Like everyone else, I rooted myself to the tube today waiting for "The Fight".
I suffered the scared and irritating efforts of the Hawaiian Punch while waiting for the BIG FIGHT. Hawaiian Punch? Hah! Why was he even there when all he did was wait for the punches to come! It was really, really painful to watch him and extremely irritating. It was boring which made the hype and anticipation for the Pacquiao-Morales fight more real as I knew that would be far from being boring.
I was right.
It was one great fight and I was screaming, jumping on the bed, with heart pounding the first minutes.
Pacman knocked out Morales the first time.. Aagh! There! I screamed with sheer satisfaction.
Pacman knocked him out the second time. Suddenly, it wasn't as fun anymore as Morales suddenly became nakakaawa.
But since he got up and started aiming for Pacman's face, I was back in the game.
And then Pacman knocked him down the third time...
You could see his face. Beaten. Shaking his head. Refusing to get up.
And although I rejoiced for Pacman's victory...for my country's victory... I just can't help what was passing through Morales' thoughts at that exact moment. As if his whole glorious career cumulates to that exact moment -- him sitting, beaten and tired, refusing to fight, stunned, shaking his head.
I couldn't believe it ended in just three rounds. As if there was no fight left in Morales. Was it because he lost so much weight? Did he lack the stamina? Is it because he has grown old?
Yes, we are all rejoicing but I couldn't help feeling sorry for Morales and his family, but especially the man who was once a legend.
Reduced to what he was --- once again beaten by a knockout.
