Boxing is subjective. It’s unlike soccer where a 1-0 score is counted when the ball whisks past a goalkeeper. It’s different from the 100-meter dash when a Usain Bolt extends his chest, clips the tape, and raises his Jamaican hands in a WR time of 9.58 seconds.

In boxing, unless one man doesn’t stand after 10 seconds or unless a white towel is thrown by a corner-man, it’s decided by people. It’s subjective.

Last Saturday night, I watched the Donnie Nietes vs. Ramon Garcia Hirales clash. I wasn’t inside SM City’s Cinema 7 or watching at home via PPV. I was, literally, eight feet away from the ring. Beside me were Meyrick Jacalan, Salven Lagumbay, Edward Ligas and Mrs. Lou Pastrano Aldeguer, the wife of the man whose initials bear this event, ALA. We were at ringside. Front row.

I’ll be honest. I thought Nietes lost. Though I did not keep a round-by-round scorecard, my general sentiment was that the Mexican won. Maybe because I summarized the fight as one whole movie—not scoring per 3 minutes—and based my gut feel on Donnie’s exhausted and worrying state from Rounds 6 to 10.

When the judges’ scores were being read, I was standing beside the Philippine Olympic Committee (POC) chairman, Monico Puentevella. After the announcer said, “The winner by unanimous decision… and THE NEW…,” I looked at Monico and we both expressed puzzled faces. Slowly, we started to clap.

Of course, many disagreed with me. Talking to Sylvan Jakosalem by phone upon exiting the La Salle compound, Jack (who was together with my dad Bunny and Jingo Quijano here in Cebu) was sure it was the Bacolod native who won in Bacolod. “Garcia missed a lot while Nietes was very accurate,” he said.

Speaking to others after the fight, several arrived at this conclusion: Rounds 1 to 5 were for Donnie; 6 to 10 were for the opponent; 11 and 12 went for Donnie.

Which brings me to the judges. Of the three, it was the Pinoy who was the fairest. He scored it 115-113. The man who’s supposed to be biased was the most impartial. This is laudable. As to the two other (American) judges, their 118-110 and 117-111 scores were unbelievable. What kind of batchoy did they eat?

BACOLOD. The crowd in the City of Smiles is not as vocal or “bugal-bugalon” as the Cebuanos.

TUMBAHA! BIRAHI, NIETES! ATAKIHA!! PIRDIHA! SULUNGA!!!

Knock him out! Hit him! Attack! Beat him! Charge! Those were the many shouts I overheard. Still, they’re not as blunt (no booing) as us, Bisdaks.

What I enjoyed most about the battle? Rounds 1 to 5. “This is the best fight I’ve seen live,” I told Jacs Jacalan, seated to my left. It was. The key word “was.”

Because sadly, after Donnie was spanked by a head butt on his right forehead, he languished. He wilted under the relentless attacks of Garcia. He back-tracked. His legs wobbled. His knees were bent. Donnie’s face, in those rounds 6 to 10, looked distressed. This was unlike the Mexican’s which hardly a scar.

I know TV viewers have the benefit of up-close coverage and slow-motion replays, but nothing beats live action—especially if you’re a few feet away.

You inhale the sounds of body blows punched. You see red blood flowing, as we did in another head butt inflicted on Donnie. You notice the slippery blue surface. You hear the Spanish screams of Team Mexico. And, best, you get showered by cold water and, at times, spitting—like we were close to being sprinkled, sitting behind Garcia’s corner.

In the end, what made Nietes victorious was The End. These were rounds 11 and 12. No one will dispute that these belonged to the former janitor from Murcia. The crowd, sensing that their province-mate was softening, shouted, “NYE-TES! NYE-TES! DO-NI!”

In an I’ll-give-it-my-all-bahala-na 11th Round moment, Donnie unleashed a blitz of bombs and strikes that revitalized his wilting body. We stood. Donnie stood. We clapped. Donnie walloped. Bacolod’s snake, trampled upon and diluted of strength, bit back and spewed its Ilonggo venom.

