers'. Sultan's solution: find a white heavyweight contender to face the undefeated heavyweight champ, James "The Grim Reaper" Roper.

Sultan finds his Great White Hope in a seedy bar in Cleveland, Ohio. The would-be contender, Terry Conklin, is a long-haired front man for a rock band all-too-appropriately named Massive Head Wound. But Terry's got one thing going for him, besides the color of his skin: he actually bested the champ in an amateur bout many years earlier.

The Fight of the Century--of the Millennium--is set. "Irish" Terry Conklin vs. James "The Grim Reaper" Roper. Is it Hope? Or is it Hype? Either way, the boxing world is about to take it on the chin.