The Great and Powerful Dionesia

Manny Pacquiao has been a gift to the boxing world. Everything from his wondrous rise from obscurity to sport’s icon enthralls us. He is the face of the Philippines, without peer in stature. He is without question a living national treasure. His pugilistic gifts have dazzled fight fans for well over a decade, making him the only eight-time world champion in history. His place among the boxing immortals is secure. 

However, there are no self-made men. No matter how epic the story, if we look close enough there is always someone or a community that has been at the center of it all. We know of Manny’s devoted wife, the lovely and stately, Jinkee Pacquiao, mother of his five adorable children. Win or lose, even during a rare scandal, she is always there. There is the story of Freddie Roach, the man behind the man, reads like a heart-warming novel. Broken down fighter turned trainer, schooled in the University of Hard Knocks, by none other than the late-great Eddie Futch. Roach, who had all but faded into the back pages of boxing lore, would to be revived by an unknown Asian dynamo whose feats would elevate him to the premiere trainer of the age. A six-time Ring Magazine Trainer of the Year.

Yet, as all great legacies go, there tends to be something more, something, rather special, even divine. Is it just the hard work? Perhaps. Yet, most fighters are hard workers. How many are eight-division champions? How many have achieved such heroic status? Manny Pacquiao is special indeed, but as the famous adage goes, “behind every great man there’s a great woman.” Enter the Great and Powerful Dionesia, mother of the mighty Manny Pacquiao. Unapologetically devout, Mother Pacquiao is zealous in her faith. As her iconic son does battle in the flesh, she gets to work in the spirit world, with her Holy Cross clasped within her firm grip, thrusting her entire being with a veracity that rivals her son, she implores the Almighty to push her beloved to victory, while surely giving Satan and company fits.

We may laugh and wonder how it is possible for Dionesia not to be a Reality TV brand by now. A quick visit to YouTube will dispel any doubt that Mama Pacquiao is Reality TV gold.  Yet, there’s something to be said about a mother whose care for her child exceeds the natural world. For “an ounce of mother is worth a pound of clergy,” so goes the Spanish Proverb. Faith and boxing are hardly strangers. Many a fighter would credit their particular faith with being the root of their success. As one can only imagine few athletes must call upon the intangibles as often as prize fighters do, thus, it is understandable why many are convinced that they are far more than mere flesh and bone; and I take it their mothers would agree.

I have yet to see a contest in the sport of boxing that hasn’t hosted an animated mother. It takes a special breed of mother to remove her child from the comfort and safety of her bosom into the belly of war. Yet, there they are, completely engaged, contending with their own fears for their child, all the while exhorting, undulating, and praying the warrior of their womb to victory.

© 2014 *Also featured on Boxing.com

Andre Ward and The Art of Cool

Cool is quiet power. Cool is unfettered self-assurance, a hyper awareness of who and what you are. Cool needn’t proselytize to all within earshot as to the value of its worth. Pseudo spectacles, brash exhortations, and cerebral tricks are unnecessary. For Cool just is and the brilliance it belies is always displayed in its perfect time. Such was the ascendance of Super Middle Weight kingpin Andre Ward. As he entered the Super Six Tournament to essentially determine “Da Man” at Super Middleweight along with such notables as Carl Froch, Arthur Abraham, Allan Green, and Mikkel Kessler. Few, if any believed Andre Ward would be a factor in the tournament. The castigations and doubts about America’s last male boxer to win gold at the Olympics (Athens Games 2004) began about as soon as he transitioned to the professional ranks.  “He’s soft,” they said. “He’s protected,” they said. Yet, as the supposed underdog of the Super Six tournament stepped through the ropes and dispatched foe after foe after foe after foe, as if not a single one were remotely in his league, it became clear to naysayers, talking-heads, scribes, and fans alike, that Andre Ward is the truth. He embarrassed Mikkel Kessler, who was the run away favorite, banished Allan Green, waded the whirlwind that is Sakio Bika, turned Arthur Abraham into stone, as he seemed to be a statue the entire fight unable to gage the precision of Ward’s jab, and had the audacity to enter the final match versus Carl Froch with a broken right hand and shut him down and out from the opening bell. There in lies the art of cool, knowing what the doubters don’t and schooling them one after another.

