Category: Manny Pacquiao

Philippine Basketball Association, it’s called. Thirty years old, it’s popular, calls James Yap, Dondon Hontiveros, and Jayjay Helterbrand as its superstars, and it is Asia’s oldest pro basketball league. That’s the PBA. You know this, I know this.

Well, guess what? Another group has called itself P.B.A. They name themselves Puwersa ng Bayaning Atleta and, this Monday, they’ll be one of nearly 200 party-list groups.

Don’t vote for them! Do you know what they did to Paeng Nepomuceno? The six-time  World Bowling champion, Paeng is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records with three world records.

This PBA party-list, without asking for permission, posted Nepomuceno’s photo and name in their advertisement. In a full-page ad that appeared in the March-April issue of the magazine Badminton Xtreme Philippines, there was Paeng “endorsing” the PBA.

“No, I am not running for any position,” complained Paeng in columnist Bill Velasco’s The Philippine Star column last April 19 (“Paeng: ‘PBA Partylist used me without consent’”). Paeng added: “PBA Partylist used my name and picture without my authorization.”

This is misleading. “Even their nominee is not an athlete,” added Bill Velasco. “When PBA Partylist started out in the last campaign, retired PBA All-Star Jerry Codinera and former PBA player and team manager Orly Castelo were involved. Now, no sports personality outside of Pacquiao (who is actually running for his own congressional seat in Sarangani province) is even running for the partylist.”

Yes, it looks like Manny Pacquiao is involved with this PBA. Reportedly, he is their chairman. But what’s deceiving here is this: It appears as if Pacquiao is their party-list nominee. From the dozens of posters that I see around Cebu City, specifically near my home in Talamban, this PBA group has a huge photo of Pacquiao. Is he their nominee? Why is his photo there? While running for congressman in Sarangani, can he also be their party-list nominee?

No way. Pacman, in the event he loses to Roy Chiongbian, can’t be inserted as party-list nominee. But this PBA party-list group (whose poster font design/colors even mimic that of the real PBA basketball league) makes it look that way. Miles Roces, the PBA party-list’s second nominee , in a Sun.Star story last March 31, was quoted: “He (Pacquiao) can still sit as party-list representative. I-eelect lang naman ng board namin si Manny at siya na ang magiging rep namin sa Kongreso (All our board has to do is elect Manny and he becomes our representative in Congress).” Crazy. This is unlawful.

Back to that full-page ad of this shady PBA, it included, apart from Paeng, 11 more athletes/“endorsers.” Included were, among others, Monsour del Rosario and Efren Reyes with the headline that stated: “Top Athletes Join Forces for PBA Partylist.”

This is garbage. Added Bill Velasco in his subsequent, May 1 article (“Monsour, Asuncions wary of PBA Partylist): “As it turns out, del Rosario was under the impression that he was endorsing Pacquiao himself, not the PBA Partylist’s true candidates. The group first fielded candidates in the last elections, but none of their nominees earned enough votes to get into congress.

“Given the circumstances, it appears that the group concerned is riding on the popularity of present and former athletes who would gladly do anything to help sports in general, even lending their reputations for free. They are invited with vague promises of ‘helping sports’ and innocently and good-naturedly agree to supporting the party, which has primarily hitched its wagon to Pacquiao’s star. Now, with the election date nearing, more of the athletes are wondering what the candidates really plan to do, since the primary nominees are not known to be involved in sports to begin with. Was their real deception intended?”

This stinks. Clearly, politics and sports don’t mix.

Sarah Monique Ching had never before watched Manny Pacquiao. Not in person, not on TV, not even via a YouTube replay. But that all changed last weekend when Sarah, a freshman on full scholarship studying Economics and Finance at the University of Texas in Dallas, saw Pacman three times: at the open workout, the weigh-in and on the fight night of March 13. Last Thursday, I featured Sarah’s story. Here’s Part 2:

Just a week ago, I didn’t know a thing about boxing and neither did I care for it. On Saturday, it was the only thing on my mind. My uncle picked me up from school and together we went to the Dallas Cowboys Stadium. It’d be the second time I was going to see the architectural marvel, as well as the second time I’d get lost driving there. When we arrived, the streets around the stadium were packed with cars. There were only a few in our designated parking lot so it was a breeze to park. Getting in was a bit of a problem though.  The stadium is so large it has 10 entrances. We were three or four entrances away from the club entrance we were assigned. Security was very lax, though, and I was able to get drinks in. Once I stepped inside, it was fantastically surreal. I didn’t know where to start gawking. The stadium seemed even more colossal from inside. But, I was eager to get to my seat. I had bought tickets for the Club 200 level. The sight lines to the ring were amazing. I looked up and saw the world’s largest HDTV measuring 72 feet tall and 160 feet wide suspended above the ring. The ring and the big screen were in front of me dead center. Oh yeah. Everything was big in Texas. All I could do was sit and take it all in.

