Wednesday, March 21, 2007 Sayson: Wounded but not orphaned By Homer Sayson Second Overtime
CHICAGO - Based on their heinously unjust verdict in last Sunday's WBO super bantamweight title fight, it was evident that the three stooges, err judges, had absolutely no respect toward Gerry Penalosa.
At 34, Gerry showed meritable stamina and durability, going 12 rounds against a young lion with 28 KOs in 30 previous bouts. He made Daniel Ponce De Leon look clumsy and emasculate.
For his doubt-dispelling, turn-back-the-clock expolits, Gerry was rewarded with only two rounds, plus the indignity of a 120-108 shutout in the card of a seemingly confused Dave Moretti.
Gerry lit the Mandalay Bay Events Center with the polished shine of his enduring brilliance, but the blindly misguided judges didn't see it. They ignored Gerry as though he was a broken down statue from a passing era.
One consolation is that the Cebuano from San Carlos city was treated like royalty by Golden Boy Promotions.
Toiling in the undercard of the "Fearless" duel between Marco Antonio Barrera and Juan Manuel Marquez, Gerry got 20 tickets worth $300 each. He was also allocated with eight rooms at the Mandalay Bay. And his purse was in the high five figures.
Solace also came from boxing fans, the sport's ultimate jurists. They jeered the verdict, cheered for Gerry, clapped wildly and stretched their arms to offer him a warm embrace.
His pride is wounded. His record is dented. But thanks to the love of his adoring public, defeat did not orphan Gerry Penalosa.
VIVA LAS VEGAS. If this earth runs of out of silicon, I know a place where that chemical element is aplenty—The Beach at the Mandalay Bay Resort and Casino.
Hours before the De Leon-Penalosa tiff, Arkansas-based Anthony Andales of Duljo, and his first cousin Samuel Andales of Geotek, joined me surveying The Beach. Seductive, semi-naked mammals sprawled all over the sandy paradise, their silicon-enhanced breasts standing out in erect glory.
Because our jaws stayed wide open as we ogled at the sexy beasts in our midst, our throats got parched like the Nevada desert. So we went to the Surf Cafe for a few bottles of Corona beer. At $7 each, my credit card recoiled like a petrified surfer.
A Filipino supervisor at Mandalay Bay told us that this June, the five-star hotel will open a naughty section for nudists and the daring. Entrance fee is $40. That, I wouldn't mind paying.
DATE FOR HIRE. Her name is Ms. G. Her figure is a 10, and so is her charm. She had porcelain skin, a Julia Roberts smile, and the lips of an Angelina Jolie. The word "drop-dead gorgeous" was coined for creatures like her.
I literally ran into Ms. G Saturday night at the Mandalay Bay's bank of elevators, where Anthony and I rushed as we hurried towards Room 5226. Apologizing fiercely for nearly knocking her down, I offered to buy her a drink. She obliged.
We sat at the Island Lounge inside Mandalay. She ordered a Grand Mernier. The bartender said it was $8.50. I almost cried. Anthony, the pride of Falcon Jet, settled for a beer, while I had H20.
Ms. G wondered if Anthony and I needed some "company for the night." I told her I was lonely, and that being a social animal, I don't like to be alone.
To our delight, Ms. G was willing to give me or Anthony a consoling, therapeutic hug, plus a lot more. But much to our disappointment, her sympathy comes with a price, "$400 an hour," she said.
Even if she works pro-bono, we would've had said "no." Like Anthony, I'm happily married. And fiercely loyal to The Wife.
I did pose for a picture with Ms. G. Just for posterity. That photo is now stored in my computer files. And it has a caption that says