BACOLOD CITY—This place where I spent my life’s first 14 years, commonly known as “The City of Smiles,” has a different nickname for me today: “The City of Ma-namit na Pagkaon (Good Food).”

Savor the Sate Babi at Bob’s. Munch on the pecho and atay at Chicken House. Salivate at Calea’s sinful desserts. There’s Aboy’s, where fresh fish squirm, ready to be gobbled upon. Pendy’s awaits hungry men while Kaisei’s fresh salmon is dying to be devoured. Bacolod is a city with a plateful of gourmet choices. Consider our itinerary here yesterday:

Jasmin and I arrived at 7:40 A.M., in the same AirPhils flight with Nia Durano Aldeguer, the wife of Chris. Also with us were Carmel Durano and Cathy Tesoro. Upon arrival at the Silay City airport, we zoomed straight for Batchoy at 21 Restaurant, where a bowl of soup, noodles and floating “utok” (bone marrow) awaited our stomachs. By noon, it was at Bob’s. Calea was next.

But we’re not here simply to gorge on food. Because while our taste buds feasted, our eyes were all-enlarged, ready for WBO’s brawl between Cebu and Mexico. All around Bacolod, the buzz here is about their native boy, Donnie. Posters adorned the airport. Billboards paraded the wide roads of Negros. At the L’Fisher Hotel, a life-size photo of AJ Banal stood at the lobby. Inside the SM City-Bacolod, where the weigh-in and public appearances were held, posters littered the mall. The taxi driver I spoke to boasted about his city’s World Championship hosting.

Bacolod, also known in Wikipedia as the “Football City of the Philippines,” is proud of boxing. Bacolod takes pride in this 9th Pinoy Pride. Bidoy Aldeguer, whose initials read “ALA” (Antonio Lopez A.) hails from Bacolod. He studied in La Salle. And that’s a major reason why this rumble is held in this Negros Occidental jungle.

La Salle? That green-colored school was my alma matter from Grade One until First Year High School. That’s eight years. I visited the University of St. La Salle campus yesterday. This was at 11 A.M. Since the front door was locked, I crept down the back door and entered the cavernous gymnasium where Nietes vs. Garcia fought last night. The La Salle Gym holds unbelievable memories for me. It was here where I played countless basketball games until Grade 7—including game-winning shots in the final seconds of championship games.

Yesterday morning, the La Salle Gymnasium was all-ready. The square boxing ring stood elevated at the center. Red carpet covered the parquet floors. Black plastic chairs sat unattended, awaiting the buttocks of their customers. The music of the Black Eyed Peas… “tonight’s gonna be a good night…” blasted from the coliseum’s speakers. I saw Dennis Cañete. The senior official of ALA Promotions, Dennis observed every corner of his performance area. “We’ve been ready for weeks,” said Dennis. “We can’t wait for tonight.”

“Tonight,” of course, was last night. What makes Pinoy Pride IX even more thrilling here is Bacolod’s festival, the Masskara. It’s happening now. This is their version of the Sinulog and, like ours, there’s plenty of celebration: Ilonggos dance and party, beer this Octoberfest is overflowing and, everywhere, you see masks (“Masskara”) of all colors and designs that decorate this city. Boxing + Masskara = bang-bang.

Here’s an interesting footnote: Just like the fight between Manny Pacquaio-Juan Manuel Marquez and the UFC this November 12, when both mega-events are happening on the same evening in America, it’s similar in Bacolod. Last night, October 8, apart from Nietes-Garcia, it was the Tribal Brawl. In its flyer, it states: “Powered by the Universal Reality Combat Championship (URCC), this is the Bold & Raw Amateur Warriors League.” It was the quarterfinals at the SM City-Bacolod. Last night. Same night. URCC vs. PP9. Amazing coincidence, right?