Manny Pacquiao - A Story That Is Bigger Than Boxing - Part One: Dare To Dream, Dream To Date

HOME IS THE HERO

Seventeen years ago, in 1994, 14-year-old Emmanuel Pacquiao, left his mother, Dionisia, and siblings in General Santos City, Mindanao, Philippines, for Manila, the country’s capital city, to chase his dream of becoming a world boxing champion someday.

Pacquiao then was not sure of filial support for his quest. So he slipped away from home without his family’s knowing it. But he was sure of one thing: to return home as a world boxing champion. 

Today, as he prepares for another record breaking fight at the junior middleweight division (154 pounds) against Mexican and former world welterweight champion Antonio Margarito on November 13, 2010 at Dallas, Texas, USA, Pacquiao has been hailed as a hero and national treasure. He has returned not only as a world boxing champion. He has returned as the world’s greatest boxer who ever lived, pound for pound.

He has returned as a hero—not only for Mom Dionisia and family members, but also for the entire Philippines and sports fans worldwide.

THE WAY OF “THE PACMAN”

Pacquiao’s ascent to the pinnacle of boxing throne went through the ultimate survival test ladder. No one in boxing history has done what he has accomplished. Among the world’s professional boxers, both living and dead, he is the only one who had ever succeeded in winning world titles in 7 different weight divisions.

He embarked on a professional boxing career at 106 pounds and started to win world titles from 112 pounds all the way up to 147 pounds. He also succeeded—with aplomb—in beating the ten-time world champion and former light middleweight champion Oscar De La Hoya. In all, he has climbed 9 weight divisions (constituting an increase in weight of a total of 41 pounds). As this is written, Pacquiao remains on top of his game; and there exists the possibility that he might yet collect another world crown at a higher (junior or light middleweight) weight class. This will be against Margarito.

Beating weight handicaps at the higher divisions had been demonstrated by the likes of Bob Fitzsimmons—in 1897—and Roy Jones Jr—in relatively contemporary times. But their feats may not be as startling as pulling one off at the lighter divisions because, as Evander Holyfied puts it, at the heavier divisions a point is reached where one’s punching power can be as potent as the other. Thus the case of Pacquiao is something else.

Al Bernstein, the multi-awarded sports broadcast-journalist, suggested in a September 2009 article that Pacquiao has reached a yet unheard of level of excellence, something that is beyond the usual even among the best of athletes. He said: 

“Perhaps the most amazing part of all this is that Manny reinvented himself as a fighter when he moved up in weight. He became a true boxer-puncher, using more movement, combination punching and widening his arsenal to include more right hooks. In his recent fights, he has been much more than the power punching, but sometimes one dimensional fighter he was in lower weight classes. He used power and toughness to get through wars of attrition. At the higher weights he has used guile, speed and, oh

yes, still lots of power. I can’t remember another fighter who has made such a transformation in his late 20’s. It just isn’t done. So, a unique place in history awaits Manny if he can find a way to beat Cotto. And what if he does that and then beats either Mosley or Mayweather Jr. after that? Well, let’s cross that congratulatory bridge when we come to it. For now, let’s contemplate one miracle at a time.”

A couple of months after Bernstein wrote that article, Pacquiao did not only find a way to beat Cotto. He mauled Cotto before Referee Kenny Bayless halted the fight in the 12th. Some boxing analysis have attributed much of Pacquiao’s success to the infinite amount of courage he brings to the ring when he fights. Bernstein brings up more dimensions to what Pacquiao does to boxing. He cites Pacquiao’s skills—they keep on improving—power and toughness. Experts are almost one in saying that from a brawling and almost one-dimensional fighter that he was early in his career, Pacquiao has evolved into a tactical boxer-puncher.

Manny Pacquiao’s win over Miguel Cotto at 145 pounds in 2009 made him the only prizefighter in all of boxing history to win world titles in 7 different weight divisions. Photo by Google Images.

This early we can add some more: hard work and faith in himself and in his God. Members of Team Pacquiao, particularly chief trainer Freddie Roach, have on many occasions in the past acknowledged that Pacquiao’s work ethic is exceptional and is seldom seen in most other boxers. And Roach has seen and trained lots of boxers, including the controversial heavyweight champion Mike Tyson.

Whenever Pacquiao is in training camp to prepare for a fight, the amount of effort, pain and sweat he puts into it is almost bottomless. His trainers would often restrain him to “take it easy.” A typical day of his training regimen includes 30 minutes of road work in the morning and several hours of exercises (sit ups, push ups, skip rope, mitts, plyometrics, etc.) in the afternoon.

Then he spars for several hours more on certain dates. It is therefore hard to dismiss the point that hard

work and preparation are keys to Pacquiao’s success in boxing. Preparation (with an unquantifiable

dose of help from Roach, among others), evidently, had done Pacquiao many things. It honed his skills (and for one who is naturally gifted in the first place), boosted his stamina, and raised his self-confidence level.

Early in his career, Pacquiao cited two reasons as to why his fights often ended the way they did (via KO). “They (his opponents) get tired,” he said, “either from taking so many of my punches or from too much running away from me.”

At this stage of his career, fights could end abruptly for quite the same reasons. The difference is that, as Bernstein suggested, the once best 1-2 puncher in the business has added to his ordnance more hooks and uppercuts, so people are bound to get tired even more easily. And, with Nike, “they can run,” as Joe Louis warned Billy Conn, “but they can no longer hide.”

