When Pacquiao was whipped in the third round  causing him to momentarily fall on his back, I thought that he was already doomed.  Marquez may opt to run around in circle and preserved that advantage already.  Onwards the fourth and fifth round, Pacquaio gained ground and I suddenly regained my viewing composure, whispering to myself that Pacquiao was already on the road to victory.  And why not.  Marquez was for a while counted for nearly falling, let alone his arms propping up his posture.  That called for a mandatory count.  Deep in my heart, I thought that not only was Pacquiao winning but personally I am also a part of the bout, that I felt like I was riding high too.  I embraced the idea that on the sixth, Marquez would be a goner just like the famed Mexican pugilists before him.

I was already in the mode of congratulating myself, first, because I succeeded to have a cable and pay-per-view installed right in my living room two days earlier.  I was splayed lazily across the sala in my casual shorts and sando, a lighted cigarette on one hand and a hot simmering cup of coffee in another.  It was majestic relaxation after an ardous trip out of town.  There I was savoring the day and it would cap with some triumphant end.  That Sunday was for me a perfect day for myself.  I was about to win also.

And then the unimagined happened.  I was already rehearsing a loud “Yes!” when Pacquiao, who on the sixth round was already mowing down the defenses of Marquez and about to deliver the coup de grace when out of the blue, Marquez sprang forth with a short mighty right hand blow to the chin of Pacquiao.  It was barely a second left before the round ended.  Pacquaio fell down like a log as a consequence, face on the canvas, his left hand flayed and his right hand buried in his torso.  For a minute, he was likewise motionless.  I felt numbed and like Pacquiao, I was frozen, shocked and dazed.  Inquirer columnist Conrad de Quiroz was right when he quoted an instant message that Pacquiao did not only lost the bout,  he lost  his consciousness too!

Bob Arum after the game shouted “What a fight!”

For me, it  took a toll,  I was quite distressed,  I rose up from slumber, threw out my cigarette somewhere near the TV set, emptied the cold coffee including the mug  and yelled, “What a day!”

My heart bled for Pacquiao.


About vjtesoro

A perpetual student of Corrections

Posted on December 11, 2012, in Uncategorized and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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