While it was Manny Pacquiao who brought me to the MGM Grand in Las Vegas countless times, it was ALA Boxing that took me there the very first time back when I was still a wide-eyed scribe in March 1996.
Edito “Ala” Villamor was the flag-bearer of the Cebu-based stable and I “worked” his corner in what turned out to be his last fight.
When he challenged Mexican champion Ricardo Lopez for the World Boxing Council strawweight title underneath the Mike Tyson-Frank Bruno headliner, I was among the handful of men who escorted Villamor to the ring.
Yes, you read it right. This guy was handed the trademark black sweater that had the fiery red ALA Boxing Club emblazoned on front so he could pass as one of the Filipino challenger’s seconds and cover the fight from a different perspective.
Aside from chief trainer Juanito Ablaca, in the corner were Villamor’s chief handler Tony Aldeguer, Japanese boxing man Joe Koizumi and Argentine cutman Miguel Diaz.
On the giant screen above the ring, I saw moving pictures of myself far from looking cool, calm and collected.
Instead, I appeared twitchy, bothered and uncomfortably conscious.
Realizing that my family, relatives, friends and co-workers were most likely watching in the Philippines, I attempted to hide my fears.
I tried to stay composed by yelling at Villamor just like what Bundini Brown did to Muhammad Ali, taunting him to give his foe a taste of hell so as to appear as if I was used to being under the klieg lights.
Moments later, referee Joe Cortez finally summoned Lopez and Villamor as well as their lead trainers at ring center for the last-minute instructions.
I took it as a signal for me to find my place below the corner and assume my post as the holder of the spit bucket.
Then, the bell rang and I found myself holding onto the metal thingy, sandwiched by the placid pair of Diaz and Koizumi.
Just a few rounds into the contest, I knew where it was headed. Lopez was simply dazzling; and Villamor was bedazzled.
In round eight, I momentarily took a glance at the crowd to feel the vibe when someone within earshot let out a three-syllable mashup of a scream and a shriek, the sound a man might make at the sight of an elderly person being run over by a speeding truck.
I knew what had happened.
A hybrid hook-uppercut that landed on Villamor’s jaw put an end to his bold bid to become a world champion.
As I was sharing a room with Villamor, I saw him apply a warm compress on his chin just before we headed down to the lobby to encash his check.
Villamor then immediately went up to see Aldeguer in his room, which was eerily silent, to determine the extent of the deductions.
Aldeguer told Villamor not to worry about his cut because he didn’t want to deduct even a single cent.
The fighter then suddenly bowed his head and sobbed almost uncontrollably.
Aldeguer took him in his arms to console him.
That’s what ALA Boxing is all about, that sadly now, is also a thing of the past after the pandemic put an end to its operations.
