What will you do, Juan Manuel Marquez? A lonely nation turns its boxing eyes to you on Saturday night. You are the last hope for Mexico against the dreaded Mexicutioner, Megamanny Pacquiao.
One by one, legend by legend, he has put your champions into retirement. One by one, he has carried the Philippine flag to glory against bandera de Mexico.
Juan Ma, please hear our cry, v-i-c-t-o-r-y!
Do you wish to know about who is counting on you?
Guadalajara. Where the women have those gorgeous eyes.
Distrito Federal, Mexico City. Big, sprawling, brawling capital city.
Cancun, where the sun shines and the Spring Breakers party on.
Tijuana, border playpen where you must be at least age 11 to drink alcohol.
Marvelous Monterey, Mexico?s Chicago, an industrial giant where the captains of industry and the pobrecitos all eat cabrito.
Culiacan, Sinaloa, home of our greatest ring legend, Julio Cesar Chavez.
Puebla, where the mole poblano delights the palette.
Ciudad Juarez, across the river from El Paso.
Puerto Vallarta, another holiday paradise.
Mexicali, gritty border outpost.
Mazatlan, paradise on the Pacific.
Cabo San Lucas, ditto.
Merida.
Palenque.
Oaxaca.
Chihuahua.
Acapulco, where the young boys dive off the cliffs to earn pesos.
Leon.
Zacatecas.
Cozumel, where the waters are magnificent and so are the ruins.
Ruins, did someone say ruins.
Hey, Juan Manuel, we are the Mexican people. We are counting on you to leave Manny Pacquiao in ruins.
You are our final hope.
Take off your sombrero and then take Pacman?s head off.
Viva Marquez! Viva Mexico!
