THE GOLDEN BOY has plenty of fame and at least as much fortune. In a sport where athletes tend to age in dog years, he is 35 and exceedingly well-positioned for life beyond 36. He does not need to do this.
But the Golden Boy believes he must put his perfect face, with its perfect teeth and perfect smile, in dark and dangerous places. It’s a quest for respect he can feel, a deep longing for the embrace of those who matter most.
So the man with practically everything he could want chases what he does not, and cannot, have.
Oscar De La Hoya wants what his opponent Saturday night, Manny Pacquiao, has ? in spades. The Golden Boy, after 16 years as a professional, most of them as champion, fights in hopes of someday being showered with the complete and total acceptance of his people. He has the love of many, but he wants them all. He wants to be their prince.
So obsessed is De La Hoya with this impossible dream that, craving the kind of unrestrained adulation directed toward Pacquiao, he is willing to fight a symbol, knowing there can be no genuine victory.
“At this stage of my career,” De La Hoya said when the pre-fight promotional campaign swung through the Bay Area, “I can make a strong argument and say what the hell am I going to win here? He has everything to win. I have everything to lose.” Points for recognition, because if the Golden Boy’s hand is raised during this 12-round welterweight bout on HBO Pay Per View, it’s because, well, he picked on a little guy; Pacquiao began his career at a jockey-like 106 pounds. Inasmuch as De La Hoya is a natural welterweight (147 pounds), this wouldn’t be a display of his courage. It would be an example of bullying.
Should De La Hoya (39-5) lose to a smaller man who in the ring conveys all the characteristics he would like to, it validates not only the tepid support among hard-boiled Mexicans but supports the contention of purists who point out that the Golden Boy’s 0-5 against great fighters in their primes and question his credentials as a true legend.
In either case, Pacquiao emerges heroic, while the hearts of many remain cold toward De La Hoya.
Pacquiao (47-3-2) is considered the best pound-for-pound boxer in the world. He has moved up five times ? though never to this level ? and has been superb at every level. He has a fabulous blend of confidence, skill, power, speed and courage. For all these reasons, Pac-Man is the most popular Filipino alive ? royalty in the Philippines and among Filipinos around the world.
Meanwhile, De La Hoya senses that some of his own always will spit on his persona, declaring him less than authentic, a cleaned-and-pressed sellout. Despite being the son of Mexican immigrants, growing up in a roach-infested apartment in the East Los Angeles ‘hood, De La Hoya’s always been a bit too Beverly Hills for the “keep it real” crowd. The Golden Boy knows his chardonnay image doesn’t play well to a crowd proud of its beer and tequila. This partly explains why he sought out as partners in this venture such companies as Tecate (beer) and Cazadores (tequila) ? both of which offer $20 rebates to the minimum PPV fee of $54.95. Still, there is his boxing. De La Hoya doesn’t fight; he boxes. He’s too careful for those who want flying fists and the sight of blood. He bores them. Even in his finest moments, times of sheer ring dominance, the Golden Boy rarely projects the kind of machismo so many find irresistible. Then, too, there is De La Hoya’s 0-5 record when sharing the ring with the best of the best, in their primes.
Thus explains why in 2002, so many Latinos lined up behind crude Fernando Vargas, the brash thug who lacked De La Hoya’s polish and pizzazz ? but couldn’t take his punches.
And why so many Latinos now have lined up behind Pacquiao, who earned respect by beating a string of highly regarded Mexican fighters. More to the point, Pac-Man does it in the style they admire ? that of a bold, brave, risk-taking warrior. Like, say, Antonio Margarito, the welterweight champion whom De La Hoya avoids like a live grenade.
The Golden Boy is stylish, a wonderful boxer. He’s a champion. Yet he wants more. Too bad he can’t get it in Las Vegas on Saturday night or, in all probability, any other night.
