Didn’t your hands feel clammy? Didn’t your heart pump thrice as fast? Didn’t your legs shake and feet stomp the floor and fist clench your knuckles?
I did. You did. My father-in-law Jack Mendez did. So did my companions that morning, Dr. Ronnie Medalle and my Sun.Star sports editor Mike Limpag. Every single Filipino who sat to watch from 11:30 a.m. until 3 p.m. two days ago prayed for Manny Pacquaio. My mother-in-law Malu Mendez, too nervous to sit, instead prepared kinilaw at the kitchen and did what she does best when in times of need: pray.
She prayed for Manny. Many prayed for Manny.
Manny prayed for Manny. With a rosary hung around his neck, he made the sign-of-the-cross each time the bell sounded to start the round. Do you recall him, midway through, looking up to the ceiling? He wasn’t staring at the scoreboard—this wasn’t the NBA—but looked up… to pray.
The day before the fight, when we watched the news that Manny was four lbs. overweight when he awoke that morning and had to run on a treadmill and squeeze out the extra poundage just to make weight—didn’t we all pray? Didn’t we all uplift Manny’s ordeal? For him to have strength 30 hours later to last the full 12 rounds?
Manny also heard mass at his Mandalay Bay suite—as he always does—and invited all to attend. Plus, didn’t Manny kneel down after the fight? To thank God? He did. He always does.