Para sa'yo / ang laban na 'to

Today, I woke up to Manny Pacquiao behaving like a gentleman toward Barrera. I guess I understand why, superficially -- Mexican dude looks like a bulldog na pinagsarahan ng pinto. And there Manny was, who minutes ago was grinning with barely contained excitement, working the crowd to the tune of his ballad, and now, in the ring, hesistant and flighty, none of his "Wee! Wee! Ima punch you now, motherfucker!" attitude. Maybe it's the training camp. Maybe he's thinking of that hot chick who sang the Mexican National Anthem. Who knows?

In the end -- a forty minute fight turned into a two-and-a-half-hour spectacle complete with ad blitzkrieg -- he won, a unanimous decision.

After the fight, Mario Lopez asked him: "Do you have anyone in mind right now to have a fight with in the future?"

"Tonight, I'm going home to the Philippines to celebrate."

And then we said, "Okay, thanks, bye bye Marc."

Hay. It's okay. We love you and all that jazz. Go, Manny. Though I now feel nothing but fear at the havoc you'll wreak in the Philippines once you get back here. Ads galore, another run for politics, seventeen and a half albums. Plus a music video or two.

But Barrera won me over with his, um, stoicism. The interview with Mario Lopez, though I forget the details now, showed a quiet man, a dignified man, who, though he lost the fight, knew, without evident arrogance, that he did the best he could do, he had a great run as a boxer (he retires after this), people loved him and there's always the chance of hooking up with that Mexican National Anthem chick. He's not a detestable opponent. (I remember gesticulating wildly with a bottle of beer at Morales' crushed yet otherwise still muy caliente mug, in indignation and, well, haha, national pride.) Good job, Mr. Bulldog, sir.