Monday, May 25, 2009

Too Much

I’ll move on eventually, but I still have more to say. Check out the last post on Pacquiao if you didn’t already, I think it’s my best piece so far. I promised a friend I’d do a close reading of the fight and though it’s late I’m going to go through with it. Here is a poor link to the fight if you want to follow along, you can probably find better. I’ll be using the time stamp from the HBO counter.

1st round

3:00-2:45: First thing we see is the size. Pacquiao may be smaller in the upper body, but he doesn’t seem disadvantaged otherwise. Next, Hatton’s clumsy footwork as opposed to Manny’s superfast darting balance. Against a normal fighter Hatton is faster and finds it relatively easy to close distance, in the first few seconds one can already see that’s not so.

2:30 The first landed blow is a sneaky right hook. Hatton comes forward with a tepid jab, looking to apply pressure, but Manny’s timing and precision shows immediately. We could almost stop here, as this first blow is basically the story of the fight. Hatton and Mayweather Sr. knew this punch was coming, had made fun of it on 24/7, but there was nothing he could do about it. If you look at 5:34 they talk about the move, prepare for it, but were instantly unable to respond. There has been a lot of revisionist history since the fight, blaming Hatton for leaving himself unprotected as he lunged in, but it’s the story of his career. Against most fighters he is fast enough to close the distance, against Pacquiao he was crushed every time. It's not that he didn't do this right, or he made that mistake, it's that Ricky Hatton just isn't as good at boxing as Manny Pacquiao.



2:10 After a few seconds of trying to mug Pacquiao on the inside, the fighters gain separation. Hatton is again forced to wade through Pacquiao’s punching zone and eats another solid right hook. A good fighter will be able to time shots like this a few times a fight. Lazcano landed a good one on Hatton in their fight. Malignaggi landed a couple. Pacquiao landed two in the first fifty seconds. Not with full power, but with incredible accuracy.

1:55 Here we see where Hatton is really doomed. He had just managed to slip the Pacquiao right for the first time, and at center ring throws his first earnest right at distance, but Pacquiao easily slips the punch and lands his first left hand. I think Hatton felt okay, as though he could eat the right, but that first left was thrown with force. The difference in speed, accuracy, and class is already clear. Hatton is a fast fighter, but he looks in poor shape already. He can’t close the distance safely, and at range his inferior handspeed and amateurish form gives him no chance.

1:46 Hatton manages to slip a left, but Pacquiao again lands the right hook at half speed and ducks away.

1:30 Pacquiao lands another right hook, and this one he has thrown for keeps. It is a perfect shot, comes from underneath, and Hatton goes stiff legged. Lampley misses it, calling a Hatton shot, but you can hear the sound of the impact. When watching it live I was already jumping up and down screaming. I truly felt the fight was over. Hatton has a very particular way of looking hurt. He stands upright and lurches with stiff, tin-man movements. Floyd had him this way multiple time before he put him down, Manny is not so merciful.



1:00 Again we see Hatton’s problem. Taking some time to regather himself he waits at distance, throwing a few jabs and exhibiting his version of “boxing.” This is what Teddy Atlas claims he should have done from the beginning, but it was really no sort of option. Manny easily manages to slip everything that Hatton throws at distance and lands two straight lefts before Hatton can even manage to raise his hands. In the David Diaz fight we saw much the same predicament, but while Diaz was slower, he managed to last with his high guard. Though marginally quicker, Hatton could in no way slip the straight left at distance. Floyd managed to nail him with dozens of his equivalent straight rights, but he didn’t throw with the same conviction and power that Manny did.

:56 The knockdown. Pacquiao throws the same right hook he had landed three times before, but Hatton, already buzzed from the previous straight lefts crumples to the floor. It’s a beautiful rhythm shot, perfectly balanced and thrown while dodging the counter. Again, people claim that Hatton did something wrong, which is true, but ultimately meaningless. This is the way he fights. It is flawed, but works against even very good fighters. Only a special few have the ability to take advantage of it. Tszyu, Castillo, Urango, Collazo, Malignaggi; they could all see the opening, and they could even find it occasionally, but not the way Pacquiao did. Floyd Mayweather waited the whole fight for the left hook; in fact he landed the exact blow in the exact spot in the ring in the 8th round of his fight against Hatton, two rounds before he achieved the knockdown. He had what it takes to execute. The flaw is much easier to see when someone with speed, force, and accuracy is able to lay it bare.
Manny Pacquiao Drops Rick Hatton in First Round


:26 Hatton tries to regain his composure, but there is nowhere for him to go. He can’t risk taking the lunge to get inside, and at distance Pac’s handspeed is almost comical. Hatton careens into the ropes, a look of pure haplessness on his face.