AT HEAVYWEIGHT LEVEL, IT ALL COMES DOWN TO SKILL

At a certain weight, both of you hit hard and it comes down to skills; who's gonna hit who the most. But at a physical standpoint, a 5-pound and 10-pound difference is a major, major situation. When you're a heavyweight, it's whoever is gonna land that punch first, but it's gonna come down to skill. The person who's skilled is going to hit you more so they eventually going to knock you out too. When you both have about a 5 or 10-pound difference and you're a middleweight, the guy is just as quick. The one thing about me fighting the bigger guy at heavyweight is that I'm faster than them. If you're just a 10-pound difference in the lower weights, the speed is just about the same. If there ain't no difference in speed, then that person is hitting a lot harder and a lot stronger, how can you win? You have to be able to take that much force so it is a little different. That's why they made weight divisions because they knew it would be a big difference.

--Evander Holyfield in response to the question “You've fought guys

that weighed 20 pounds more than you…How much weight actually makes a difference as far as the fight is concerned? by Ben Thompson of FightHype.com.

Photo above (left) shows Heavyweight Primo Carnera and Flyweight Frankie Genero. Photo by Boxrec.com

NOTHING BUT A DREAM

The story of Manny Pacquiao is not only about the soaring to the height of greatness. It is also about the depths of misery—and how he showed the way to rise from it.

Early in life Manny Pacquiao had nothing—no money, no decent clothes, no formal education, not much food to eat. There were but a few whom he could call his family and friends. There was hardly someone he could turn to for counsel. He was so wretched that the possibility of him winning this big one day was simply unthinkable. No one (perhaps his Papa — who dumped the family for another — included) gave him a sporting chance in life—except maybe himself.

As a youngster, Manny Pacquiao went through physical and emotional hardships just to help his family survive. He says he

understands what hunger means and knows how it feels when there is nothing to eat. However, these deprivations did not deter him from rising to live his dreams and eventually win the battles of life. In fact he would later admit that his low-life experiences, including losing a couple of fights early in his career, were the rock upon which his success as a prizefighter was built. His setbacks helped him develop the will power to withstand

and overcome adversity. Photo credit: Fox13memphis.com.

Today, Pacquiao is rich in many respects. His material assets could now be worth more than a billion of pesos. He has taken college courses. He has his own—and growing —family. The number of his relatives and friends has grown from a reluctant few to a cheering multitude, practically the size of an entire race—that of the Filipino and oriental race. And he now maintains hordes of expensive advisers.

Pacquiao fans could be rabid in their show of admiration for the man. It probably is not their fault. He simply is beyond the ordinary. His rise from the bottom to the top is phenomenal. Let’s recite, one more time, what he has done to be where he is today:

He started with nothing except the will to overcome adversity. He had nothing but a dream. He opened doors of opportunities for himself by deciding to become a boxing champion. It was a decision backed by action.

He toiled as he dreamed. He worked hard in the gym to hone his God-given talent in the sport. He put effort into his craft like no one ever did.

He tried to follow his star where others—boxing greats included—would not dare stick their neck out of their comfort shells. And, at 31, he has succeeded like no one ever did.

Left and above photos show a young Manny Pacquiao testing the craft as early as 13 years old. Even at such a young age, he already had his eyes fixed on a future that may have been framed by his bare fists. Photo by Marv Dumon.

THE DREAM COMES TO LIFE

The story of Manny Pacquiao is not only a story about boxing. His story is also about hard work, focus and determination. His story is about courage. It is about heart. His story is about faith in himself and in his God.

Emmanuel Dapidran Pacquiao was born on December 17, 1978 in Kibawe, Bukidnon, Philippines, to parents Dionisia and Rosalio Pacquiao. He was the second child—and the eldest son—of the couple.

Bukidnon is one of the provinces located in Mindanao, the second largest island of the Philippines. The island is rich in natural endowments and is a major supplier of agricultural products to the rest of country. Most northern provinces, like Bukidnon, are heavy producers of grains, vegetables, fruits and livestock. The southern areas, on the other hand, like Davao and General Santos City, have boomed—aside from a robust agro-industrial-led economy—on the strength of their fishing sector, particularly their tuna industry.

The area, however, suffers from the widespread effects of poverty that debase the lives of a great majority of its inhabitants. It is divided and wracked by internal conflicts that for decades now have ignited intermittent bloody wars among Muslim militants, the armed forces of the country’s national government, and even powerful clans. The nagging peace and order problem in Mindanao has been considered to be the single most debilitating cause of poverty in the area.

Being landless and not seeing many prospects in Bukidnon, and at the same time attracted by the livelihood opportunities offered by the tuna-rich and bustling General Santos City, the Pacquiao household would eventually pack up and leave Kibawe, move southward, and resettle in that city. It turned out to be a tough decision. While it was relatively easier to earn cash in the city (no matter how small the amounts), the change in surroundings did not bring dramatic changes to their lives.

If it was a struggle then, it was also a struggle now. Slowly growing in size and being the eldest son, family members expected Emmanuel to help generate some income for the family. And he sure did add muscle to tide the family over to the next day. He was also handy in several ways: by saving money that

should have been spent on his clothes and shoes (he went to school with worn out clothing, unshod), by moving around the neighborhood (on foot, of course) with an assortment of merchandise like bread and ice water, or offer of services, like shining shoes.

