The struggle of watching (and supporting) Manny Pacquiao
The date read November 19, 2006. It was an early Sunday morning when my dad and I made our way to the Blue Eagle Gym tucked inside the confines of the Ateneo de Manila University campus. The outside perfectly captured its essence. It’s a legendary gym but dated with its infrastructure. Aircon was non-existent. The scoreboard looked like it came from the 1970s. The banners that surrounded the gymnasium looked unkempt. But on that Sunday, it did not matter. It was going to be our own version of the Araneta Coliseum, with the country’s version of Muhammad Ali set to take center stage.
Manny Pacquiao was set to take on Erik Morales at the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas, Nevada that day. It was their third bout in what was expected to be the end of a trilogy, with the tie between the two fighters to be settled on that Sunday. For others, it may have been any ordinary fight. But for my dad, and the other people in their homes or in showings across the country, it was so much more.
We’ve all heard of the stories. The usually loaded EDSA turns into a ghost town during every Pacquiao fight. Crime rates reach record lows. The silence around the streets became eerie. It was difficult to understand for others; why were Pinoys THIS dedicated to watching one man punch other people for money?
Filipinos watched his fights with that much dedication and fervor not just because it was entertaining. At that point, Pacquiao was more than just a boxing commodity to the Philippines. Manny Pacquiao gave Filipinos an escape from the painful realities of life. The grind of working long hours. The heavy traffic one had to endure just to go home to their families. But most importantly, that escape provided the Filipino with hope. That hard work does pay off. Trusting the process will bear fruit good results.
He represented both the reality of the Filipino and the dreams they wished to attain with qualities they hold dear to their hearts. Hard work. Perseverance. In a word, really; puso.
From being a teenager who had to fight to survive the hardships of life, he worked his way up to become one of the fastest rising stars in professional boxing. If Drake’s song “Started from the Bottom” was written with Pacquiao as an inspiration, that wouldn’t have surprised anyone. That was Manny’s story. He rose up and defied the odds so many Filipinos hoped to do as well. He was a hero and the country was willing to unite to rally around him. He provided us hope, so why not give time to support him representing the best qualities of a Filipino?
After knocking Morales out in three rounds that Sunday, Pacquiao’s legend continued to grow. So did the watch parties around the country. From watching in the Blue Eagle Gym, my dad and I upgraded to going to swanky hotels with packaged meals. A few years later, we started to get pay-per-view Our home would turn into a family reunion every Pacquiao fight. We already knew the drill. We weren’t settling for home-cooked meals while watching. I’d run to the landline while patiently listing orders. We were going all in. Pacquiao fights had that kind of power in the country. His rise along with the country’s interest of him looked unstoppable. Pinoy Pride at its very best.
Until it reached a tipping point. It was December 9, 2012, when Pacquiao was to face rival Juan Manuel Marquez in a fourth match in their series of battles. At that point, it was understood Marquez was the contrapelo of Pacquiao. Manny loved to be on the offensive. Marquez, on the other hand, is considered as one of the best counter punchers of all time.
Their three matches were proof of the friction between the two fighters, as none of them had results which felt conclusive. The first was a draw. The second was a split decision in favor of Pacquiao. The third was a controversial majority decision which many felt should have been Marquez’s to win. Whether we’d get a convincing end to this series, fans didn’t know. All Pinoys knew was they’d support Manny either way. Win or lose. It was him they chose.
The fight lived up to the hype and was as tight as ever. During the third round, Marquez knocked down Pacquiao with a right hook, which gave Pinoys a scare. Come the fifth round, Manny returned the favor by knocking Marquez down as well. It could have gone either way. By the sixth round, you could make arguments for both fighters. A convincing win did not seem to be in play. Then with a second left, Marquez shocked the world.
Pacquiao threw a lazy jab and Marquez countered it with a booming overhand right. Pacquiao fell to the canvas face first and was knocked out cold for several minutes. Pinoys were uncomfortably standing for most of the fight. When Pacquiao fell down, the entire country sat down, hands on their mouths, without any idea of what to say at that moment.
Losing was one thing. But this wasn’t just any loss. Their hero had fallen, literally, and figuratively. It was a wake-up call to the realities of a Filipino, suddenly without someone to cling on as an escape.
