GLADIATOR SPORT

I watched a Manny Pacquiao match just once. I had never seen the Filipino whom the whole world had been admiring do what he is famous for – boxing. By the second round, Pacquiao knocked out his British opponent. Everyone in the house of my friend where I watched roared with excitement along with a myriad of spectators in the arena where the fight was held and from where it was telecast. Actually, I was already watching a replay. Earlier that day, privileged Filipinos watched the fight live on cable television through a pay-per-view arrangement, the first time that I had heard of such a telecast arrangement. I was in my friend’s house to rehearse a song that I had composed, and not to watch a Pacquiao match. But everyone in the house dropped what he or she was doing, including my friend, who was my pianist, and rushed to the television to watch the replay of Pacquiao’s phenomenal win.

Before this Pacquiao fight, the last time that I saw a real boxing match was when I was 11 years old, when the whole country was excited over the “Thrilla in Manila” match of Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier. Although we lived near the Araneta Center, where that monumental match was held, my parents, brother, and I just watched the replay of that boxing match on television, which then was still black-and-white. I watched a “Rocky” movie. I watched “Cinderella Man.” I watched “Million-Dollar Baby.” Gripping movies where the lead stars played the role of being boxers, but still I knew that the boxing fights in these movies were staged and no one was really hurt in the making of the film and the stories were more on the drama rather than on boxing. But watching a real boxing match, now that I am a parent, gave me the feeling that there was something wrong as people cheered while one human inflicted physical pain on another human. For people to be jubilant when a person is knocked down after hard fist blows on his skull, eyes, and ribs is, and I know millions of people will disagree with me, inhuman.

Being a mother, I know how precious life is. How can countless millions of people bet on the life of a person through a sport that inflicts violence? “He’s okay. He earned millions of dollars even though he lost,” said my friend, the host of the house, as I shook my head perplexed at the values that modern-day humans have that haven’t changed since the days of gladiators fighting to their death and Christians being fed to the lions as forms of entertainment. Although popular boxing has rules to ensure that the boxers don’t make fatal blows on their opponents, still the sport of boxing, which has become one of the sports where the Philippines has emerged as the very best in the world, is a sport hinged on inflicting violence on another human.

But Pacquiao is considered a national hero, the Pambansang Kamao, meaning, “the national fist,” honored by the highest officials of the country. He is the pride of the Filipinos, especially after that recent 2-round boxing match when the whole world started calling him “the pound for pound best boxer in the world.” He is really an amazing fighter; his body reflects his disciplined training. Even the most God-fearing among Filipinos admire this man, never mind the violence, which seems to be a non-issue to his admirers.

I see him in commercials endorsing health and family-oriented brands, and more commercials with him as the endorser come out after each win. Children emulate him and go around bouncing and pouncing, imagining themselves as their idol Pacquiao. But is this really the sport that we want our children to watch, get excited about, and imagine themselves to be good at? I wonder.