In the meantime, the Pacquiao family grew with the arrival of two more siblings in as many years in GenSan. For being relatively newcomers in the neighborhood, the Pacquiaos initially existed as virtual outcasts. Friends were few, and those who called them relatives were even fewer. In such a condition, having more family members was a joy to be wished. It impacted on their already strained resources, however, and life for them soon turned from tough to harsh.

Rosalio decided to seek employment in a farm some hundred of kilometers west of General Santos City. He was driven, and in which the wife and children saw sound judgment, by promise of better livelihood opportunities. But if relief from financial worries was forthcoming, more blows to the family was sure to beat it to the punch. After several months, the father started missing out on dates the family expected him to be around. The signs did not look good for the wife and children. True enough, it took only a few months more before they got to realize they have lost their man-of-the-house—the Philippines

used to be a patriarchal society, after all—to somebody else’s house. Rosalio, citing contentious marital differences, left General Santos City to live with another woman elsewhere—for good.

Dionisia and her children had to go through the emotional pain that soon rubbed in after sizing up the magnitude of their rejection. It was, for them, an added burden to a daily grind that wobbled under the weight of material want.

Gloom descended on the household but, happily, like a fairy tale, life went on for the deserted souls. At 13, Emmanuel left school so he could attend full-time to the needs of the family. He did more of the neighborhood vending, eventually branching out to other jobs—like hauling construction materials and doing laundry for a fee—odd enough for one so young. He rose to become the man of the house himself. The young Emmanuel—he who had nothing but a dream—would, in time, become Manny Pacquiao.

As the days went on and the daily struggles grew tougher, the will to survive and to come out successful emerged from the depths of Manny’s young consciousness. He tried his hand on one of those boxing matches among boys meant to entertain the peryahan crowd during fiestas. He walloped opponents and forced them into submission, one after the other. He was an instant celebrity of sorts.

Even as a youngster, Manny Pacquiao had developed a habit of dominating the opposition. His early flair for beak busting opened doors that led him to bigger breaks in boxing. Photo by Marv Dumon.

Having been rewarded with a token amount by the exhibition organizers, he went home with excitement, and readily remitted his earnings to his mother.

Each day Manny saw determination and courage in his mother. For a year now she was alone, mightily trying to bring 6 children up and for them to live at least nominally normal lives. Sometimes they found themselves comforting each other with jokes and laughter. Such moments were priceless and to be forever treasured, like having a Genie who lifted them up from the brink. They were a luxury, however, as reality kept forcing them to face the world, and their world was grim. It was time for Manny to tweak their fate and try to get some grip of their future. He was 14 when he decided to become not just a boxer, but a boxing champion. “If I become a champion,” he told his mother and siblings, comforting them with this assurance, “we will have more money.” 

Left photo shows son Manny Pacquiao, right, and mom Dionisia: one turned to the other for assurance and hope

during the trying times of their lives. Photo by Marv Dumon.

Lord of the prize ring—that was his dream. He soon was working on the heavy bag he himself improvised. The masochists among peers engaged him in friendly matches—in streets, basketball

courts, yards, etc. And it did not take long for them to find out that he could launch quite a fistic attack and embarrass an opponent.

His growing popularity among youngsters in the community led him to bigger things. He earned the respect and acquaintance of Abner Cordero, a budding boxer himself. Abner’s father, Dizon Cordero, was a boxing trainer (and who sometimes dabbled as manager) in General Santos City.

Everyday Manny walked a distance to make it a point he spent hours working on the bags, speed ball and ropes in Dizon’s decrepit gym. The dream burned and starved for more ember inside; the words of encouragement and advice from the trainer became Manny’s psychic nutrition. An instant 2-member mutual admiration club came to life between Dizon and Manny. One saw a winner in the other. A few months later, an amateur boxing tournament held in Saranggani, a neighboring province, brought Manny and Dizon to their baptism of fire. Dizon entered Manny into the tournament and came out of it with passing grades. In fact, Manny topped it—zero loss in 5 bouts.

More ring action followed in the succeeding weeks. Dizon pitted Manny in 30 or so local “exhibition” bouts, winning most of them, with Manny earning an average of US$10 per bout. It was a windfall for him at the time. But Dizon conceded that bigger things awaited Manny in a bigger boxing arena, one that he could not find in Mindanao.

Barely 14 but loaded with dreams of a bright future in boxing, and equipped with nothing more than Dizon’s counsel and a few pesos, he packed whatever scanty personal belongings he had, left his

GenSan home, and sailed away for Manila in Northern Philippines.

Dionisia and the rest of her children would later know about the daring flight only through a note Manny left. The message vowed filial commitment, and a promise that he will return in glory. “Pray for my success, Ma,” it said.

With Dizon’s referral and help from a maternal cousin who had made Manila his home, Manny was able to seek out Polding Correa, who eventually brought him to the operators of L & M Gym in Sampaloc, an old district of Manila. But while he got to wear gloves and the equipment he needed for training (the place was open practically to everybody), fighting as a professional and thereby begin to earn a living from it was still a problem. 

For one, government sports regulatory guidelines had imposed, among other things, the minimum age limit—18—on boxers applying for a professional license. He was only 15. He was out, for the moment. His dreams crash landed on planet Earth and, no matter how manfully he tried it, he could not hide his disappointment as visions of the long wait stared at him. 

