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The other day I was talking to a young Filipino woman, recently home from a visit to see her mother, who still lives among the islands of the Philippines. Inevitably I asked her if she was a fan of Manny Pacquiao, and inevitably she said she was, though not like her mother and everyone else who lives in the country. She didn't tell me anything you haven't heard before, mentioning how things shutdown when he fights and that no one is out and about. However, I perceived a reservation in her.
What I sensed, talking to this young lady, perhaps in her mid thirties, while she told me, in what would seem to be almost an understatement, that "he is almost like an icon there", was that she didn't entirely understand the phenomena of Pacquiao's massive appeal in her homeland. The reason, I would guess, is that she has been Americanized, for lack of a better term. Living in New York, and all it's diverse accouterments adds to you as a person, just as it strips away some of your personal regional or cultural identification.
To Filipinos, I believe that in addition to his affable personality and talents in the ring, Pacquiao embodies what is considered a model countryman. Religious, humble and hardworking, Pacquiao takes these attributes that most among the islands aspire to, and combines them with a hard luck story that so many there can relate to.
The parallel is that in boxing, Manny Pacquiao embodies what we as fans wish all our pugilistic stars were. Fast and flashy, powerful and explosive, a fighter through and through, but also someone who seems like a genuinely good guy you can root for.
Across the ring from him this Saturday night is a similar man, who like Pacquiao is emblematic of his U.K. compatriots. Blue collar, plain spoken and cheeky (in more ways than one if you caught the first episode of 24/7), you'd have no trouble envisioning Ricky Hatton atop a stool at a pub in Manchester easily chatting with anyone who happened to lighten the load alongside of him.
Inside the ring his toughness and tenacity, will and withering attacks, combined with his good humor make him another nice guy who fans can easily get behind.
The question becomes; if nice guys finish last, which of these two likable lugs will create some ill will in the ring?
the rest:
What I sensed, talking to this young lady, perhaps in her mid thirties, while she told me, in what would seem to be almost an understatement, that "he is almost like an icon there", was that she didn't entirely understand the phenomena of Pacquiao's massive appeal in her homeland. The reason, I would guess, is that she has been Americanized, for lack of a better term. Living in New York, and all it's diverse accouterments adds to you as a person, just as it strips away some of your personal regional or cultural identification.
To Filipinos, I believe that in addition to his affable personality and talents in the ring, Pacquiao embodies what is considered a model countryman. Religious, humble and hardworking, Pacquiao takes these attributes that most among the islands aspire to, and combines them with a hard luck story that so many there can relate to.
The parallel is that in boxing, Manny Pacquiao embodies what we as fans wish all our pugilistic stars were. Fast and flashy, powerful and explosive, a fighter through and through, but also someone who seems like a genuinely good guy you can root for.
Across the ring from him this Saturday night is a similar man, who like Pacquiao is emblematic of his U.K. compatriots. Blue collar, plain spoken and cheeky (in more ways than one if you caught the first episode of 24/7), you'd have no trouble envisioning Ricky Hatton atop a stool at a pub in Manchester easily chatting with anyone who happened to lighten the load alongside of him.
Inside the ring his toughness and tenacity, will and withering attacks, combined with his good humor make him another nice guy who fans can easily get behind.
The question becomes; if nice guys finish last, which of these two likable lugs will create some ill will in the ring?
the rest:
