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EDITORIAL: We are all Manny Pacquiao
Pacquiao poses at the weigh-in for his fight against Mayweather. REUTERS/Steve Marcus
When Manny Pacquiao climbs into the ring against Floyd Mayweather on Sunday, the whole world will be watching one of ours battle to become the top boxer of his generation.
The journey of the poor kid who ran away from home in General Santos to rise to the top of the sporting world will never cease to be amazing.
Pacquiao wears many hats: boxer, congressman, basketball player, actor, and singer. But he really may as well be an astronaut, having conquered the boxing cosmos.
But the miracle of Manny Pacquiao's rise isn't so much that he's risen so high, but that he even got the opportunity at all.
Pacquiao could have ended up like Eugene Barutag, his friend from Gensan. The two teenage boys made the journey together to Manila, both of them dreaming of a better life in the big city.
They found their break in 1995, fighting in boxing cards that were televised late at night after basketball games. But tragedy would strike when Barutag was knocked out violently later that year. He never recovered after collapsing in the ring, and with no medical help at ringside, he died in Pacquiao's arms.
Eugene Barutag never got his opportunity.
Pacquiao had the natural gifts to become a world boxing champion by age 22, when he knocked out Chatchai Sasakul in Thailand. But after just two title defenses, Pacquiao, again fighting before a hostile Thai crowd, lost his title to Medgoen Singsurat.
His reign had lasted less than a year, and at age 23, Pacquiao was a former world champion.
And Philippine boxing was notoriously cruel to its former world champions, chewing them up and spitting them out. Fighters are dime a dozen, and there's always the next prospect ready to take the spot.
Indeed, it was cruel even to Luisito Espinosa, who was the Golden Boy of Philippine boxing before Pacquiao hit his stride. Espinosa was so beloved that his fight with Cesar Soto drew some 250,000 people to Rizal Park in 1996. He was Pacquiao before Pacquiao.
He also, like so many other Filipino fighters, had the worst of luck when it came to managers and promoters, who were either dishonest, incompetent, or both. Espinosa was left unpaid for one of his title defenses, and was constantly shut out of big-time fights that could have made him a global boxing star.
He was broke by the time he retired, his only treasure a United States green card he earned as a "special talent" from his boxing days. He now works as a carpet cleaner at a casino in California, occasionally joining Pacquiao's entourage when the champion is in the United States for a small handout.
Looking back, there could have been bigger fights, bigger purses.
Luisito Espinosa probably wishes he could have gotten the opportunity.
Except, of course, Pacquiao did not end up like Barutag or Espinosa. After losing his title, he journeyed anew, this time to the United States, where he got a workout with respected trainer Freddie Roach. After just one mitts session, Pacquiao found the man who would mold him into greatness.
A few months later, Pacquiao was tapped as a late replacement to fight super bantamweight champion Lehlohonolo Ledwaba. Despite just two weeks' notice Pacquiao crushed Ledwaba, one of the division's most feared champions, to make his debut on United States television.
What a way to make the best of an opportunity.
The sensational win put Pacquiao on a fast-track to stardom, and one opportunity after another came his way.
And here's what made Pacquiao special: he grabbed each of those opportunities and made the very best of them, in sensational fashion.
So he became the perfect avatar for a nation of people starved for opportunities, where nine million remain unemployed, and thousands break their loved ones' hearts everyday to leave and go work elsewhere. Pacquiao, who forged his stardom under the bright lights of Las Vegas (and more recently, Macau), is the ultimate OFW from a country that trudges through on the backs of remittances of migrant workers.
But our affection for Pacquiao isn't a simple a matter of pride.
Think about every archetypal OFW story: leaving the family at home, doing backbreaking work in a faraway land. And for what? Not really to make it to the big time for themselves, but to provide the rest of our families with, you guessed it, a better opportunity.
That is what Pacquiao, or our love for Pacquiao represents: the selflessness to want to see one of ours do better.
Pacquiao is all we dream for our loved ones: that they would have a better opportunity than we did, and that they would make the best of it. No one has quite had the opportunities he's had, and no one has quite made the most of it like he has done.
The journey of the poor kid who ran away from home in General Santos to rise to the top of the sporting world will never cease to be amazing.
Pacquiao wears many hats: boxer, congressman, basketball player, actor, and singer. But he really may as well be an astronaut, having conquered the boxing cosmos.
But the miracle of Manny Pacquiao's rise isn't so much that he's risen so high, but that he even got the opportunity at all.
Pacquiao could have ended up like Eugene Barutag, his friend from Gensan. The two teenage boys made the journey together to Manila, both of them dreaming of a better life in the big city.
They found their break in 1995, fighting in boxing cards that were televised late at night after basketball games. But tragedy would strike when Barutag was knocked out violently later that year. He never recovered after collapsing in the ring, and with no medical help at ringside, he died in Pacquiao's arms.
Eugene Barutag never got his opportunity.
Pacquiao had the natural gifts to become a world boxing champion by age 22, when he knocked out Chatchai Sasakul in Thailand. But after just two title defenses, Pacquiao, again fighting before a hostile Thai crowd, lost his title to Medgoen Singsurat.
His reign had lasted less than a year, and at age 23, Pacquiao was a former world champion.
And Philippine boxing was notoriously cruel to its former world champions, chewing them up and spitting them out. Fighters are dime a dozen, and there's always the next prospect ready to take the spot.