For another, nobody could really commit to help manage his unborn boxing career—yet. Apart from his career vision, there were immediate concerns to attend to. Due to his ineligibility for a job in the prize ring, survival for Manny Pacquiao became another struggle in Manila like it was anywhere else that he had been. And so, to keep body and soul together, he took all sorts of odd jobs—mostly in construction

sites.

If a harsh life could create an unbreakable willpower in a boxer, then Pacquiao—unflinching in the middle of a storm—was surely headed to greatness. Early signs had shown he was getting there. For instance, he never lost sight on his commitment to boxing. As in Dizon’s gym, he remained like an internal contraption of the L & M Gym.

Manny Pacquiao becomes a study in focus and determination as he sweats it out using improvised training facilities. Notice the recycled bicycle tire and the inclined piece of wood he used for his sit up exercises. Photo by Marv Dumon.

During this time a weekly boxing show “Blow By Blow” was running at one of Manila’s minor TV outlets with more or less nationwide coverage. The show aired recorded bouts, most of which held in Manila and nearby areas. The producers and commentators of the show included Mon Lainez (one of the owners of L & M Gym) to whom Pacquiao was ceded by Correa. Fight promoters and sponsors often linked with producers of the show for purposes of recording and airing the fights on TV. One such sponsor had organized a series of benefit bouts in Oriental Mindoro, one of two provinces in an island west of Luzon. Would Manny accept the offer of fighting in Mindoro?

Lainez, who, along with Lito Mondejar and Rod Nazario, eventually became Pacquiao’s business managers, had seen Manny spar and work on the heavy bags. He was impressed with what he saw. The prospect of seeing Pacquiao in actual ring action was enticing.

With a handler in Lainez and company, Manny felt that a license might not be critical a requirement

in a remote place like Mindoro as it was in Manila. He was therefore thrilled and elated to accept his first professional assignment.

He wrote what he felt on a bond paper, sealed it in an envelope and sent it by post to General Santos. The tone of excitement was unmistakable as he reminded his Mama and siblings several times to watch him fight on TV. Informed of when his ring debut would be aired, he emphasized the date: January 29, 1995. It was a Sunday.

Being under-aged, the fight organizers also required parental consent from Pacquiao, and he asked his mother to send it—and quickly—to him. Under normal conditions, the pre-fight routine would include, aside from the basic weigh in, medical check-up for fighters and presentation of the required licenses.

But fights of this kind were unusual in many respects. To meet the required minimum weight, Pacquiao stuffed his shorts and shoes with coins and small pieces of metal.

He presented his mother’s consent letter in place of a professional boxer’s license. His efforts at getting through the pro-fight regulations were just about the most thrilling part of his pro debut. A curtain-raiser, the fight itself was not exciting. The opponent kept on either tying him up with hugs or dancing away since the middle of the first round until the bout ended in the fourth. But there was something in

Manny, who was so thin he looked like Popeye’s Olive, that made the show producers pick him as

one of its regular performers. Pacquiao’s dangling fists had served notice of their sting, and Edmund Ignacio, the opponent, acknowledged it by getting out of their reach.

Manny won his pro debut by decision. Back home, applause and glee reverberated from Pacquiao’s neighbors (Dionisia went downtown to see his son on TV from an appliance store) as they watched his hands hoisted by the referee to proclaim him as the winner of the bout.

Pacquiao returned to Manila like a millionaire he felt he was. Who wouldn’t? His first professional

fee was worth 25 US dollars. On Sundays that followed, more rounds of excitement and applause echoed from the neighborhood, which soon spread to the entire community, then the whole of GenSan, and eventually throughout the boxing constituency in the Philippine archipelago.

In the local dialect the word “Pacquiao” roughly means “to buy in bulk,” or to get a work done “by

lot” (which is recommended when the intent is to rush it), instead of by completing the pieces together one by one, or by getting paid on a daily basis (which normally accomplishes things at a slower rate). Thus Pacquiao, the rising TV star, evoked images of one who annihilated his opponents by lot, one after the other, in the quickest way possible.

Manny Pacquiao launched his professional

boxing career at age 16 on Philippine television

via the weekly boxing show “Blow by Blow.”

Photo clip from You Tube.com.

After 10 Sundays of seeing him fight on TV, Filipino boxing fans have started to take glimpses of a future ring sensation in him. The show itself had enjoyed decent viewer ratings. Sponsorships poured in. Boxing venues burst to the rafters when a Manny Pacquiao was in the card. Politicians, always quick with ways that make people notice them, organized boxing events that featured him as main draw. He attracted quite a number of female fans and admirers as well. And while he wooed some of them, he was particularly interested in one Maria Geraldine Jamora, also called “Jinkee.”

        

Attracted to Maria Geraldine “Jinkee” Jamora right at their first meeting in their late teens, Manny Pacquiao wooed her heart in a whirlwind of a courtship that did not go the distance. The two would eventually marry and now have 4 kids. Left photo shows the couple on their wedding rite. Photo by Google Images.

When watching sports-oriented TV shows, even outside of the now-famous “Blow By Blow,” people would easily recognize boxing by Pacquiao when the fighter they saw was on constant attack, almost by cadence, that the crowd could cheer with the flow of his rhythmic bang bang. They could feel the rush of his adrenalin like it was their own, revving them up—one that ignited a bombshell of cardiac animation, electrifying the crowd itself—as Pacquiao hopped and hinged on his toes, chasing his prey,

hips and shoulders set for the launch of his rapid 1-2 rifle shots. Gasps followed as the Pacquiao ammo exploded, hitting the target, the other guy sprawled on the canvass, and the referee waving his hand to make the abbreviated outcome official.

“Another work by Pacquiao” fans would say after watching a sudden end to a fight. He was, to the crowd, a delight to watch, like an artwork in motion.

Pacquiao would produce 11 of such artworks in succession within the year of his joining the professional ranks. Somehow government officials had found a way to grant him his clearance as

a full-fledged professional boxer. After all, going by his performance so far, it was hard for anyone to argue against his fitness as a professional boxer.

Then one bad night for Pacquiao and his fans came, as it sometimes happens even to the best of athletes. He faced Rustico Torrecampo, a dangerous opponent although less of a performer with an 11-4-4 win-loss-draw record, on February 9, 1996. In the third round of their fight, Torrecampo sneaked in a solid left to Pacquiao’s jaw. In a flash, it flicked the lights out of Pacquiao.

“Patay kang bata ka!” (“Dead is the kid,” street slang for one who has been hit by a shocking misfortune), a spectator blurted out. When he came to, he found himself counted out. His corner man bodily lifted him up towards his corner. He looked fine, however, and in a few seconds he got up as if nothing happened.

He shook his head and smiled sheepishly, the look of embarrassment written all over his face. The partisan crowd that filled every inch of Mandaluyong City Gym, the boxing venue, stared in disbelief, silenced by the unexpected turn of events.

Then came the reactions. “He was kind of cocky out there,” intoned Torrecampo after the fight. “He is human, after all,” remarked a dejected fan. It was amazing how people could see a superhero in such a greenhorn of a fighter as Pacquiao. For the fallen “superhero,” the dream—revived and in flame the past 12 months—crash landed once more. The psychological wreckage was as nasty as the physical pain he suffered. While the pain was gone in an hour, his bruised pride followed him even to his sleep.

Will the road to my championship dream re-open? The doubts must have weighed heavily on him. He eventually skipped the gym routine and went back to construction work. Giving up on his championship dream seemed easy at this point.

“I felt I wanted to quit,” he said in one media interview where he recalled the pain of suffering the first loss in his boxing career. But if anything good could come out of a setback, it was that one got to regain his humility. The rest that put a man with a mission back on track followed. He recovered his capacity to look at things from a more realistic perspective—lots of bravado went into his dare of fighting without thorough preparation against Torrecampo (he came in 1 pound over the agreed weight limit and

was penalized with heavier gloves). He realized there was no room for carelessness in his chosen job.

Pacquiao’s handlers regrouped to re-assure themselves and the boxer. They looked at the future: Surely, a talent with such a promise could not be dashed, dismissed and consigned to obscurity by a solitary loss. What if—from the viewpoint of business—this unpredictable yet explosive fighter could become a cash mill someday? Would fight promoters fight among themselves just to have a grip of this guy? They

charted a new path for Manny.

Two months later, Pacquiao was back in the ring. It was much like the way he started: a win by decision. The difference was he was now a 10-rounder. From then on, it was back to signature boxing by Pacquiao. Eleven straight wins, 9 by knockout, 4 of the knock outs taking place in the first round.

He was back on the saddle. The chase for the star was on.

Again.

At 19, he went to Thailand to contend for the WBC Flyweight belt owned by local favorite Chatchai Sasakul. On fight night, December 4, 1998, Sasakul was clearly a crowd favorite. He had lost only once in his 31 bouts (to Yuri Arbachakov, whom he defeated in a rematch), with 24 of his wins all by stoppage. He had merited for himself a kind of national adulation that was reminiscent of the times when Khoasia Galaxy was king of the world’s flyweights. And for a country that hooked its first Olympic Gold from boxing, Sasakul had become a folk hero.

But despite Sasakul’s “home court” advantage, it was clear from the opening bell that Pacquiao was determined to bring the fight to the champion. He did not look awed one bit by Sasakul’s fearsome record, leaping forward with 1-2 right-left straights in a fast-paced attack. The champion countered effectively, however. He kept tagging Pacquiao with his own arsenal of shots, sometimes making it look like one was matador and the other was bull. Sasakul effectively adjusted to Pacquiao’s unrelenting

pressure, rolling his body to the left every time Pacquiao fires the first of a series of shots. It saved Sasakul from getting hit with quite a number of lefts—which appeared to have generated the most damaging effect on Sasakul—from Pacquiao.

By the sixth round, it looked like the relatively unknown challenger was not only shaming the popular champion in front of the home crowd, Pacquiao was also hurting Sasakul with power shots. And then pride—or whatever it is that compels one to hit back when hurt—must have forced Sasakul to abandon whatever boxing technique he mastered; he decided to answer fire with fire, toe-to-toe, in the center of the ring. 

It did not look good for Sasakul. The matador turned bull and put himself at the same level as his quarry. A Pacquiao left found Sasakul’schin and Sasakul staggered backwards. The crowd froze, probably sensing that a few more of that choice shot could end the fight.