Manny Pacquiao first dabbled in Philippine politics in 2007 when he ran for a seat in the House of Representatives, aiming to represent the 1st District of South Cotabato province. He wound up losing by a considerable amount to Darlene Antonio-Custodio, only garnering 35.51 percent of the votes. In response to the victory against Pacquiao, Custodio said, “He probably wasn’t really prepared for politics, but more than anything, I think, people weren’t prepared to lose him as their boxing icon either.”
There is risk to diving into politics for any popular figure, especially in the Philippine setting. Figures of Pacquiao’s stature with the type of mediums they have are often viewed as heroes and inspirations. But the moment they dip into politics, largely understood in the country as one filled with greed, dirt, and corruption, they become exposed.
Even if he didn’t dive into politics, Pacquiao would have still been considered as a transcendent athlete by many viewers. But here he was, pushing the limits of his powers by running for Philippine politics. Come 2010, he wound up winning a seat as a Congressman in the Sarangani province. Six years later, he ran for senate, coming out as seventh among the 12 senators voted. Even as early as then, talks of him becoming president already surfaced. Manny was more than just a boxer now. He was now a politician, someone with the power to make legitimate change in a country in dire need of it.
There’s nothing wrong with athletes running for office. In fact, in the type of climate we find ourselves in, figures like Pacquiao are encouraged to dabble in societal issues because they have a platform to use to raise proper and respectful discourse. That’s the problem, however; the discourse which Pacquiao has created off of his power hasn’t always been respectful.
On May 2012, Pacquiao was quoted saying gay men should be put to death. He has stood strong on his stance that he is opposed to same-sex marriage, quoting various passages from the Bible to support his arguments.
For others, these may be considered as just an old man throwing out words to the wind, but a person of Pacquiao’s stature saying these things had much more value than one may think. For one, he’s an influencer, whether we like it or not. He holds that type of power born out of his prolific skill in boxing. Second and most importantly, is he can actually affect laws and policies that will affect the entire country’s progress as a nation. Comments like that on the LGBT community are particularly heavy, considering Pacquiao’s role in the job of writing laws for the Philippines.
As his political career progressed, his presence as a boxer began to fade. Not necessarily in terms of value; he’s easily still one of the best fighters of all time. But it was in terms of what he meant to the Filipino people. We throw it around a lot when discussing Pacquiao a lot; the People’s Champion. Was he still that? Could we still consider him to be that?
Back then, discussing Pacquiao brought about a level of excitement to a Filipino household, unlike any other topic. Pride. But now, it’s a different vibe altogether. Are we still proud of Pacquiao? There’s that tiny part that says yes deep inside our hearts. But it’s immediately shut down when you start to think of the reality he’s brought.
The date reads July 21, 2019. It’s an early Sunday morning and I find myself lying down in bed, browsing through the internet to pass the time. It had been a tough work week. I needed to relax until my dad opened the door.
“Start na,” he quickly told me as he rushed downstairs to the living room. “Ulol?” I shockingly said as I stood up and followed suit.
Oh yeah. May laban nga pala si Pacquiao.
On the surface, it should have been the same. Pay-per-view with a big TV housing the fight. Delivered KFC chicken on the table ready to be munched on after Manny wins. Joy. Unity. Pride.
I’ll be honest. When Manny walked to the ring as Eye of the Tiger blasted through the speakers, that same excitement I felt 13 years ago slowly crept back in. With every punch that he threw, hope started to enter myself once more.
It’s a basic rule for communicators: avoid repeating terms again and again. You need to mix it up when referring to someone. For Pacquiao, there were multiple options they could go for.
The Philippine Pride. Pacman. The People’s Champion.
But the commentators of this fight used one particular name which killed the excitement of every Pacquiao flurry: senator.
That’s where it’s most painful. What was once our distraction, hero, and hope from the darkness of the world has turned into his worst enemy: reality.
EDSA isn’t as empty as before. The streets of Manila are bustling on a Sunday. The Pacquiao fight felt like any other end to the weekend; you want to savor it with a lazy jab, but with a killer overhand right, reality kills it anyway.
