EDITOR’S NOTE — International Boxing Examiner Marvin Dumon is self-publishing “Manny Pacquiao: An All-Time Great” this month. He asked me to write a foreward to be excerpted in his book. Faithful readers may recognize parts of it from my December 2008 post “A Pacquiao Primer for Americans: Why Filipino’s Mystique is No Mystery.” Here is the foreward:
Manny Pacquiao may not be one of the 10 best boxers of all time technically, but he has reached the top 10 in boxing’s all-time pantheon just the same by provoking heavy interest in where he stands.
Historians may assess Pacquiao in terms of his resemblance to boxing’s Henry Armstrong, but what brings on the intimations of immortality is his resemblance to jazz’s Louis Armstrong, a striking combination of god and human.
Like Satchmo, PacMan is dazzling and knows it, yet humility drives his charisma while sometimes obscuring his subtle leadership skills. Pacquiao takes pains to convince us he is maximizing his potential, as the jazz trumpeter/bandleader did in his youth. Nevertheless, Manny often has to hold his head high in the face of indignities he doesn’t deserve to suffer, so many that he has to pick his battles carefully, as Armstrong did.
Make no mistake: Pacquiao’s skill in the ring is also prodding us to evaluate where he stands all-time. Pacquiao is an impossibly quick left-hander who forces non-stop action and lands power punches with the quickest release in the sport. He is resourceful and versatile. He takes a solid punch and is never deterred. At the very least, he is widely acknowledged to be the best Asian boxer ever, and his march through higher weight classes as he reached his 30s has certified his once-shakier bona fides.
But it’s the intangibles that elevate Pacquiao.
No. 1 is that Pacquiao is the most revered living person in the Philippines, population 90 million, and is leading a burgeoning parade of other Filipino stars. He is heavily involved in politics there, although the wisdom he projects makes that sideline seem almost beneath his dignity.
He is winning the hearts of boxing’s other important constituencies as well. He has worldwide renown.
Mexicans, for example, embrace his determined, courageous style (even though he is nicknamed “The Mexicutioner”) and they recognize his plaintive qualities that citizens of the two nations share. Mexicans freely compare him to the likes of Vicente Saldivar, Carlos Zarate and Ruben Olivares.
As for the United States, we can compare him to the likes of jazz immortals. Sugar Ray Robinson’s glory during the height of jazz’s success made that connection important to boxing. Maybe Pacquiao is more like Thelonious Monk than Louis Armstrong or Miles Davis, but he fits in there somewhere.
That the jazz-boxing connection would amplify the black fighters in the pantheon is beside the point where Pacquiao is concerned. For a man whose father famously ate his dog, there is no question about Pacquiao’s bona fides in the blues department: That cat got soul.
Such is Pacquiao’s transcendence beyond boxing. His appeal mixes an earnest everyman’s rise from poverty and obscurity with an aura of mysticicm that isn’t usually a component of boxing but is not unknown historically.
Not many of us today have a clear conception of Pacquiao’s historical doppelgangers. We know that Henry Armstrong managed to rule three weight divisions in the late 1930s, but how many of Hammerin’ Henry’s fights have any of us seen, how much footage from his featherweight period?
By most accounts, Henry Armstrong’s strong overall boxing skills were overshadowed by an aggressive style that could be overwhelming. When he lost to a taller, younger Robinson late in his career, Armstrong conceded that he “wouldn’t have beaten him on my best day,” but losses didn’t diminish Armstrong’s legacies, much as they won’t diminish Pacquiao’s.
He’s allowed to lose now and then, whereas many aren’t. Pacquiao’s one loss of consequence (his two early defeats can be explained away) before his move to the higher weights came against Erik Morales, and it was easy to forgive.
It came on the heels of what until 2008 was Pacquiao’s signature fight. Challenging the imperious Mexican featherweight legend Marco Antonio Barrera in 2003, Pacquiao was barely billed in what was seen as filler on Barrera’s schedule. As Pacquiao, moving up in weight class from super-bantamweight, quickly proved he was too fast for Barrera to handle, it first seemed Barrera merely might be hard-pressed to win a decision, but by mid-fight Barrera was far worse off than that. The little underdog was humiliating Barrera and it became thinkable he might stop him. Which he did, in the 11th round. This breakthrough was discussed at many a water cooler the following Monday in the United States. There was something compelling about this Filipino water bug.
In the loss to Morales, he was badly cut and in fact the bout should have been declared no-contest because of a head butt. But he fought valiantly and nearly pulled out the fight. It was a loss, yet it underscored Pacquiao’s success against Barrera.
Although many of his subsequent victories were not as convincing as the Barrera breakthrough, Pacquiao emerged victorious in two more brawls with Morales and against Juan Manuel Marquez (twice), Jorge Solis, Oscar Larios, and Barrera (again). Even if you think Marquez deserved one or both verdicts, Pacquiao seems undiminished by that ambiguity.
And all the while he has projected humility, in stark contrast to Bernard Hopkins’ haughtiness with streaks of racism, Oscar De La Hoya’s aristocratic charm, and the cynical smugness of Floyd Mayweather Jr. It was while Roy Jones Jr. was recklessly squandering his aura of invincibility in recent years that Pacquiao has risen to No. 1 or at least paralleled Mayweather in a tie atop the standings. Pacquiao doesn’t belittle his own skills, but he’ll never shout “I’m the greatest.”
Our conception of Louis Armstrong today is humble, too. Unfortunately, it’s the caricature of himself he became in his final decade, obscuring the magnitude of his trumpet playing and overall musicianship.
Pacquiao seems unlikely to outlast his welcome. He’ll set a date to retire fairly soon, acquit himself well in his final fights, and leave the boxing scene without second thoughts, thereby adding to the dignity that defines his greatness.
