All this trouble, all this michegos (Yiddish), in the Manny Pacquiao camp, will it affect how the Pinoy Idol performs when he fights Miguel I’m No Angel Cotto Nov. 14 in Las Vegas?
Isn’t that really the bottom line. I mean, I enjoy stirring the promotional pot and watching other pundits do the same, but maybe at the end of the day we should take the Nevada approach to any citizen’s personal habits which is the “who cares, if it doesn’t scare the horses” outlook.
If you’re Pacman’s age (turning 31 come December) or younger, all the sturm und drang (German) might have you think about the S.S. Pacquiao that the ship be sinking.
I wouldn’t agree. I’d say that the Good Shop Lollipop has just taken on some bilge water due to the tug of war between various role players who work for Captain Megamanny. It’s nothing some heavy lifting and big buckets can throw overboard to lighten the load.
Uncle Bob Arum agrees with me, another sign of his innate intelligence.
“Kid’s play,” Arum said when I asked him if the Packy camp was rife with dissension.
Arum would know more than I would although we were both front and center at the Traveling Muhammad Ali Circus.
Arum promoted various Ali bouts, some in exotic locales, and he watched with amazement at the inner workings of what I later labeled (New York) Ali’s Free Ring Circus.
On the surface, at least, everyone in Manny’s camp has some job description related to boxing.
Maybe all furtive Canadian Michael Koncz does is play the Western Union boy, delivering messages to and from Manny and Top Rank. Oh, I forgot, he’s also trying to stab Coach Freddie Roach in the front, back and sideways but only when he is awake.
Does it mean much? Again, I think not.
You want confusion, turmoil, fragging and internal disarray? The Ali Entourage took the cake in that category and Ali savored every moment of it.
Let’s start with Echoman, which was my name for Ali’s brother, Rahaman. Ali made his brother give up his own ring career because Rahaman made Bobby Pacquaio look like Flash Elorde at his peak.
From then on, Rahaman stood at his brother’s side and was a personal parrot for the champ.
Someone once asked Muhammad what his brother’s exact gig was.
“He gets $50,000 a year and that ain’t bad for driving and jiving,” Ali said.
Then there was the character with the movie camera who never took the lens cap off. The camera was a front as his real chore was importing ebony lovelies to “socialize” with the champion and his court.
That job became more specialized as one guy drove the girls from the airport and a second had to return them to the airport.
Drew “Bundini” Brown was the court jester, the guy who made Ali laugh. Ali used to fire him almost on a monthly basis and rehire him after a tearful plea.
There were cooks, massage therapists (stoic Cuban Luis Sarria) and assorted others who came and went. Some got canned but kept returning like boomerangs.
Getting the axe with Team Ali was more like getting a sudden vacation.
Through it all, trainer Angelo Dundee kept his balance. Even when the Black Muslims were blasting all Caucasian as “white devils,” Dundee kept on rolling.
Ali was asked why he, as a black separatist and follower of way out and whacky Elijah Muhammad, would retain Italian American Dundee as his top boxing guru, Ali had two stock answers.
“Angelo, he ain’t white, he’s Italian,” Ali would crack.
Or: “Because he has the complexion and the connection to get me the proper affection.”
So, as Pac World spins on its axis, I offer this prediction…
Coach Roach will be riding high in the saddle until Pacman reaches his finish line.
So grab some popcorn, Paclanders, and watch the carnival unfold.
It’s amusement for all ages.