I had the Green Chile Kobe Burger that cost $13. Beer cost $8 a bottle, peanuts were $5, and water was $5. I didn’t have the $60 pizza. Sit back and enjoy the show. The undercard bouts had already begun. After many quick bouts, it was obvious that the crowd was losing interest. One of the more exciting bouts was Soto-Diaz. But even then, the crowd started a wave and it went on for quite a few rounds. Every time Pacquiao’s face appeared on the big screen in between rounds, the crowd would suddenly come alive. Everyone came to watch just one fight.

It felt as if everyone was for Pacquiao. There was going to be no question about who was going to win, only in which round Pacquiao would KO Clottey. Fans wore Philippine flags as capes; others were dressed in all-Pacquiao apparel.

At 8:22 p.m. Soto was declared the winner, there was a sudden change in the atmosphere. The Philippine and Ghanaian flags made their way to the ring. The previous day’s event replayed on the big screen and the fans cheered loud. Arnel Pineda of Journey sang the Philippine National Anthem. I realized it was the first time I had heard it in almost a year. The people continued shouting with pride. The stadium was charged with unbridled excitement and energy.

It was time. Clottey entered the ring and was met by loud cheers. But when, Pacquiao made his grand entrance, it was sensory overload. We welcomed him on our feet, cheering at the top of our lungs, fists pumping air.

The first round began and I sat at the edge of the seat waiting to see the two fighters slug it out. No instant action, instead they were both cautiously gauging each other. Clearly, Pacquiao was the aggressor. He put on display once again his amazing quickness. Meanwhile, Clottey remained in his shell. The early rounds went in the same manner. Clottey didn’t open up while Pacquiao kept attacking with a flurry of punches. Clottey did land some hard ones, but it became obvious that the match was one-sided, even to someone who didn’t know much about boxing. It got a little repetitive, and the highlight was in Round 4 when Pacquiao gave Clottey a double-handed punch. Was frustration beginning to set in?

Halfway through, Pacquiao probably realized that Clottey wasn’t coming out. So did I. He dished out exciting combinations for the fans. It wasn’t until the very last rounds that Clottey looked as if he was actually fighting. In Round 11, he got an uppercut in but that didn’t seem to bother Manny. The crowd was up on its feet by the final round. I was still hoping for a knockout. Pacquiao ended the fight with a barrage of punches. BOOM! The entire stadium exploded, louder than ever, as Pacquiao emerged victorious with a unanimous decision.

At the end of fight night, my voice hoarse and shoulders sore from cheering, I went to bed, heart still racing with excitement. I may have never seen Pacquiao fight before, but hey, I get to say that the first time was live together with 51,000 fans in the 8^th Wonder of the World. It wasn’t the greatest fight, but it was one heck of a show. National Fist, the fighting pride of the Philippines. I didn’t know what that meant. That night, I not only knew it, I felt it. I witnessed a legend, and he’s made a believer out of me. I was in the same room with him, thrice even. I breathed the same air he breathed. And maybe, just maybe, his sweat nilagput nako.

Andrew Ching is the past president of our Rotary Club of Cebu West. For years now, I see him each Tuesday night during our meeting. A few weeks back, Andrew told me that his daughter, Sarah Monique, is studying in Dallas and hopes to watch the Pacquiao-Clottey fight. After an exchange of emails, here’s the first-hand account of Sarah, who graduated valedictorian at CIE last year and is now on a full scholarship with the University of Texas pursuing a double major in Economics and Finance. She calls her story, The PacMan Experience.

Since January 11, my dad has been telling me to buy tickets for The Event. My reply: “Samok. Who cares?” After a month of nagging, I finally relented and looked for tickets online. Prices had skyrocketed since the release! Floor seats were selling for $4,000 at some websites. The official seller, ticketmaster.com, was still cheaper selling at the base price. All the $50 seats had sold out. I ended up buying the $200 ticket. Oh yeah, parking cost $50. Not to mention the “convenience fees” thrown in the mix. Basketball I can understand, but boxing?

I wasn’t the least bit excited. I’ve never watched Pacquiao fight, live or on TV. Nope, not even on replay. The extent of my boxing knowledge was watching dad play Fight Night 3 on PS3. Fight week rolled around and my dad told me to go watch the open workout. I heard Pacquiao flew into Dallas in style: a chartered plane with 160 people. This piqued my interest, so I looked up the pre-fight events. It was March 8, and the workout was going to be the next day at the Gaylord Texan Resort. I debated for hours with myself. Should I go? Probably just a waste of time.

