AS CLEAR as Trump’s torrid hatred of migrants, Manny Pacquiao won his 70th fight convincingly (61st win) on Sunday in Las Vegas, Nevada.
And, as clear as Digong’s dislike of illegal drugs, Adrien Broner lost his 38th fight, bowing unmistakably on points to Pacquiao after 12 rounds at the MGM Grand.
There was no knockout win for Pacquiao as predicted by almost everybody that included no less than Freddie Roach, Pacquiao’s chief trainer of 17 years.
Before Sunday, not even a single knockdown had befallen Broner, who proved to be rock-solid and survived Pacquiao’s most telling blows not once but twice in a fight that, in the end, had more questions than answers.
Broner was on the verge of knockdowns in the seventh and ninth rounds. How he managed to hang on and stay on his feet puzzled practically every boxing pundit.
Could be that Broner is tough as nails as advertised?
Even then, against a legend like Pacquiao, almost everyone fell from the fighting senator’s fists once one got hit.
So, could be that Pacquiao has lost his true power of old, had been robbed, finally, by Father Time of his sting from his punches?
While admittedly, Pacquiao still showed some spring in his knees, seemingly, though, his 40-year-old fists had been dulled by time? Wear and tear?
Oh, yes, I also predicted a knockout win for Pacquiao, happening between the fourth and ninth rounds. It almost happened. But I also said that if the fight lasted 12 rounds, Pacquiao would win by unanimous decision. It happened. Ahem! I won a free lunch.
Judges Tim Cheatham and Glen Feldman both scored it 116-112 and Dave Moretti 117-111—all for Pacquiao. Mine was also 117-111 for Pacquiao, giving Rounds 4, 6 and 10 to Broner.
But even as I’m also not too proud of the win like Valentin Dakuykoy, it was good enough if only to keep the talks of a Pacman-Mayweather rematch alive.
And it must materialize this year. At their age—Pacquiao is 40 and Mayweather 42 on Feb. 24—time could be running out.
We don’t want to see a fight featuring a pair of hobbling senior citizens, don’t we?
Ted Failon might puke.