Everybody inside the public market on 10th Avenue in Caloocan Monday was talking about the fight – how Miguel Cotto’s face had turned into a bloody pulp, and how Manny Pacquiao could have put the Puerto Rican champion away earlier had Cotto not run scared halfway through onward.
How this and how that.
People also wondered how Pacquiao was able to dismantle such a mean-looking, heavily-tattooed machine and turn him into a broken-down toy.
On the way out, as I walked past two men engrossed on the subject, one of them said: “Di ba nagdasal din naman si Cotto?”
I didn’t hear the other man’s reply, but the question stayed with me on the way home.
Indeed, Cotto had genuflected on one knee before the fight, and had crossed himself as often as Pacquiao before each round.
So why was he beaten so soundly?
Without trespassing on religious grounds, I groped for an answer for this piece; I couldn’t think of one.
But I was reminded of what Napoleon Bonaparte once said when asked, “On which side is God during war?”
Replied the 18th century French Emperor: “On the side of the strongest battalion.” Could that be it?
With all things being equal (Pacquiao and Cotto both trained hard and both implored Divine Providence), the Filipino boxing icon emerged dominantly victorious because he was the stronger fighter that night.
He was more fit, was faster, had the bigger heart and the heavier punch.
And he had the best general of all – Freddie Roach – coaching him in his corner.
Roach, whom Pacquiao calls “Master”, has now shamed the master of the greatest boxer ever, Muhammad Ali, three times.
Thrice Angelo Dundee, the legendary trainer, had staked his reputation against Pacquiao, picking Oscar De La Hoya, Ricky Hatton and Miguel Cotto over the pound-for-pound king, and thrice now had to swallow his pride.
The crafty Roach even put in a personal message for Dundee by having Pacquiao essay a bolder version of the Rope-A-Dope, the strategy Ali used against George Foreman in Zaire 35 years ago.
One difference though: Roach didn’t have to loosen the ropes before the fight the way Dundee reportedly did in 1974.
In fact, Pacquiao must have packed granite in his midsection that evening for he had stepped away from the ropes on frequent occasions, stood like a tree in the middle of the ring while protecting his face, and invited Cotto to come flail away.
And the Puerto Rican did, to his lasting regret.
The prayers probably ensured that neither man would be seriously hurt; to that extent, they were answered.
But neither under any circumstances was Manny Pacquiao the weaker “battalion” inside the rectangular battlefield at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas.
Freddie Roach, he with the shaking hands from Parkinson’s, tilted head and dragging foot – and himself an example of God’s blessing – made sure of that.
Napoleon would have been proud.