Tuesday morning came and I still hadn’t decided whether to go or not. The hotel was an hour away, about 20 miles. Plus, at around noontime traffic would be denser. As I sat in calc class listening to my professor go on and on about multivariate calculus, I thought about how excited my dad was. Of all the places, they picked Dallas. This was a chance I’m never going to get again. I decided right there and then that I would go, no matter what.

VROOM VROOM. I got out of class, jumped into my car, and drove 20 miles expertly weaving (yeah right) through traffic to get there in time. I felt like I was in a Hollywood high-speed car chase. I got there in time only to spend 15 minutes looking for a parking space. At the entrance, an attendant saw my harried face and asked, with a smile, “Pacquiao?” I nodded. He gave me directions that went something like this, “take the first right, go straight, turn left… blah, blah, blah… see a hallway with a lot of people.” Thank you sir. I followed the noise and found a very long hallway and a very long line. I was at the very end of a line of more than 1,000 people. Could I get in? I’ll never get good pictures. Will I even get to see him? I should’ve just stayed in school.

The doors opened and the mob rushed in. I was stuck in the back, and the fact that I’m short wasn’t helping. Somehow, I managed to squeeze myself into the very front. Perfect view! The makeshift gym was buzzing with excitement as the rowdy crowd awaited Manny Pacquiao. The media people were just as excited to be there. Among the reporters were Dyan Castillejo of ABS-CBN and Chino Trinidad of GMA.

Pacquiao, accompanied by a throng of his people, finally entered the gym and was greeted by the cheering crowd. In the ring with Pac Man doing promotions were Jerry Jones, Bob Arum, and Michael Irvin, who playfully put his fist on the fighter’s jaw. While Manny was getting ready to work out, Jerry Jones came over to the crowd. People clamored for photos and autographs from the owner of the $1.2 billion Cowboys Stadium.

It was a long, good wait before the music started pumping and Manny started shadow boxing. Pacquiao showed off to the 1,000-plus fans present by firing his weapons of mass destruction at an invisible opponent. Poor invisible guy. Pac Man donned his green Everlast gloves and Freddie Roach entered the ring in full gear. Roach wore a Wild Card Gym body protector and hand pads. Pacquiao started out lightly. He progressively hit harder and faster. His fists pounded Roach mercilessly, and I found myself fearing for his life. So precise was his aim though, both at head and body, that I would feel safe if it was me up there. Of course, a fight would be a different story.

After about an hour thirty of sweating and slamming punch after punch into his trainer, he called it a day. He took a break to change before talking to the media. The fans (me included) hopefully waited for Pacquiao to come over and grace us with the charming Pacquiao smile.

He did. Fans pummeled each other just to get a good close look at The People’s Champ. When he started signing autographs, oh my… I’ve got the bruises to prove it. Unfortunately, when he stopped at me, I didn’t bring anything for him to sign. To top it off, people behind were clawing at whatever obstacle stood in between them and Pacquiao. Being short really sucks. So he stopped in front of me and then it was over and his bodyguards whisked him away. That’s OK though, since I caught his famous smile.

Sarah with Buboy Fernandez

Pacquiao stunned even a boxing ignoramus like me with his lightning-fast hand speed and powerful punches, and most especially his disarming, almost goofy smile. If he was a beast in the media workout, what’ll he be on fight night?

I couldn’t wait to go to the weigh-in on Friday. The Cowboys Stadium was about an hour away and the official weigh-in would last for about 15 minutes. But hey, I wanted to show my support. For the next two days I slaved over the perfect signboard. Come Friday, I finished up and drove. I expected to get there 2 hours early to avoid the crowd like last time. Well, to make a long getting-lost adventure story short, I got there barely an hour before the weigh-in.

It wasn’t difficult locating the Cowboys Stadium. A magnificent domed building gleamed in the rays of the setting sun, beckoning to me. I found my way to the stage and was greeted by the sight of a huge crowd waiting to see Pacquiao on the scale. I guess I wasn’t early enough. The weigh-in was outside East Plaza, so I wouldn’t be able to see the inside just yet. And then suddenly the wall split open and revealed the inside! That just freaked me out. We could see part of the interior and it was huge!

Present were Robert Duvall, Darren Woodson, Marco Antonio Barrera, and our very own Gerry Peñalosa, among others. Michael Buffer’s voice boomed over the speakers. The crowd waited in anticipation for the Pacquiao and Clottey to step onto the scales.