“You’re a lot taller than I thought,” were the first words out of my mouth upon recently meeting the champ. Nothing about Ward disappointed. He’s a real class act and graciously accommodated myself and other fellow star-struck fight fans with a few photos. Like other fighters I’ve been privileged to meet and discourse with, nothing about his manner would lead you to believe he makes his living beating people up.  “Perhaps that’s how he does it,” I thought. He purports himself with the charm of a choirboy ala Ray Leonard or Oscar Del Hoya. Must be something about those gold medals. You could just as easily mistake Ward for a news anchor or a banker. There’s nothing remotely threatening about him and I can only imagine never has there been an opponent he’s faced who’s not been traumatized by the pugilistic genius that emerges from that cool demeanor. Even tempered and measured in his words, we chatted a bit about the state of the game and of course, the question on every fight fan’s mind, “when are you returning to the ring?!” I can say unequivocally he looks ready to go and he confirmed as much, “I’m still in the gym, getting some good work in. I feel great.” If you check out his Instagram posts, @andresogward, you’re likely to see, among other things, Andre Ward taking Pilates, a practice he’s adhered to since his amateur days. “It’s not how strong you look, but how strong you actually are.” One of his Coolisms I’ll be certain to remind myself of the next time I attempt to work out, which will likely be never so I’m happy to pass it along to any of you would be gym rats.

Boxing is prize fighting first and foremost, so naturally the conversation about the sport and his present state veered toward his contentious rift with the recently departed Dan Goossen (Goossen hadn’t passed when I met Ward). Though visually disappointed about the situation, Ward uttered not a single disparaging word regarding the matter or Dan Goossen. I was actually more worked up then him. But, I suppose that’s Andre Ward. Even in the midst of an ordeal that has halted his activity in the ring, in his prime nonetheless, at a time when there is a demand to see him, he maintains his Cool, certain all things will work for his good. Who can blame him? After all, it always has.

© 2014 http://www.boxing.com/andre_ward_and_the_art_of_cool.html

Manny El Desperado

Once upon a time Manny Pacquiao reveled in adulation akin to the great Joe Louis. Easily the most exciting and beloved boxer of his era, i.e. no one paid to see him lose. For on those mighty diminutive shoulders he bore a people, an entire nation whose storied poverty and disenfranchisement found hope in the tale of the Filipino orange peddler turned international icon. That was then, this is now. Still collecting himself after that near murderous Marquez right hand, he’s relegated to grappling desperately for that glory he once knew. Gone are the days when he could simply defer to his famous promoter as to what the future might hold during those post fight interviews, the little giant from General Santos has fallen. At present, Manny Pacquiao is desperate; desperate for a victory that will reignite the public’s once ravenous excitement for the Filipino strong man, desperate for a significant payday as rumors of his eroding fortune mount, desperate as Father Time mercilessly closes in on an otherwise epic career. As such the calls for none other than Floyd Mayweather, Jr. have become uncharacteristically, well, desperate.

It’s rather prophetic if you’re Floyd Mayweather, Jr. as he is fond of reminding all within earshot, that “all roads lead to Mayweather.” Suddenly, those questions that once dogged him at every conceivable turn, “Are you going to fight Manny…What’s it going to take to get you and Pacquiao in the ring…?” have all but faded away. Thus, the finality of the most jarring moment in all of sports, the knock out, not only does it alter ones physical state, but, in an instant may alter the very trajectory of ones very existence. Once positioned to legitimately argue for handsome terms, Manny Pacquiao now finds himself much like all others, languishing at the foot of the throne with his band of loyalists and of course his famous promoter attempting to make a case for an encounter whose time has long past.

© 2014 http://www.boxing.com/manny_el_desperado.html

The Great Pretender?

We live in an upside down world where the spoils of fame and wealth are bestowed, not upon the authentically talented and hardworking, but, pretenders. Glorified socialites whose lascivious video-recordings go “missing” right into the public domain resulting in hit reality programming and merchandise. Suddenly, this person (and their family) of no particular ability or talent is worthy of cover stories, thus, the era where mere notoriety is the new talent. Sports and its luminaries often reflect the culture at hand. Jack Dempsey embodied the Roaring ‘20’s, as Muhammed Ali personified the Rebellious ‘60’s, as Mike Tyson and Sugar Ray Leonard reflected the Decadent ‘80’s. One might argue that Floyd “Money” Mayweather, Jr. is the face of this early 21^st Century era of The Great Pretender and counterfeit acclaim, but they would be wrong. Brash, swag, and a penchant for spectacle he may have in abundance, but Mayweather is no pretender, he remains a fighter first and foremost, wholly committed to his craft. The celebrity first-craftsman later model, which defined the now forgotten careers of American Footballers Terrell Owens and Chad Ochocinco, may very well be embodied in none other than, Adrien “The Problem” Broner.