:08 Pacquiao scores the second knockdown on a straight left that connects through the glove to Hatton’s face. The only question after the first knockdown was if he could last the round, and he does an admirable job of taking a few punches, slipping a few, and is ultimately fortunate he goes down here. If he had managed to stay up a few more seconds Pac likely would have scored the killing blow. As the bell rings he tries for one more right hook but it comes up short.
Manny Pacquiao vs. Rick Hatton Second Knockdown

Round 2:

2:37 Hatton comes out aggressively and Pacquiao responds in kind. He seems to be pressing a little bit. At 2:37 he loads up on a huge left that overshoots the target and opens himself to a ragged counter shot by Hatton. He wanted to end it with this shot but started from a little too far away. This is the same shot that he uses later to finish the fight. He threw it with full force, but mistimed it slightly.

2:31 Pac throws a 1-2, the jab followed by the straight left. This is his money combination, the one that he used to wipe out Barrera and batter Marquez. It lands flush on Hatton’s nose. It’s the first time in the fight he leads with it, and it’s still as effective as ever.

1:45 Pacquiao throws a hard and brutal combination, a left uppercut beneath the ribcage and then a straight left to the face that partially lands. Hatton almost seemed as if he was getting back into the fight, but the way he immediately drops his right hand to cover up his side shows that the shot hurt him. Manny’s body punching has gotten much better over the years. Though he didn’t land many here, this one was a good one.



1:03 This is an important moment. Pacquiao again throws that supercharged overhand left, and this time he gets even closer. Manny throws it with full power and it lands on Hatton’s upper chest. It is the exact same sequence as the final blow. Hatton lunges with a weak jab to close the distance and Pacquiao slings it like a baseball pitch, just a few inches too low. You can hear the loud smack as Manny’s fist hits the collarbone. The first one at the beginning of the round missed by a good distance, this one was closer, it’s like he’s honing in, timing the target. One gets the feeling he could have more easily continued landing the right hook, but he knows there is little danger, and the more powerful left will end the show.

:33 Manny throws another left to the body, left to the head combination that badly wobbles Hatton. He is throwing with full power, no fear. He seems to want to end it in one shot, not the lighter, quicker combination punching he used to force the stoppage against De La Hoya.

:08 The knockout. Not much description needed. It was the same moment as 1:03. Hatton tries to jab his way in, in fact does land the jab, but he can’t close the distance and Manny connects with full power. Hatton drops his right hand, a silly mistake, but again, one that he always makes. Manny seemed to use those two earlier misses as measuring shots, coming closer and closer before he finally timed it right. This was no lucky shot. It was thrown with full force and bad intentions. You can hear Manny grunt as he throws it, the only time he did so the whole fight. It’s an amazing shot, the kind one dreams about.

Manny Pacquiao Knockouts Rick Hatton

People view Pacquiao as a kind of naïf, but nothing about this performance was thoughtless, he enacted a game plan with brutal and scientific efficiency. It reminded me of the Floyd Mayweather fight with Phillip Ndou. In that match Roger Mayweather told Floyd on the ringwalk that Ndou was open to the pull-counter, meaning a drawing back to avoid the jab followed by a counter right hand. Mayweather proceeded to execute the move with frightening precision. It’s one thing to see the flaw, to know the opening, it’s quite another to be able to make it flesh.

What does this tell us about future fights? There will obviously be time for this later, but in my mind Manny has two potential opponents. If Cotto beats Clottey next month the fight is possible, as they are both represented by Arum. Cotto was the one big welter I always thought Manny could beat, because he’s not huge, and he’s somewhat fragile. While we can save a closer analysis for this later, take a look at what happened the last time Cotto fought a left handed 140 pounder. This is poor quality, but check out the punch that lands at the 4:55 mark.



Yes, Cotto has clearly improved, but that punch sure looks familiar.

And the other fight, obviously, is Floyd Money Mayweather Jr. It’s almost too big to talk about yet, like cancer or all you can eat bananas. A year ago I wouldn’t have believed it, but who’s to say Pacquiao couldn’t do it. Look at this.



And this, at 1:05.


