The other night I watched the excellent world title bout between Manny "The Pacman' Pacquiao" (origin of nickname obvious) and Miguel "Hangover" Cotto (he gives men sore heads--I made that one up). Pacquiao, a wiry Filipino who relies on speed of thought and fist, was taken to the twelfth round by the bigger, much fancied Cotto, but proved too good to lose. At the fight's conclusion I sloped off to bed, having been drinking for hours. Pacquiao's evening had barely started. Something of a popular crooner in his native islands, he was booked to perform a set at a nearby hotel ballroom.
Let's get this clear--he wasn't cracking into the odd chorus at a press conference, or joining in with a band, or performing a wuss rock weepie on Jimmy Kimmel, though he's done all these things before. No, he was engaged, for a reported fee of $100,000, to perform a show on the same night he fought for the Welterweight Championship of the World. That is confident. And demoralising for his opponent, who
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