Broner’s talent cannot be disputed. You don’t win 3 titles in 3 different weight classes and not possess something special. What is in dispute is how serious he is about his place in the sport. Judging from his last three outings Broner is at a serious crossroads and it has become glaringly obvious that neither he nor his handlers have yet to address it. Either he’s going to commit to his vocation and fulfill his massive potential or merely coast on his raw ability going the way of Naseem Hamed where celebrity supersedes craft. If Broner has learned anything from his declared “Big Brother” it should be this simple lesson: mere talent will not ensure you the keys to the throne. If Broner sincerely desires that top spot he claims to covet so, he will have to be about his business. Boxing is a jealous wench and is merciless to those who neglect her. She will not play sidepiece to fledgling rap careers, YouTube stardom, and sex tapes. His sole thrashing at the hands of Marcos Maidana was a warning and judging from his lack luster outings versus Emanuel Taylor and Carlos Molina he has yet to take heed.

Adrien Broner possesses the natural ability to truly distinguish himself among the elite, not merely of this era, but of all time. But, he’s got to want it.

© 2014 http://www.boxing.com/the_great_pretender.html

A Readable Moment

There’s always one. That kid who deflects our attention either through humor, wit, intimidation, or raw brilliance from an embarrassing truth. I remember that kid well. He was the class clown, who’d have you in stitches, even managing to conjure a chuckle or two from the teacher. But, there are but so many jokes before the truth comes is revealed. There he was, for all to see and hear, as if caught red handed for an egregious offense. Suddenly he wasn’t so funny. Suddenly he was tragically human. Every word he uttered was laborious and painful to hear. Words he should have known at least two, even three grades ago are a struggle to emit. A strained silence envelopes the class, accompanied by confusion, shock, even empathy. However, that will soon be overshadowed by the cruelty of children.

Recent allegations of Floyd Mayweather, Jr.’s struggles with literacy abound, due to former best friend now antagonist Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson’s rather unique ALS challenge. The allegations seemed to be confirmed after Power 105’s “The Breakfast Club” aired an archival recording of Mayweather reading, rather attempting to read a promotional “drop” for the station. The painful rendering has since gone viral. The cynic in me clearly sees this as Karma. Mayweather has made his fortune demeaning others leading up to his bouts, which one can write off as gamesmanship. However, if you’ve ever tuned into All Access or his social media exploits one will see this “gamesmanship” extends beyond actual opponents, as has been the case with Manny Pacquiao, Andre Ward, or a member of the Money Team.  

The social justice side of me rejects the notion that there is anything particularly funny about illiteracy. This sudden revelation of Mayweather’s literacy woes testifies to the greater reality that there are many other athletes, particularly at the collegiate level whose only worth is their physical prowess. One can relegate such a dilemma to a form of slavery. If not for their bodies, what are they without an adequate education? This might explain Mayweather’s legendary commitment to his craft. Perhaps this fear is what drives him. He is one punch, one career ending injury away from a frightening reality. I can’t help but believe that behind the brash and the obsession with wealth is that terrified poor kid from Michigan, with a severely limited education, who knows if not for those gifted hands, he’s back to that over crowded, underserved, dilapidated square one.

Education is liberty. The more you know the more you grow, the more you learn the more you earn, goes the adage. These bodies will betray, but education last a lifetime. The Oprah in me would like to believe Mayweather would see this moment as an opportunity. Now that he’s been outed, I believe he can do with this, as he is renowned for in the ring, deflecting what is meant to devastate him and countering with a powerful shot of his own. Imagine what would happen if Floyd Mayeather, Jr. owned this moment? Imagine the impact the world’s richest athlete and boxing’s brightest star could have if he didn’t just flash a massive check in reply, but actually committed himself to becoming literate and by doing so inspire other public figures to come forward?

Hi, I’m Floyd Mayweather, Jr. and I have a literacy problem.

Make no mistake, Mayweather, is not an anomaly, just take a gander at the social media musings of his fellow celebrities, including 50 Cent. It’s not like they are paragons of literacy either. Just think of the broad light he could shine on the inequities of our education system particularly when it comes to the poor, even further exposing the absurdity of many college athletic programs’ claims to encourage student athleticism? Mayweather has nothing to be ashamed of. When you consider his backstory, the legendary dysfunction that is his family, the fact that he is where he is, is the stuff of miracles. The shame would be if he ignored this moment completely and continued to peddle the lie that because he has a hefty bank account, for now, that somehow that’s all that matters. He would be failing himself, he would be failing his family, and the community of impressionable souls, both young and old who’d like to believe that lie.

As I see it, Mayweather has a tremendous opportunity to join that rare breed of star athlete who can transcend his sport socially. Affording him the opportunity to not simply be a significant sports figure, but a man of significance.

© 2014