Another blatantly unfair video. I’m picking out a couple of moments over the course of a career, incidental contacts in rounds that Floyd probably didn’t even lose. I could find dozens where Manny was similarly vulnerable. And yet, a man that can execute with such precision… who’s to say it’s not possible? All it takes is a fist, in motion, at a specific point and time in a specific spot, and you have… word made flesh.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Everybody wants you to be just like them

While the rest of the world has moved on I’m still fixated on that explosive left. I’ve probably watched the fight two dozen times now and one starts to notice different things. For example that Pacquiao missed the exact same punch thirty seconds earlier by mere inches, landing hard on Hatton’s upper chest. For another, the sound. Not only at the moment of impact, but right before, a little grunt that Pacquiao makes as he loads up, planting his feet and swiveling his hips and exhaling just so, the sound that a man gives when he’s hard at work, straining, but in the moment.


I’ve been thinking about Angela’s post recently. What Pacquiao means to Filipino’s, they way he is of them, and conversely the ways he is foreign to us. Thinking back to my own infatuation with him I wonder how I truly saw him at the start; a potential great, or an amusing curiosity? He is different, and it’s hard to accept that.

Boxing has its’ familiar tropes; the old versus the young, the boxer versus the puncher, the physical versus the scientific, the matador versus the bull, and the boxer as extension of racial/national identity. We expect certain things from certain fighters; African American’s are athletic, slick, and cautious; Mexicans are body-punchers, destroyers, and unbreakable. Eastern Europeans are powerful, robotic, and deliberate; African’s are rough, crude, and super-tough. It’s profiling but it’s ingrained. The fans expect it and need it; it creates frameworks and narrative arcs. A fighter comes from a tradition, and that tradition turns mere tribalism into a kind of generational inheritance.


And that’s the thing about Pacquiao that made it so hard for him to reach this point; not only a superstar, an athletic hero and pugilistic curiosity, but a recognized and real-deal ring genius. We lack cultural antecedents. Excepting those from the distant past; Fighting Harada, Pancho Villa, Flash Elorde; there has been a certain kind of Asian fighter we’ve come to know recently. I’m talking about In Jin Chi, Duk Koo Kim, and the fighters we hear about in the midget divisions. They share a tradition of dour fearlessness, limited athleticism, and grim determination. Is it unfair to group a multiregional group of several billion people? Clearly it is, but boxing is all about comparisons and fantasy judgments, and it’s hard to break from the old guard.

And that’s why I feel it has been difficult for Pacquiao to get to that last step of greatness. The money is one thing, and his effervescent style and militant good-nature meant he would never have a hard time building a fan base; but hell, Ricky Hatton has legions but that didn’t get for him even the limited respect which he earned with results in the ring. The casual fan he has convinced, the ones who should know better are those he’s had the most trouble with. He simply doesn’t fit the right profile for a pound for pound king.

Ray Leonard, Marvin Hagler, Julio Ceasar Chavez, Pernell Whitaker, Evander Holyfield, Roy Jones, Oscar De La Hoya, Shane Mosley, Bernard Hopkins, and Floyd Mayweather. Over the past 25 years these were, for the most part, the pound for pound kings. I see two clear profiles; one is racial- black or Mexican- and the other is career paths-amateur great or long slow slog to acceptance. Pacquiao fits none of these categories, he is racially distinct and his explosive entrance to the mainstream following his first Barrera fight, wholly unexpected, didn’t follow the characteristic path. He was neither a pre-packaged superstar like Leonard, or Jones, or De La Hoya, or an underappreciated professional who could no longer be ignored, like Hopkins or Hagler.


Pacquiao burst onto the scene; deeply flawed but triumphant, like the romantic notion of the rural physicist, whom, outside the confines of the academy, uncovers a new theory, all ragged around the edges and unartful, but holding some new but deep and abiding universal truth. And the keepers of the flame snarl and scoff and point to the frays and failures, but the thing holds firm, and with work and patience and polish turns into something even more powerful and true. That was Pacquiao’s path, and I think it explains much of the hesitation. He came from outside the establishment. He broke the rules. People kept putting more and higher thresholds for him to cross and when he did it still wasn’t enough.

Much of it is the nature of things. I recently read a piece referencing thoughts of contemporary writers on Duran’s place as a lightweight. While universally recognized today as one of the three greatest ever, most experts hesitated to put him in the top ten. People are conservative, and those that know the most are often the last to see the obvious. A thing is what it is, they say.

