Of Boxing and Gladiators

I rarely watch boxing matches, as I often feel pity for the participants. And even if they probably earn in one match more than I make in a year [or what I can make in a lifetime!], I still think they are victims of a macabre few who love blood and gore and who probably should have been transposed to the Roman 'gladiator' times, in the middle of an arena minutes before they are to be trampled by angry bulls.

Nevertheless, I was 'forced' to watch the Pacquiao-Morales bout yesterday as I was in my mom's room trying to escape the heat of the summer sun. True enough, I was appalled by how men and women in cocktail dresses and suits were cheering on two men beating up each other with the requisite blood and gore. And although I admire Pacquiao for his generous heart (in one interview last year of his General Santos townmates, it was revealed he would open his home and offer food and money to the underprivileged), I really felt sorry for him for having to endure the demands of the sport while already rich, overfed men made money off the fight through sponsors, bets, and the like.

What 'sport' would allow athletes to get so beaten up their eyes swell and portion of their eyebrows get cut, I really cannot comprehend. The previous night, I watched a remake of Spartacus and experienced the same feeling of distress. I may sound like a drama queen but I really feel strongly against the idea of taking pleasure out of the misery of another person, even if the misery was brought by his choice to take part in an otherwise perfectly legal activity.

I'd rather like to have seen instead the Philippine congressmen and senators who flew to Las Vegas to watch the fight get rounded up inside the ring while members of the audience pelted them with peanuts and greasy hotdogs.