THINGS were a bit different in 2009. Instagram was a year away from being launched, Liza Soberano was just 11 years old, and Donald J. Trump was, uhm, not the President of the United States of America.
Also, Manny Pacquiao owned the world.
He was in the thick of his prime as a generational boxer with two career-defining victories that year. In May he detonated a nuke of a left jab on the jaw of English brawler Ricky Hatton. Six months later he sent Puerto Rican Miguel Cotto backpedaling to the moon in a 12-round demolition. Both were huge reasons why foreigners think of Pacquiao first when they hear the word “Filipino” or “Philippines”, not just chicken bones and nipa huts.
His fight days were pseudo-holidays; streets across the country were clear of traffic and crime. Pay-per-view screening parties were hosted by sports bars, restaurants and movie houses, each filled with fans singing the national anthem, roaring in unison for every Pacquiao hit and every time he smartly evaded an opponent’s punches. One could argue there was a stronger collective sense of nationalism during his fights than in the country’s own Independence Day celebrations.
Elsewhere outside sports, things weren’t as bright for the Philippines’s fighting pride. He lost his initial run at a congressional seat two years before and he starred in a series of commercial flops.
Each failure was almost met with cheers from the general public, who were hopeful their champion stays in his lane, inside the boxing ring, and outside of everything else, especially politics. Keyword: “hoping”.
Of course, Pacquiao proceeded to become a senator, a pastor, a lieutenant colonel, a professional basketball player, a television host and whatever suited his fancy. This unrelenting pursuit of “passions” birthed a dichotomy: There was Manny the boxer and Manny the-everything-else.
The fine line that separated these two characters, as perceived by the people, was never been more blurred than last Sunday.
There were fight fans who were just thrilled to see their ring icon lace up his gloves one more time, even with diminished skills and advanced age. On the other side of the fence, there were the fans who preferred not to see Pacquiao fight again with nothing else to prove, and the critics disgusted at the sight of this senator stepping into the ring once again, or were simply disgusted at seeing him at all.
A friend tweeted last Sunday: “It’s either you retire a champion or stay long enough to become Pacquiao. Lol”.
Who could blame them? Quoting the bible in legislative arguments and posting homophobic slurs online, which cost him a major sponsorship, certainly didn’t help his image.
Pacquiao flew to his hometown, General Santos City, a day after losing a controversial unanimous decision in Australia last Sunday. Unlike past homecomings, there was no grand motorcade. Even if he won, it’s doubtful it would attract as many supporters as such did the past.
Pacquiao hasn’t scored a knockout victory since that Cotto 12th-round stoppage in 2009, losing four matches in that stretch. Things have definitely been a little different since then.
However, he has been instrumental in putting the Philippines on the map—a fact that, not even time, can change.