(1) People who were rooting for him because they're genuine boxing fans and they want a Pinoy to win.
(2) People who couldn't care less about boxing but were rooting for a fellow Pinoy to win.
(3) Haters. Because he's embarassing/filthy-rich/a wannabe singer/hobknobbing with seedy politicians/a womanizer/irritating.
It's always fascinating to see any athlete reach a point where they already transcend their sport. As a sports fan it usually becomes a little annoying. Why? Because random people start coming out of the woodwork who have no interest or knowledge about the sport and who suddenly have loud opinions, which are either half-baked or have absolutely nothing to do with the sport.
As a sports fan, I don't really care about anything else but the sport. I don't care what you do in your spare time, how many women you bang, how many f-bombs you drop. If you're good at what you do in your sport and you're enjoyable to watch for whatever reason, then I'm a fan. I'm not lost enough to be needing a role model in my life and I have no aspirations to be your friend; I just want you to keep being good at what you do so I can keep enjoying the experience of watching you.
Half of the Philippines, it seems, treats Manny Pacquiao as a friend or an acquaintance. Things he does (singing, running for public office, speaking broken English) or people he allegedly "does" (Ara Mina, Krista Ranillo), drive them nuts. These things affect their lives, apparently, as if Pacquiao lives next door to them or hangs out in their house a lot.
Of course not all of us feel that way. There's still a majority of people who are proud of the dude. Personally, the last few weeks have made me giddy. Thanks to Manny Pacquiao a (living) Filipino made it on Time Magazine's cover for the first time in decades, a Filipino is finally the best athlete in his sport, and...
...the Philippines finally gets a shout-out from my all-time sportswriting hero, Bill Simmons!
In today's "BS Report" podcast, where Simmons praised Pacquiao as the greatest and most entertaining fighter since young Mike Tyson, ESPN's Sports Guy had also this to say about our national anthem:
"...one of the best things about his pay per views is the Philippines' national anthem. The Philippine National Anthem is a GREAT song. They can release that song as a song."
Now, just to put this comment in its proper perspective: Bill Simmons is a harsh critic. Of anything. He's lambasted Mike Dunleavy, Kobe Bryant, the TV series "Bored to Death"...anyone and anything you can possibly imagine. So, believe me, this was definitely not a cheap praise.
But I guess this doesn't matter. The National Historical Institute tells us that almost all of the Lupang Hinirang renditions sung in Pacquiao's fights were wrong. Not good or bad. Not enjoyable or unenjoyable. Just wrong.
For weeks, we have been putting Manny Pacquiao under a microscope. In the process, we too have put our entire society under a microscope. And this is what I see:
A nation of neurotics.
A fellow countryman just broke a seemingly-unbreakable sports record (and accomplishing it in dominating fashion, no less) and there are still some who would rather talk about how big of an idiot he is. Filipino singers just sung an inspiring rendition of our national anthem (a rendition loved by outside observers who have no bias whatsoever) and there are still some who would rather talk about the letter of an obscure law, instead of seeing its spirit.
We always find the weirdest excuses not to enjoy ourselves. It's almost like we're uncomfortable with the mere idea of success and happiness.
I know what you're about to say: "That's ridiculous! We always smile in the face of disasters. Foreigners fucking love us for that shit." Well, exactly. Maybe that's what's causing our neuroses. We don't allow ourselves to get depressed over depressing things. So I guess it's not that strange that we can't learn to be happy about happy things.
Ironically, you know who's the perfect role model for the kind of straightforward, angst-free attitude we need?
It's the little dude who was walking to that ring in Las Vegas on Sunday; the womanizer, the unqualified public official, the atrocious singer, the dude with the funny bisaya accent. Here he was, the stereotypical indio, the idiot-savant, grinning from ear to ear, looking like he's walking to his surprise birthday party and not the most important boxing match of his entire life. I can only imagine one thing going through his mind at the time: this is awesome.
Unfortunately or fortunately, we indios are no longer that simple-minded. We've become as cynical as the westerners watching from Sin City on Sunday. Perhaps even more so.
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