The fight did end sooner than expected. In the eight round, a sledgehammer left from Pacquiao rocked

Sasakul. Sasakul reeled backwards as he groped for the center of his body’s gravity, barely succeeding

to keep his balance. But Pacquiao was back in no time with yet another 1-2-3. Sasakul was visibly in dire condition as he retreated even farther. The attempted flight, however, failed him as the knees wobbled like a rubber stand, unable to carry him away from more harm. He managed to lean with his back on the ropes long enough to see that another Pacquiao left was coming. Defending with all his might, Sasakul moved his right glove slightly to the left in an effort to block the ignited missile. But the look of determination in his face turned to terror as the Pacquiao warhead arched gracefully to the left

before it exploded right on his chin.

Sasakul crumpled to the canvass, face down. He struggled to get up as the referee’s count up reached 7, only to slump back to the floor, head first, before rolling over until he finally settled with his back on the floor. Pacquiao knocked the champion out.

As the ring announcer officially declared the ending of the bout and proclaimed Pacquiao as the new WBC Flyweight Champion of theworld, and as the referee raised his arms, Pacquiao glanced upwards, as if to acknowledge the clouds above him. He went to his corner, knelt down and covered his face

with his gloves. Then jubilation from among the small Team Pacquiao members erupted. It was

time to celebrate.

After 3 years of hunting, Manny Pacquiao collected his prize. The world championship was won. It

was his moment. His dream has just come true.

“BRUCE LEE OF BOXING”

Manny Pacquiao's reign as flyweight champion did not last long—9 months—but enough for a baby to grow inside his mother's womb and eventually see the light of day. Manny and Jinkee had, by this time, got married and their first child, Jemuel, was born. In the meantime, on April 24, 1999, Manny defended his title against Mexico’s Gabriel Mira, whom he defeated by TKO in the 4th round. Within 2 months Manny would again defend his crown for the second time against Midgoen Singsurat of Thailand, and should have been, by this time, in deep training for that defense. He was not. His being a father for the first time must have shown him other precious things in life apart from boxing.

When Manny did start his preparation for the Singsurat fight, his new-found celebrity status created problems not so much because it often took away his focus, but simply because the Filipino in him could not simply say no to anybody.

He also had to cope with the needed adjustments at the home front, only to realize that some things were harder to knock down than a ring opponent. For one, Jinkee and Mother Dionesia—whose disappointment over Manny’s early marriage was partly aggravated by a dashed personal wish for him to make it to the priesthood—were not in the best of terms. For another, too many fans, friends, relatives (hordes of them were coming forward from nowhere), and admirers (from the opposite sex) were competing for his attention.

Manny had a less than satisfactory work rate at the training camp. On the day before the fight, he was overweight by 1 pound. The WBC had no recourse but to strip him of his title even before a single punch could be thrown by either fighter.

On fight night, September 17, 1999, a visibly drained Manny Pacquiao faced Singsurat for a ring battle he could not win. It appeared from the outset he did not have the amount of energy or motivation he needed to overcome the challenge he was facing.

When the bell rang, Singsurat tagged Pacquiao at will. And as the fight progressed from one round to the next, its complexion remained unchanged. It was all Singsurat. In the third round, an out-of-shape Pacquiao grimaced as he absorbed more punishment from Singsurat’s body attack. The lopsided bout soon came to an end. Pacquiao lost by knock out. His belt was now wrapped around the challenger’s waist.

If something good could come out of a defeat, it is, in the case of Manny Pacquiao, the lesson that is learned. His loss to Rustico Torrecampo taught him the value of thorough preparation before each fight. Photo by Marv Dumon.

“We have to be candid—we did not prepare thoroughly enough for this fight. And besides, the kid is growing up,” Lainez explained to media as to why Pacquiao failed to make weight.

If lack of preparation and weight problems brought down Pacquiao in his loss against Torrecampo, they must have also did it to Pacquiao in his second defeat. This was one more lesson-of-the-same-kind learned the expensive, and painful, way.

Pacquiao soon decided to move up in weight. In three months, he was back in the ring, fighting as a super bantamweight. Invading the higher weight division seemed to be perfect for the 21-year-old Pacquiao. In his first fight as a super bantamweight, he knocked out Reynante Jamili in the second round. And from there he racked up 6 straight wins, all of them by knockout.

A close look at Pacquiao’s last 6 opponents made it difficult for aficionados to ignore his potential as a great fighter. They were top-level opposition, having compiled an average winning rate of 86.7 percent (as compared, for example, to that of Sugar Ray Robinson, who had a career win percentage of 86.5). All 6 fights were 12-rounders; but they lasted only an average of 4.7 rounds.

As Dizon Cordero advised Pacquiao 6 years ago in General Santos City, Pacquiao’s handlers felt that he

needed a bigger arena in which his full potential could be harnessed to the limit. Rod Nazario and company had in fact been shopping for fight promoters and trainers in America ever since Pacquiao became a world champion. Pacquiao’s handlers felt America was the place to sell the exciting brand of boxing he was capable of dishing out. The American boxing fans, after all, had the means and were willing to pay for boxing shows they liked. In short, America was where real money could be made.

In one episode of Pacquiao’s career that years later would prove to be a masterstroke, he ended up being mentored by Freddie Roach. A former professional boxer himself who learned the ropes under the tutelage of the legendary Eddie Futch, Roach owned and operated Wild Card Gym, a boxing training facility in Los Angeles, USA.

