The Champion And His Heart

Everybody said the fight was a mismatch and it truly was. Even right from the very beginning, Manny Pacquiao was landing his punches at will and it was clear that there was no way David Diaz could keep up with the Filipino just as Freddie Roach said. And just as Roach said, you knew in the middle of the fight that it would take a miracle for Pacquiao to get beat; you knew it was just a matter of time before Pacquiao lands that one punch that would enshrine him among boxing’s greatest .
It was a mismatch, a fight so lopsided in the Pacman’s favor that it almost looked like he was the champion defending his title and Daiz was the challenger. But there is no doubt. It was a fight.
It was a fight because David Diaz, despite being the lesser fighter, kept on fighting. His nose got broken in the second round; his brow got cut up so badly in the fourth that it eventually colored his shorts pink.
He was said to be spitting and sneezing blood in his corner between rounds. He was so savagely beaten that, when the fight was over, he said he thought Freddie Roach was right there in the ring with Pacquiao ganging up on him.
But he never stopped. He never clinched the way beaten fighters do, hanging to their opponents to keep from doing any more fighting. He did not resort to dirty tricks. Other fighters, when faced with such daunting odds, would dance away and stay way out of range. But Diaz stayed right there in front of Pacquiao, taking the punishment in a vain attempt to sneak in one of his own punches.
It truly was a brave effort, a display of true grit and big heart. Of course in the end grit and heart is never enough to defeat a fighter such as Pacquiao, pound for pound one the best in the world of boxing today, if not the best.
As for Pacquiao, Recah Trinidad was right in saying that the fight was Pacquiao’s greatest moment. Upon seeing Diaz down on the blood-stained canvass, knocked-out and, to borrow Trinidad’s words, convulsing on the floor, his first instinct was not to savor his complete victory. He went to the neutral corner with concern clearly discernable from his face. And when the referee signaled the end of the fight, he went to the fallen Diaz and tugged at Diaz’s hand.
It was a rare display of humanity, of compassion, in a sport known for its viciousness.
There is an unforgettable picture of Muhammad Ali in his prime, standing over the fallen Sonny Liston. The picture depicts Ali, then at the height of his tremendous powers as a boxer, shoulders square, feet firmly planted over conquered ground, glaring over a fallen foe.
By contrast, if there is going to be a picture for the ages depicting Pacquiao in his prime, I am willing to bet that that frame showing Pacquiao bending over Diaz, tugging at Diaz’s hand, would be the one.