And Pacquiao was that. All he had was the straight left and an excess of fight. They saw the leaky defense and the lunges: and in an amateur great - an ordained hero - they would have seen the potential for improvement, they would have marveled at the manifest gifts and made way for the polish of the years. True, he didn’t have the economy of motion that marked the greats, all flailing and flopping and raising of the arms as he rumbled back into the scrum. But since he popped out so unexpectedly, with no framework, there was no empathy, only conditions as he mowed down the greats. And they waited for the fall.

And many wait still, his flaws will tell. Hatton was made for him, De La Hoya was too old, and Diaz too limited. But all it is now is saving face. He might lose his next fight, they want to send him in with the lions, but he already stands atop a mountain of ordinary heroes, from where he stands there is no going back.

I exchanged emails with Graydon Gordian from the excellent Spurs blog a few weeks back. He told me that; “I have never been able to give myself over wholly to the Pac-man. Something about his personality, in particular his prolific smile, gives me pause.” That same smile which Angela found so charming, so personal and of her tradition was so foreign to him. In others a smile in the ring walk is cold, confident, intimidating. But Pacquiao’s is different, that of a child’s long awaited satisfaction, or of a simple man’s simple pleasure. I would say he had the temperament of a sociopath, the joy in battle and seemingly genuine fatalistic worldview, but I think it would be taking something from him. He is a revolutionary, but he is of something, a living worldview that I can’t place but is nonetheless profound and strong.

Usually the flash judgments and Johnny-Walker wisdom are deeply flawed, but Pacquiao is the exception. He’s a different special something, one that fades and is obscured by close analysis, easy to pick apart and dismiss; but that’s the difference between science and inspiration, or at least it’s the distance that connects them. There are times to look away from the telescope and at the stars. That’s Pacquiao.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

The National Fist

Today marks our first ever guest post at Boxiana. I'd like to profoundly thank Angela Garbes for her first-person account of the Pacquiao-Hatton fight. Check out her blog.


A week after the Pacquiao-Hatton fight, there are two things I can’t get out of my head.

First, a nagging chorus, thousands of British voices strong, singing—over and over—their Ricky Hatton cheer, to the tune of Winter Wonderland: “There’s only ooone Ricky Hatton! There’s only ooone Ricky Hatton! We’re walking along, singing a song, walking in a Hatton Wonderland!” It’s a persistent, beer-soaked, insipid song; it bullies its way into the brain and hangs around.

Then there is the smile of Manny Pacquiao—joyful, ear-to-ear wide and almost goofy, accentuating his flat, bridgeless nose, so irrepressible as to appear childlike, so natural it’s infectious. For a boxer, expected to appear stone-faced, stoic—purposefully intimidating, as Hatton surely did—Pacquiao’s smile is surprising, unnerving. Powerful.

It’s Pacquiao’s smile that actually matters, exposing that Christmas carol-cum-fight song as mere distraction, and promptly dismissing it from my mind.

The Pacquiao-Hatton fight was, without a doubt, the most exciting, passionate, and awesome sporting event of my life. The feeling remains in my bones long after the vibration and deafening ring of 16,000 screaming spectators has passed through me. Unsurprisingly, it was sensory overload. There was a constant barrage of improbable sights: a punch thrown so hard during an under card bout that it sent a mouth guard flying; the strange thrill of being able to spot Jack Nicholson in his ringside seat from far away; women in Lucite heels and gold glittered bikinis parading around with giant signs at the end of every round; sitting next to my uncle Xerxes, who had traveled all the way from Philippines to see this fight with his son, Xerxes Jr., whom he had not seen in six years; a little brown man knocking a bigger white man unconscious as though it was the easiest thing in the world.



* * *

I’ve always joked that Filipinos are the Rodney Dangerfield of the Asian world. Filipinos far outnumber Thai people in the United States, yet how many Filipino restaurants can you think of off the top of your head? Compared to other Asian countries, Filipino culture is not widely known. Filipinos are happy, hospitable people who love to eat, dance, and sing. The cuisine and way of life are not admired or celebrated the way, say, Japanese and Chinese are. Looking back, five hundred years of Spanish colonial rule left the Philippines without their native religion, the only Catholic country in all of Asia. And though the U.S. preferred to call it a “territory” rather than a “colony,” the Philippines spent the first half of the 20th century under American rule. People remember Imelda Marcos and her 3,400 shoes, but ask them to name another famous Filipino, and most come up short.

No respect. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t fierce pride.


