Lessons from a fight I didn't watch

As one of those who can’t stand the sight of people beating other people to a near pulp on a well-lit stage, I kept my eyes off the Pacquiao-Bradley fight last Sunday. Boxing bouts, just like bullfights, are just too much for me to bear, even if women for centuries have been known to enjoy watching gladiators kill each other in the arena even if they didn’t look like Russel Crowe in his prime. (“It’s controlled violence,” is how PeopleAsia associate editor Jose Paolo dela Cruz explains people’s fascination with boxing, which is even an Olympic sport.)

I become only an avid spectator of boxing when the Philippine National Anthem is played (from there I already get a surge of adrenaline and patriotism) and when the winner’s name is called. Because for the last seven years, the winner’s name always made me proud to be a Filipino  Manny Pacquiao, a gladiator in Motolite shorts who always won his battles with blood, sweat and tears.

So when my husband Ed told me, as I was preparing lunch, that Pacquiao lost to Tim Bradley, I thought he was pulling my apron. If it had been the Pacquiao-De La Hoya fight, and he had told me that Pacquiao lost, I would probably have not been as stupefied. De La Hoya was much vaunted, after all.

So like millions of Filipinos already stung by Jessica Sanchez’s singing a national anthem other than Lupang Hinirang (of course Jessica is American, no argument about that  am just sourgraping), I was slain with the news of the split decision that wrested the WBO welterweight title from Manny.

To most Filipinos, the defeat was more staggering than Shamcey Supsup’s heartbreaking loss in the 2011 Miss Universe pageant although she was topping viewers’ score cards; or Jessica’s losing to Phillip Phillips in American Idol Season 11 when she obviously had the more awesome voice.

With cardboard boxes as mattresses instead of Tempur during his salad days, Pacquiao is Juan de la Cruz. Born not with movie star looks or a nightingale’s voice but a hunger to succeed with the only skill he mastered with his humble beginnings, he is virtually every Filipino’s champ. When he lost, Good Friday was resurrected in the Philippines.

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We have all suffered defeats, the most painful of which were the close fights in our battlegrounds. Your team losing in overtime when it was leading in the first four quarters  till the buzzer sounded and someone connected with a three-pointer. (Ay, biased ang referee, he made bad calls!). Losing the elections by a narrow margin (Ay, dinaya ako!). Or losing a beauty title to someone less pretty in your parents’ eyes (Ay, duling ang mga judges!). Losing in American Idol to a White Guy with Guitar (Ay, racist ang voters!)

American Idol 2012 Phillip Phillips and runner-up Jessica Sanchez. AP

In an arena (or a courtroom) where punches (or merits of a case) are not as accurately measured by a computer the way an ECG machine captures every flutter of your heart (all you have to do is read a piece of paper for the results), your life lies in the palm of the hands of the judges, the jurors. Right, Attorney Corona? Right, Miriam Quiambao? Right, Venus Raj and Shamcey Supsup?

And judges  even those with the best intentions  are human beings with biases and life histories that make them vote one way or the other. No one is ever 100 percent objective. Only untampered machines are.

So when you subject yourself to a process, you subject yourself to the process’ rules. A walkout doesn’t always work. A recount and an investigation do not always make you a winner.

At the end of the day, you subject yourself to the judges’ decision as history and the people become the judges’ judge. Judges know that any glaring injustice in the way they determined the outcome of a trial, a beauty contest or a boxing match, will either boost their careers or damage their reputations. Admittedly, there are those who are willing to risk their reputations for a trade-off and render dishonest verdicts.

So till computers can judge a boxing match (the way they reportedly can tell a winner in a taekwondo match), we have to trust human beings and their verdicts.

Manny Pacquiao won this bout because he accepted its verdict graciously, like a true champion.

In a way, he vanquished the stigma that hounds many competitive Filipinos, whether in sports or elections, here and abroad. Isn’t there a saying that in Philippine elections or elections that pit a Filipino against another Filipino (as in Fil-Am communities), there are only two people who emerge: ‘Yung nanalo at ‘yung dinaya?

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Was Manny Pacquiao robbed of his victory? Someone reportedly called up 911 in the US to report a “robbery in Las Vegas” after Pacquiao lost. It could be NOT a joke. Even the most credible of news organizations like the Associated Press, HBO Sports and Yahoo! Sports gave Manny the higher score after the fight. And based on their scores, it was NOT a close fight.

Millions  and am not just talking about Filipinos here  think Manny was robbed of his victory.

But there are also those who say that age and “the many things on his plate” (according to my brother-in-law Ping Sotto) have caught up with Manny. My husband thinks Manny has slowed down a bit, and that though he won the fight, the victory was not convincing enough for a champ of his caliber.

In life, sometimes only a knockout will convince others of your case  especially if they have gotten used to the high standards you keep. The higher you go, the harder you have to work to keep your place in the sun.

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I felt bad that Manny’s two boys witnessed their father’s loss. It must have been heartbreaking, not only because it was their first time to see him fight in the ring, but also because he is their idol. I remember how heartbroken I was when I watched the championship of one of my dad’s basketball games or bowling tournaments and he didn’t win.

And yet, how lucky the Pacquiao boys are that they didn’t see their father hurt or slumped on the canvass (OK, I watch too many movies, like Ricky Schroeder’s The Champ).

And also because this early, they have tasted humility. All their lives, the Pacquiao children have seen only victory, and the spoils of a victor. They have known only fame and fortune, thanks to their father. Manny himself once told me that his North Forbes Park home is in the name of his children because he can always go back to a simple life one day. “Pero nakagisnan na ng mga anak ko ang ganitong klaseng buhay.”

I believe Jimuel and Michael Pacquiao will now never take their father’s fame and their own fortune for granted. They have seen how it just doesn’t fall on their laps. That it is hard earned. That it can be lost. They will never be as dirt poor as their father once was, but I think the boys saw amid the klieg lights of the MGM arena the reality that life won’t always be a (boxing) ring of roses.

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When I went to work yesterday morning, I saw PeopleAsia marketing manager Ryan Ros Calmante looking intently at a photo of Manny, head bowed in prayer, after Bradley was proclaimed the winner.

“You know, it is easy to thank God when you’re victorious, but hard to thank Him in defeat,” Ryan pointed out, quoting from an article.

True. In many, many ways, Sunday’s fight was Manny’s finest hour.

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