Manny and Roy -- Peas in a Pod

Pacman fever seems less infectious after Manny Pacquiao's third-round knockout of Erik Morales last week than it was after he defeated Morales in January or when he beat Oscar Larios last July. That's not a huge surprise, considering there was nothing particularly thrilling about the way Manny beasted Morales this time around. Pacquiao avenged his previous loss to El Terible in the January fight, which made it a huge cause for celebration, and while no one expected Larios to be much of a challenge for Pacman, the mere fact that the fight was held in Manila guaranteed that the local hype machine would be set on overdrive.

Although the Pacquiao-inspired euphoria has been less widespread and enduring than after his previous fights, it hasn't stopped Filipino sports journalists from going Buckwild in their Manny-worship. One of the Solar Sports commentators at latest Morales fight called Manny the pound-for-pound best fighter in the world. While Manny looks like he's probably the best fighter at 129 pounds, anyone who thinks he's better than Floyd Mayweather Jr. needs to cut down on the hallucinogens. However, the bogus pound-for-poung claim made me realize just how much Manny Pacquiao has in common with the former pound-for-pound king, Roy Jones, Jr.

I think I see Roy Jones Jr. somewhere in the background!

For starters, both fighters have a passion for that grand, old sport of kings, cockfighting. Oh wait, horse racing is the sport of kings, not cockfighting, which is more like the international pauper's pastime. Anyplace where you can find men who smoke a lot and love gambling, you'll find cockfighting, or sabong, as it's called in Tagalog. Although in the Philippines, even the richest robber barons in the country aren't above rolling up their sleeves, strapping a couple razor blades to their roosters' talons and sending them into battle. Pacquiao, who comes from a humble background in Mindanao's General Santos city, is filthy stinking rich now, but rather than developing a taste for polo and squash, Pacman has stayed true to his roots and reputedly bought hundreds of fighting cocks to breed and send into battle, and, I presume, also to provide employment for his male family members. It's sort of like Manny's miniature version of the New Deal. Instead of public works projects and the Tennessee Valley Authority, we have a clan of Pacquiaos feeding the roosters, training them, breeding them, and making sure they're game for battle. Roy Jones Jr. was one of the last public figures in the United States willing to stand up for cockfighting. He was a serious breeder for years until Congress made it illegal to own fighting cocks even if they never fought within the United States. Most famously, Roy beat James Toney with a right hook out of a crouching, hesitation move that he said he learned from watching gamecocks go at it.

Must be the Money!

But the true mind-meld between Manny and Roy Jones Jr. is found not in the cockpit arena or the boxing ring, but on the microphone. Both are accomplished singers. Being Filipino, however, Manny may not have a choice. In the United States, we laughed at Eddie Murphy, Bruce Willis and Deion Sanders when they recorded terrible records. In the Philippines, if you're famous and don't have a song, then you really aren't famous. Pacquiao's endorsement deal with X-treme Magic Sing videoke machines probably also figures into his recording career. Think of the synergy potential in the TV commercials. Manny Pacquiao, the magic sing "Champion sa Kantahan," can sing the videoke version of the Manny Pacquiao hit, "Para sa'yo ang Laban na 'to." In English, that's "This Fight's For You." The song is a straight-up monster ballad, the kind you might hear on a 1980s rock compilation like the ones advertised on Spike TV around 3:17 a.m. The only difference is that passion in Manny Pacquiao's voice, that deep-set emotion that says "I love my people, I fight for them" and sounds like a whiny hinge. Roy puts a lot of feeling into his music, too, but his style is less heart-felt and inspirational. Instead, Roy's "Y'All Must've Forgot" is a musical version of a round in the ring with Jones Jr. He's furious, attacking you relentlessly with shattering blows and guttural, cringe-worthy noises. In as much time as it would take for Roy to knock you out in a fight, you'll be wishing you were unconscious after listening to his music.

Here are a couple YouTube clips, one of Roy's legendary video for "Y'All Must've Forgot," which is notable for pretty much everything in it, but the numerous close-ups of Roy doing the soulful head nod with his eyes closed and the shots of Roy's sons wearing his championship belts are visual haiku at its finest. Also hilarious is Jones' boast at the end about beating Vinny Pazienza, which is akin to Michael Jordan bragging after outplaying Vernon Maxwell or George W. Bush talking smack after winning a primary against Alan Keyes. Sadly the Pacquiao song doesn't have a real video on YouTube, but since it absolutely must be heard, I'm posting a bizarre spoof video that plays the song in its entirety.

What's next for Pacquiao and Jones Jr.? The parameters of the answer are limited only by one's imagination. Jones could re-patriate himself in the Philippines and bring a little of his Dirty South gamecock wizardry to Pacquiao's flock of cocks. That hardly seems unlikely, however. I'm shooting for the stars -- I want a Christmas duets album.

Magaling si Manny!

I took this photograph Saturday afternoon, in anticipation of Sunday morning's rubber match in the trilogy between boxers Manny Pacquiao and Erik Morales. I meant for the photograph to display the widespread madness Filipinos display while supporting their countryman Pacquiao. And the image still serves that purpose. However -- and as anyone who saw Pacman basically end Morales' career with a third round knockout will probably attest -- this photo is a near-perfect visual metaphor for Manny's performance in the fight. He flattened Morales.