It’s no exaggeration to say that Manny Pacquiao is a national hero, an icon. When PacMan fights, the Philippine Army call a truce with both the communist New People's Army and the Muslim insurgents in the south so that everyone can tune in. The Philippines is a poor country—40 percent of the population lives in abject poverty, and the economy depends heavily on the billions of dollars sent home annually by the millions of Filipinos working abroad. Anyone who’s watched the HBO 24/7 Pacquiao-Hatton is familiar with Pacquiao’s improbable rise to glory and wealth: he began working as a young boy, selling donuts on the streets of one of the poorest, most violent cities, General Santos, living in a dirt floor shack. There are no platitudes here: Pacquiao is a unifying figure, carrying the hopes and dreams of the Filipino people on his shoulders. What’s most striking is that Pacquiao is more than willing to take this on.

“All I’m trying to do is give happiness and joy to the people,” Manny has said. And after he destroys his opponents, Pacquiao says simply, “Nothing personal for me. Just doing my job.” You get the feeling he actually means it.



Consider Pacquiao’s nicknames. He is known as both “The People’s Champion” and, even better, “The National Fist.” When Pacquiao emerged from the locker room and made his way down the tunnel to the ring last week, shrouded in a Philippine-flag robe, all the while looking loose and excited, unable to stop himself from breaking into the occasional smile, he did so to the tune of “Lahing Pinoy” (translation: “The Filipino Race”), a rallying cry in the guise of a pop song whose opening line calls for the Filipino flag to be raised high, then instructs its listeners to shout to the world, “Filipino! Filipino! My race is Filipino!”

Now consider this: The singer of the song is Manny Pacquiao himself.

In true celebrity fashion, Pacquiao is dabbling in a singing career and has released a few singles in the Philippines. His best-known song is “Para Sa Yo Ang Laban Na To,” which translates to “This Fight’s For You.” The song, far from subtle, yet gently and reassuringly crooned, promises that Pacquiao will never surrender: “Even my life I will risk for you / I will protect you with my hands / This is the only plan I can think of / So that there will be unity among my fellow Filipino.”

* * *
Pacquiao not only represents the hopes of millions of people in the Philippines, but also millions of Filipinos and Filipino-Americans in the United States. Filipinos in the States are used to the idea that we can succeed, but what we’re not used to seeing is someone who actually looks like us succeed on such a high level. In America, the list of well-known Filipinos (mostly mixed race entertainers) stirs little excitement: Kirk Hammet from Metallica, that one guy from the Black Eyed Peas, Arnel Pineda, the guy who became the new lead singer for Journey via a reality television show, and rumored fractional Filipinos Dean Cain and Rob Schneider. But in Pacquiao, we have a rare thing: a Filipino athlete, a role model, someone who is the best in the world at what he does—someone that Jay-Z, Jack Nicholson, and New York Giant star Brandon Jacobs will pay thousands of dollars to see. A real deal celebrity.

But Pacquiao’s smile betrays him. When he flashes it, he seems as familiar to all Filipinos as an uncle or cousin. In the same way that I occasionally forget that I don’t actually know Barack Obama and have never had a conversation with him about basketball, it’s easy for me to feel like I know Manny Pacquiao, that I may have sung karaoke with him at a second cousin’s baby’s Christening party. It was barely a surprise to me when the young man in a Team Pacquiao windbreaker sitting next me on my return flight from Vegas to Seattle told me that he knew Manny. And that Manny had generously purchased fifteen tickets so he and his family could watch the fight together. And that while training in LA, Manny, despite his millions, lives in a small, crowded three bedroom apartment with ten other men, one of whom, Buboy, cooks all the food for them.

There is something wildly humble and down-to-earth about Pacquiao. ESPN boxing columnist Dan Rafael wrote about his experience watching a DVD of the Pacquio-Hatton fight with a gracious Pacquiao in his hotel room the day after. Pacquiao had not yet seen the fight, watching intently while working his way through a plate of steak and white rice. When the knockout punch was thrown, Pacquiao instinctually put down his fork and made the sign of the cross, praying that Hatton was ok, even though he knew Hatton was fine. This is no doubt exactly what countless old Filipino ladies watching the night before did.

Last week I came across this video of Pacquiao unwinding with this friends after a day of training. The two-and-a-half minute video is silly and mundane—Manny plays guitar and his friends lip synch and dance to a Filipino singer’s verision of “Lonely Teardrops.” A lamp goes out; the camera man is giggling the entire time; a paunchy man uses a banana as a microphone. But it brought a smile as wide as Manny’s to my face because, as any Filipino could tell you, this scene is likely to occur at any Filipino gathering, anytime, anywhere.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

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