Manny Pacquiao, his career thriving, does not necessarily need to KO or stop Juan Manuel Marquez.
Pacman will get his $20 million plus paycheck come Nov. 12 and continue on his merry way Mayweather fight or no Mayweather fight.
It’s the limping badly sport of boxing which sorely needs Marquez-Pacman III to have a clean and noncontroversial conclusion.
First, we had Huggy Bear Victor Ortiz looking for love in all the wrong places and getting the old 1-2 see you later combo from Floyd. Just before the conclusion, when Ortiz looked for a warm embrace, ref Joe Cortez looked like he was perusing the ringside area for a hot dog vendor.
Then came that sorry carnival in Los Angeles with BHop, who was BHopping on Chadwick Dawson’s backside as though he was a camel. To make that worse, Dawson went “gangsta” and hurled the elderly man to the canvas. To make matters even worse, referee Pat Russell lost the plot.
This past Saturday night, just seven days after the BHop-Chadwick fiasco, we had the “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” special in which aging Argentinean Omar Narvaez, a puffed up 115-pounder, was content to go the limit, winning ZERO rounds, against a little giant named Nonito Donaire Jr.
There were more boobirds inside the WaMu than there were sooty pigeons outside the historic but now creaking under renovation Madison Square Garden complex.
What isn’t complex that the sagging sport needs a jolt of electricity and who is more likely to supply sam than the Old Pacman.
Let’s be clear, the old style Pacquiao, not the guy who blamed Joshua Clottey for hiding behind his gloves for 12 rounds or the I’ve got a leg cramp guy who allowed Sugar Shane Mosley to pittypat for 36 minutes.
No, we need to see the Pacquiao with a vicious streak, the one who hammered Hatton and who made Oscar quit on his stool.
Three odiferous main events in succession and boxing is reeling.
A resounding Pacman victory or, dare I say it, a stunning upset by Juan Ma would get boxing’s voltage back at the proper level.
I’ve been hearing about “another black eye for boxing” going way back to Lewiston, Me., when I was a street urchin and personal guest of Muhammad Ali as he clowned a Big Ugly Bear named Charles “Sonny” Liston. That night, at St. Dominic’s Arena, we had the “Anchor Punch” KO and referee Jersey Joe Walcott blowing the count.
Boxing survived the Lewiston Debacle and it survives these recent horror shows in Las Vegas, La La Land and in Manhattan.
We now turn our lonely eyes to a short-term savior named Pacquiao.
We’ve rolled snake eyes three times in succession.
You don’t have root for Manny but, if you care about boxing, root for a compelling event.
These stinkers come in cycles.
Maybe Sherriff Pacquiao can arrest the situation.
I hope so.