Long Overdue Return -- Why the UAAP is not for me

One of the comments on my last post chastised me for writing long-winded diatribes on the sad state of Philippine journalism while far more vital events -- the men's UAAP basketball finals between Ateneo de Manila University and the University of Santo Tomas -- were transpiring.

Point taken. About half of what I write on this blog concerns Philippine basketball, and I shouldn't ignore one of the most ballyhooed basketball events in the country, even if I find UAAP basketball about as compelling as the Alan Thicke E! True Hollywood Story. College basketball in the Philippines, as in America, enjoys this reputation of being more pure than professional basketball. The season is shorter, the players aren't paid (although in the UAAP, many of them already play professionally in the PBL and most are getting cash under the table from some big-timer), and the fact that college teams stink compared to professional ones makes for exciting, unpredictable outcomes.

Back home in the States and here in Manila, I don't buy it. I prefer watching the best players ply their trade, not the scrappiest or the most passionate. Watching some of the boneheaded plays in last September's UAAP finals was just plain frustrating for me.

The Ateneo Blue Eagles, the Duke Blue Devils of the Philippines. And that's not a good thing.

Start with game one, where Ateneo managed to win by one on a last second lay-up. The Studio 23 broadcast showed Coach Norman Black set up a play for Ateneo's top senior, JC Intal, to shoot a potential game-winning jump shot. UST's wunderkind pivot-man, Jervy Cruz, must have read Norman's mind, because he was so desperate to guard the jumper he left Doug Kramer alone under the basket to chase another Ateneo player up at the high post. Ateneo lobbed an inbound pass to Kramer for what might have been the easiest game-winner in the history of basketball. And, on a related note, the musclebound Kramer looked a lot more awkward shooting that lay-up than he does modeling underwear for Bench, the Philippines' answer to the Gap. It's hard to imagine pros blowing a game this way. I just want to see the game played well, and as unpredictable as that play was, it wasn't very good basketball.

Let's jump ahead to the deciding game three, which UST won in overtime. It's a wonder that they managed to win, given that they played the most mindless defense imaginable against Intal, who torched them over and over again in the fourth quarter. I've been matched up with Intal in pick-up games. The guy is a tough cover -- 6'4'', real long, quick first step and an excellent extension to the hoop. What does that mean? If you don't block his path to the basket, he's going to take one hard dribble and be at the rim, and there's nothing you can do about it. UST let Intal glide to the bucket with the ball in his right (strong) hand on about five straight possessions. He scored or got fouled on several of them. How does this happen? A strong offensive player gets to go to his number one move time after time? Why not force him left? He was on the right side of the floor, so forcing him left would have had the added benefit of forcing Intal to the middle, where other defenders should be able to help. Yet these simple strategies were ignored every time, and every possession was like watching instant replay. Intal catches the ball on the right wing, gives his defender an inside-out hesitation dribble, pretending to go from right to left but keeping the ball in his right hand, then takes one dribble to the hoop for a good shot.

J.C. Intal. Good player. Better model.

How did Santo Tomas manage to win the game while playing such crummy defense? This seems like quite a conundrum, but we're not dealing with Fermat's enigma here. Ateneo's defense was just as bad. UST had its crunchtime scorer, Jojo Duncil, who's a wing player like Intal but cut from a different mold. Intal is more athletic, a better slasher and finisher at the hoop. Duncil has a shiftier handle and an array of deceptive headfakes he uses to set up pull-up jump shots from 15-18 feet. How would the thinking man defend Duncil? Stay in front of him, make him work hard for his shots, and most of all, DON'T JUMP ON HEAD FAKES! How did Ateneo's defenders tackle the assignment? Like a band of human pogo sticks. They jumped at every fake. Maybe once, Duncil's defender didn't bite on the first pump fake. So Duncil faked again and the defender went flying. Duncil waited for the guy to come down and calmly sank his jump shot. At the end of the game, UST won not because they played good team defense to shut down Ateneo's top players, but because their guy got hot at the right moment and made a couple more shots over crappy defense than Ateneo's guy made over equally inept defending.

The UAAP, it's FAN-tastic.

It's clear that I'm not the greatest admirer of UAAP basketball, however, in terms of pure spectacle, it beats anything the PBA puts on except for certain Barangay Ginebra games. Traffic was at a standstill throughout Cubao starting at 10 a.m. the morning of the final game because of students and alumni blocking the streets. The game didn't start until 7 that evening. Towards the end of regulation and throughout overtime, when the lead changed hands on almost every possession, all 16,000+ fans in the Araneta Coliseum had their rosaries out. They screamed like banshees during the game and prayed during the timeouts. Whenever a team fell behind, it's fans would start crying. When Ateneo finally lost, the players took it like a death in the family. They solemnly waved away TV cameras, bawled inconsolably in the arms of former Ateneans Rico Villanueva and Rich Alvarez and then pumped their fists to the beat of Ateneo's alma mater with tears streaming down their agony-ridden faces.

Meanwhile, a bizarre, overtly religious celebration was taking place on the UST side of the court. One fan was waving a wall-size poster of Pope John Paul II in front of coach Pido Horencia and his players, who were mobbing each other with hugs.

At UAAP games, the energy is infectious and the passion is overpowering. Unfortunately, the basketball rarely lives up to the atmosphere created by the crowds.