Unfortunately for Pacquiao, however, it seemed no American fight promoter was interested in him. He was a nobody in America. If he was not an item, what business opportunity could he offer? The one or two who heard of Pacquiao knew he lost by knock out in his last title fight. But before Team Pacquiao could gave up on its American dream, it found some sort of a breakthrough in initial talks with Murad Muhammad, an American promoter who toiled in the shadows of Don King and Top Rank’s Bob Arum.

For Pacquiao’s handlers, it helped that Murad had earlier been associated with some people in the Philippine boxing community. Murad was part of Muhammad Ali’s team when the latter fought Joe Frazier for the third time in Manila in 1975.

Murad went over the Pacquiao tapes several times. What he witnessed prompted him to quip:

"I saw Pacquiao’s opponents crashing to the floor. But he could hardly see the punch that knocked them down... He is like Bruce Lee.”

Murad quickly went to work. Working on a fight card that would feature Oscar De La Hoya (who just severed promotional ties with Top Rank), he assembled the hawks he needed to beef up the undercard. He also called up his friends at HBO. But where Pacquiao was concerned, the network giant hesitated. Some of its big bosses apparently also got wind of Pacquiao as “the one who was knocked out in his last title fight.” They doubted if Pacquiao was “entertainment” material. They thought he had little value insofar as boosting pay-per-view sales was concerned. But Murad persisted. He dug deep into his stack of aces. He offered deals and haggled. He knew a gem was in his hands.

“LITTLE TIGER FROM THE PHILIPPINES”

In the meantime, over at South Africa, the HBO covered Hasim Rahman’s gigantic upset knockout

win over Lennox Lewis, who was then universally-recognized as the lineal heavyweight champion. The undercard of the Rahman-Lewisfight featured, among other bouts, another title fight at the super bantamweight division involving Lehnoholo Ledwaba, the champion.

Nicknamed “Hands of Stone,” Ledwaba’s resume did indicate the rise of a new Roberto Duran, having beaten all but one of his 30 opponents, most of them by knockout. A complete package of boxing entertainment, Ledwaba turned out to be a star of the night, prompting the HBO people to think aloud about prospects of showing Ledwaba to a bigger crowd.

And true enough, HBO did set up a fight for him in the United States. Ledwaba’s entry to big-time boxing was, well, big time. He was set to defend his title in the undercard of Oscar De La Hoya’s bid for a record 5th world title in as many weight classes against Light Middleweight Champion Javier

Castillejo. By that time, De La Hoya had already loomed as a pay-per-view behemoth. Practically

the entire global boxing community would be around to watch Ledwaba perform.

But if Ledwaba was lucky to earn for himself a ticket to the mainstream of professional boxing, Pacquiao was even luckier. He was picked as a late replacement to contend for Ledwaba’s title. Pacquiao’s “luck” did not go unnoticed in the eyes of boxing’s partisan observers, however. Some fellow boxing promoters in the US, for example, kidded Murad about how he (Murad) succeeded in inserting Pacquiao to the De La Hoya-Castillejo under card. Sanctioned by the IBF, Murad was known to have close ties with its president, Marian Muhammad. Murad explained that Pacquiao, ranked number 7 by the IBF at the time, earned his shot at Ledwaba’s title after the unavailability of the top six contenders in front of Pacquiao had been verified and confirmed.

Back to the Ledwaba-Pacquiao fight: it was in Las Vegas, USA, June 23, 2001. As the bout was about to start, the HBO commentators did mention that Pacquiao came to the fight on a two-week notice. What they did not say on air was that they brought Ledwaba from Africa to treat the American boxing crowd with a delighting display of boxing—courtesy of Ledwaba, and that whoever would materialize to challenge Ledwaba could be nothing more than prey for the African predator.

Such a perception quickly vanished as soon as the two fighters exchanged hostile leather. Pacquiao took one; he gave one dozen. If Ledwaba had quick hands and feet, Pacquiao had a quicker pair of both. If Ledwaba had stones in his hands, Pacquiao had bombs. The Las Vegas crowd had seen both fighters only for the first time, but they sure were enjoying the work they were seeing. They roared in approval

as Pacquiao pressed his attack. He whacked hard. He shot sharply. He was relentless. And he was fearless.

As Pacquiao approached his corner after the bell rang to end the second round, the crowd loudly applauded him. He acknowledged the gesture by raising his gloves, as if to thank them for appreciating

his effort.

On June 23, 2001, Manny Pacquiao, a late replacement, challenged IBF Super Bantamweight Champion Lhenohonolo Ledwaba of South Africa for the latter’s title in Las Vegas, USA. Pacquiao TKO’d Ledwaba in 6 rounds. Photo by Photobucket.com

The Ledwaba-Pacquiao fight was meant to be an appetizer to the De La Hoya-Castillejo main dish, but the crowd looked like it was already full. Pacquiao was giving them their money’s worth. By the sixth round, Ledwaba must have felt too battered to think of any boxing science he knew. He brawled with his opponent. It was reckless and suicidal on his part. He did not finish the round in upright position.

Larry Merchant, HBO’s main mike, remarked: 

“This is the first time I have heard about and seen Manny Pacquiao, but now that I have seen him, I want to see more of him.”

Indeed it was a fight that moved the fans to ask for more of its kind. They would not be disappointed. Five successful title defenses by Manny of his title followed, all of them by knockout. Media edged to know what else Pacquiao could offer to the fans. What’s next for Manny? I want to fight Marco Antonio Barrera, he said.