Indeed, it was cruel even to Luisito Espinosa, who was the Golden Boy of Philippine boxing before Pacquiao hit his stride. Espinosa was so beloved that his fight with Cesar Soto drew some 250,000 people to Rizal Park in 1996. He was Pacquiao before Pacquiao.
He also, like so many other Filipino fighters, had the worst of luck when it came to managers and promoters, who were either dishonest, incompetent, or both. Espinosa was left unpaid for one of his title defenses, and was constantly shut out of big-time fights that could have made him a global boxing star.
He was broke by the time he retired, his only treasure a United States green card he earned as a "special talent" from his boxing days. He now works as a carpet cleaner at a casino in California, occasionally joining Pacquiao's entourage when the champion is in the United States for a small handout.
Looking back, there could have been bigger fights, bigger purses.
Luisito Espinosa probably wishes he could have gotten the opportunity.
Except, of course, Pacquiao did not end up like Barutag or Espinosa. After losing his title, he journeyed anew, this time to the United States, where he got a workout with respected trainer Freddie Roach. After just one mitts session, Pacquiao found the man who would mold him into greatness.
A few months later, Pacquiao was tapped as a late replacement to fight super bantamweight champion Lehlohonolo Ledwaba. Despite just two weeks' notice Pacquiao crushed Ledwaba, one of the division's most feared champions, to make his debut on United States television.
What a way to make the best of an opportunity.
The sensational win put Pacquiao on a fast-track to stardom, and one opportunity after another came his way.
And here's what made Pacquiao special: he grabbed each of those opportunities and made the very best of them, in sensational fashion.
So he became the perfect avatar for a nation of people starved for opportunities, where nine million remain unemployed, and thousands break their loved ones' hearts everyday to leave and go work elsewhere. Pacquiao, who forged his stardom under the bright lights of Las Vegas (and more recently, Macau), is the ultimate OFW from a country that trudges through on the backs of remittances of migrant workers.
But our affection for Pacquiao isn't a simple a matter of pride.
Think about every archetypal OFW story: leaving the family at home, doing backbreaking work in a faraway land. And for what? Not really to make it to the big time for themselves, but to provide the rest of our families with, you guessed it, a better opportunity.
That is what Pacquiao, or our love for Pacquiao represents: the selflessness to want to see one of ours do better.
Pacquiao is all we dream for our loved ones: that they would have a better opportunity than we did, and that they would make the best of it. No one has quite had the opportunities he's had, and no one has quite made the most of it like he has done.
Mayweather is Pacquiao's greatest challenge. REUTERS/Mark J. Rebilas
Of course, the Filipino people's love affair with Pacquiao was never straightforward, at least not how it is depicted by a local media that is usually fawning or a foreign press that doesn't understand the nuances of the relationship.
There are a lot of Filipinos who don't like Pacquiao's activities outside the ring. There are those who wish that he hadn't gone into politics, or professional basketball, or television acting, or singing.
There are Filipinos too, who were unhappy by reports of his gambling and his womanizing, just as there may be Filipinos who are a bit turned off by his constant proselytizing about his new-found faith.
We love him, even if we don't always like him. But isn't that how we love those who are closest to us anyway?
Earlier this week, Pacquiao recorded a message to Indonesian President Joko Widodo pleading for the life of Mary Jane Veloso. The gesture was noble, and it hardly came as any surprise.
Because Mary Jane Veloso sits at the polar opposite of where he is. If Pacquiao had the very best of opportunities, then she has had the very worst. Our hearts bleed for Mary Jane for the very same reason our hearts are cheering for Manny Pacquiao.
Just like all of us, Manny Pacquiao is Mary Jane, too.
Make no mistake about it: right now, Floyd Mayweather is the best fighter in the world.
Not only has he never been defeated, he has not even been knocked down. He represents the greatest challenge of Manny Pacquiao's professional career.
But the Mayweather fight also represents the biggest opportunity of Pacquiao's career.
Winning would make Pacquiao, objectively, indisputably, the greatest boxer in the world — and when else has any other Filipino individual been, objectively, indisputably, the greatest anything in the world? — and catapult Pacquiao to another stratosphere.
And all of us will be right there with him. We are all Manny Pacquiao.
There are a lot of Filipinos who don't like Pacquiao's activities outside the ring. There are those who wish that he hadn't gone into politics, or professional basketball, or television acting, or singing.
There are Filipinos too, who were unhappy by reports of his gambling and his womanizing, just as there may be Filipinos who are a bit turned off by his constant proselytizing about his new-found faith.
We love him, even if we don't always like him. But isn't that how we love those who are closest to us anyway?
Earlier this week, Pacquiao recorded a message to Indonesian President Joko Widodo pleading for the life of Mary Jane Veloso. The gesture was noble, and it hardly came as any surprise.
Because Mary Jane Veloso sits at the polar opposite of where he is. If Pacquiao had the very best of opportunities, then she has had the very worst. Our hearts bleed for Mary Jane for the very same reason our hearts are cheering for Manny Pacquiao.
Just like all of us, Manny Pacquiao is Mary Jane, too.
Make no mistake about it: right now, Floyd Mayweather is the best fighter in the world.
Not only has he never been defeated, he has not even been knocked down. He represents the greatest challenge of Manny Pacquiao's professional career.
But the Mayweather fight also represents the biggest opportunity of Pacquiao's career.
Winning would make Pacquiao, objectively, indisputably, the greatest boxer in the world — and when else has any other Filipino individual been, objectively, indisputably, the greatest anything in the world? — and catapult Pacquiao to another stratosphere.
And all of us will be right there with him. We are all Manny Pacquiao.
