(Photo by Al Bello/Getty Images)
When Manny Pacquiao was introduced to the crowd prior to the Miguel Cotto-Joshua Clottey bout in Madison Square Garden last June, nearly 18,000 fans, most of them Puerto Ricans out to support Cotto, their native son, erupted in cheers.
That so many boricuas in attendance applauded a Filipino fighter, whom they knew might some day be an opponent for Cotto, is testament to the popularity of an athlete who stands apart from his contemporaries the same way Man o’ War stood apart from a cotton mule in the Yazoo Delta.
Long before he became a household name by whipping Oscar De La Hoya in 2008, Manny Pacquiao was on his way to the Hall of Fame by virtue of his stellar record against top-notch competition. But his amazing cultural standing in the Philippines—reminiscent of the reverence Puerto Ricans accorded Wilfredo Gomez, Sixto Escobar, and Felix Trinidad, but on a smaller scale, of course—is amazing to the outsider.
Films, television shows, music, Web sites, commercials, politics, post office stamps—name the Filipino medium and Pacquiao has a part in its message. President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo even announced a national holiday after Pacquiao demolished Ricky Hatton last May.
The Philippines has a rich boxing history, one that includes such talents as Ceferino Garcia, Flash Elorde, Small Montana, Little Dado, and the incomparable Pancho Villa, but Pacquiao may well be on his way to outstripping them all.
If so, Pacquiao would add a further distinction to his legacy: being one of the rare contemporary boxers to actually surpass his predecessors.
In addition to the adoration of nearly 100 million Filipinos, Pacquiao has also begun infiltrating the often hermetic American consciousness. Not long ago, Pacquiao was named to the 2009 Time 100, a list of the 100 most influential people in the world.
Needless to say, it is not often that a boxer makes it into Time Magazine, or any other mainstream American media outlet for that matter, and his inclusion is a sign of his much wider acceptance.
After all, his status as “National Fist” is not the only reason Pacquiao has become a phenomenon. Despite his negligible English, Pacquiao has earned a following in the United States—where foreign boxers rarely break through into superstar status—partly because of a humble demeanor seemingly at odds with his ferocious ring style.
This is in stark contrast to some of the high-profile braggarts in the sport whose boasts are nearly always undermined by the notorious “Death of a Thousand Jabs” strategy come fight night. In the case of someone like Edison Miranda or Zab Judah, crowing is almost certainly a comical preamble to being knocked senseless in the ring.
Pacquiao, similar to the gentlemanly Alexis Arguello, sees no need for the heckling routine. When Pacquiao left Ricky Hatton counting atoms in Las Vegas, he made sure to remind the world that bad taste is not in his DNA: “I was just doing my job in the ring and doing my best to make people happy,” he said. “Nothing personal—I am just doing my job.”
Even defeat could not undermine his class. After losing to Erik Morales in 2005, for example, Pacquiao simply shrugged and apologized.
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