With Gerry Peñalosa

Clottey was introduced but only got a few cheers; even then, a group of Filipinos said they only cheered for him because they felt sorry (I have this on tape). Pacquiao, however, got on stage and the crowd erupted. I waved my sign high and we all chanted, “Man-ny, Man-ny, Man-ny!”

Clottey weighed in at exactly 147 pounds and Pacquiao at 145 ¾ pounds. Clottey was also significantly taller. It seemed like he was more powerful. He even looked meaner. The face-off lasted a few seconds; a smile broke out on PacMan’s face and the two fighters burst into laughter. I’ve never seen Pacquiao fight, much less a weigh-in so I was surprised at how down-to-earth he was. It felt so natural to connect with him; so great and yet so humble. No wonder he’s hailed as the national hero.

THE EVENT was The Non-Event. It was the most boring fight we’ve seen of the earth’s most thrilling boxer. But it wasn’t Manny’s fault. He tried. On the 12th round. On Round 8. On the first 180 seconds. He even attempted the highlight of the fight in Round 4 when, exasperated, Manny did the “double punch,” throwing twin shots to Joshua Clottey’s head.

That was fun. The rest was sad. Because sadly, Clottey was a dud. He was a loser. A debacle. He clammed like a shell, covered himself with a black shield, and was a mere target practice. Bobby Nalzaro defined it best: JC was a punching bag.

Sad. Way lami. But here’s the good news: this was a “freebie” for Manny. He didn’t get hurt. He’ll pocket $12 million. He sang “La Bamba” an hour after he left the stadium. He preserved his honor as a mini Mike Tyson and reinforced his stature as boxing’s Roger Federer. Nobody blamed MP for the fiasco. Best of all, he’s won his part of the semi-final round, ready to face Mr. Mayweather in “The Finals” come September.

Still, after we had gotten accustomed to Pacquiao’s past—him bloodying Diaz, shocking De La Hoya, bludgeoning Hatton, and transforming Cotto into a coward when the Puerto Rican ran circles around the square ring—we missed the same Las Vegas fireworks.

As for me, instead of witnessing a boxing thrilla to salivate my boxing appetite, I whetted my appetite for food. Thanks to our hosts last Sunday, Rotary’s past district governor Ray Patuasi and his wife Letty, who served lechon, scallops, humba, fried chicken, kinilaw, carbonara pasta, saang shell—so much food the buffet table could have served the 50,994 in Cowboys Stadium. With us were doctors Ron Eullaran and Ronnie Medalle, Raycia Eullaran, Ciara Patuasi, Joey Ontanillas, Miguel and Kaye Larrauri, and Nikki and Jorge Romea.

Back to Joshua Clottey: at least he achieved a distinction that his predecessors could not: he survived, blood-less, to smile during the post-fight interview. He preserved his “I’ve-never-been-KO’ed” mantra. He’ll go home to the Bronx, where he now resides, or to Ghana, $2 million richer.

As for Manny’s money? His piggy bank has been fattened. He was promised a purse of $12 million, excluding the PPV revenue. This means one thing: MP is super Richie Rich rich. From one who earned P1,000 in his first bout 15 years ago, he pocketed $15 million with De La Hoya, and $13 million each from Hatton and Cotto. Adding the $12 million for sleeping past Clottey 48 hours ago, that’s a monstrous total of $53 million or, in pesos, P2,438,000,000.

I computed the exact number of minutes and seconds MP spent annihilating his past four opponents—ODLH (24 minutes), Hatton (5:59), Cotto (35:05), Clottey (36)—and here’s the answer: In his last four fights, Pacquiao earned P402,044 per second. I’m willing to bet my Labrador named Joshua that no other athlete has earned so much in so few minutes.

Which brings me to the sad part. Because for all of Manny’s money, and all the 12 victories in as many encounters, he will lose. On May 10, 2010, on the second fight of his political career and now sporting a 0-1 scorecard, he will lose. At least that’s the feedback I got from taxi drivers, KCC mall employees and the ordinary folks I interviewed while at General Santos City 10 days ago.

Funny, no? Manny is the No.1 Filipino among the 6.8 billion earthlings of this planet. Yet, despite his popularity and winnings, he’s a loser. In politics, he loses. Worse, in showbiz, even if he trumpeted the “affair” with Krista Ranillo to bolster “Wapakman,” the movie suffered a knockout. Same with “Anak ng Kumander” with Ara Mina in 2008. In both films, money was lost. Manny lost. Funny? Not so. For we want our boxing hero to continue doing what he does best—not in showbiz or in the political ring—but inside the boxing ring.

This shows the intelligence of the Filipino. I hope our hero listens.