Not a few would find, at that time, that the kid in Pacquiao was kidding. Barrera held no title, but he was hailed as the “People’s Champ.” He had beaten undefeated and marquee fighters that included Johnny Tapia, Erik Morales, and Prince Naseem Hamed, among others.

Not only was Pacquiao a relatively unknown fighter challenging a Boxing Hall of Fame shoo-in, he was also an untested super bantamweight pretender challenging a proven world-beater that lorded over the higher featherweight division.

But, on second thought, if his having devoured Ledwaba when organizers thought Ledwaba would eat him alive was any measure, then Pacquiao must have felt he deserved to be tested.

It turned out Pacquiao wanted to test his limits all the time. From the time he sailed away from General Santos City to Manila he knew nothing about, then his ring setbacks on account of complacency, and then to a second world title few people thought he was capable of winning, there emerged the essential outline of what drove the little man: he looked for the toughest challenge there was and dared to take it.

On November 11, 2003 Barrera and Pacquiao fought for recognition as Ring Magazine’s top featherweight, along with the lofty mythical tag of “People’s Champ” in Texas, USA. The odds were 5-1 in Barrera’s favor, indicating the remoteness by which the fans gave Pacquiao any chance of upsetting Barrera.

It took only a couple of minutes before Pacquiao showed the fans that Barrera, not him, had no chance of winning the fight. Merchant could not believe what he saw in the ring. He had expected—like many others—a demolition; a demolition by Barrera of Pacquiao, not by Pacquiao of the great Mexican. He could not believe how Barrera got clawed by what he called “the little tiger from the Philippines.”

The fight was over by the eleventh round. Barrera’s corner rushed to his aid and save him from further damage. Merchant told his TV audience: “Manny Pacquiao has just shaken the boxing world.”

“STORM FROM THE PACIFIC”

Adoring Filipino fans became a common sight wherever Manny Pacquiao went. He was a boxer; but the magnitude and meaning of his achievements, his overall mien, the attitude and the discipline that made him a winner all helped define who he was, and the glow of his light transcended the sport.

Wracked by social, economic and political strife, his countrymen saw in him the face of a nation that badly needed a hero. Pacquiao was up for exaltation by a grateful nation. He was on his way to super stardom.

Not so fast, however. He gored Juan Manuel Marquez in the first round of his next fight. But he failed to finish the Mexican. The judges ruled the fight a draw, although one of them would later admit he erred in his addition. At any rate, the broader boxing community remained divided in the verdict

of who among the two was the superior fighter.

Pacquiao met Erik Morales in his next fight—ten months after the draw with Marquez—on March

19, 2005. It was Morales’ turn to gore Pacquiao—literally this time. In the fourth round, a head butt which the referee ruled as accidental opened a nasty cut above Pacquiao’s right eye. Blood flooded Pacquiao’s face until the bout ended in the 12th round. Morales won by unanimous decision.

In that fight, the two warriors waged a contest that put on display the triumph of athletic excellence.

Apart from that, Pacquiao showed not only his enormous courage in the middle of dire situations, but—as blood freely dripped from his cut—also his capacity to tolerate pain. That loss helped grow, rather than diminish, the stock of the Filipino.

Pacquiao and Morales went to war two more times. The second bout was another classic, with Pacquiao emerging as winner by TKO in the 10th round. The third fight was hardly a contest. Pacquiao overpowered Morales in 3 rounds.

Then a rematch with Barrera 4 years after their first ring date buried any remnant of a notion that Pacquiao might have caught Barrera in one of the latter’s bad nights. This time, as the crowd

chanted “Barre-run,” Barrera showed little heart to dispute that notion. He lost to Pacquiao by unanimous decision.

In between these highly anticipated match-ups came Pacquiao’s tussles against lesser known opponents, mostly Mexicans. Fans went on to confer on Manny Pacquiao a variety of name tags: Mexecutioner, Destroyer, Pambansang Kamao (national fist), etc. But the one that rings a bell to almost everyone was “The Pacman.”

Manny Pacquiao's right hook deforms Mexican Marco Antonio Barrera's face in their November 15, 2003 fight in Texas, USA. Pacquiao dominated Barrera throughout the fight before winning via TKO in 11 rounds to snatch the latter’s “The Ring” Featherweight (126 lbs) Mythical Crown. Photo by Photobucket.com

Almost deified at home, his fame grew across the globe. The Pacman was now a superstar. Even his non-title fights earned for him purses that made other boxers contending for titles green with envy. The HBO, which eventually worked with a parade of American promoters who now all wanted a piece of Pacquiao, embraced him like a long-lost brother. Men of commerce knew a prized talent when they saw one. In so short a time, Pacquiao had created commercial boom for promoters, media organizations, advertisers, businesses that needed endorsements, casino outlets, etc. At one time, promoter Bob Arum

had called him a walking money machine.

Erik Morales fell down like a log after a furious exchange of blows with Manny Pacquiao during Round 2 of their third meeting in the ring on November 18, 2006 in Nevada, Las Vegas, USA. Photo by Google Images.

Interviewed by Philippine media on his arrival from the US after the sensational win against Erik Morales in their rematch, Manny was honest, candid, and tried—but failed—to be modest. “If you were a reporter, how would you write the headline of your story?”

“Storm from the Pacific,” he said, smiling.

This was 2006. In ten years of prize fighting, The Pacman had already gone quite a long way.