Boxing: Late night theatrics

As I struggled to keep my eyes open during Game 4 of the Western Conference Semi-Finals between the Spurs and Lakers on Tuesday night, during a timeout, I stumbled across HBO and their replay of the Manny Pacquiao-Juan Manuel Marquez Featherweight title fight.

I stopped my channel surfing for a second just to hear Michael Buffer's trademarked "Let's get ready to rumble," call, then it dawned on me that this was billed as the fight of the year according to boxing experts, well according to my friend Vincenzo who by the way may be the only person I have ever come across that reads Ring Magazine like it was scripture.

With this in mind and the fact that Pacquiao was a fellow Filipino, I decided to watch a few rounds before I would turn in for the night.

With the Lakers-Spurs neatly tucked into the corner of my television thanks to picture-in-picture, I watched as these two diminutive athletes went at each other for the WBA-IBF Featherweight belts.

I'm not going to perpetrate like I know the in's and out's of professional boxing. IBF, WBA, IMF, Roth IRA, whatever, they're all just letters to me, well, except the IRA, I hope they raise the yearly maximum contribution from $3,000 soon.

But I digress. The fact is I wouldn't know a featherweight from bantamweight if you weighed them in front of me.

Boxing is the simplest of sports yet the most complicated to follow.

I can understand the weight classes, you can't have Roy Jones, Jr. out there pummeling an Oscar De La Hoya, as much as I would love to see that though it's not gonna happen.

However, the vacated belts, the people's champions, the judging controversies, the promotion fiascos, all of it is enough to make your head spin and make you completely tune out the entire sport altogether.

There are times however when a fight makes you forget all the nonsense that surrounds boxing.

A fight that is so compelling, filled with peaks and valleys, drama and emotion that it instantly makes you a boxing fan, or make you come back like it did for me.

It was bedlam inside the MGM Grand with Filipino and Mexican flags waving, people chanting, it was sight to see on TV, I could only imagine what it was like live.

Pacquiao came out punching with the quickest hands I have ever seen in the ring.

The southpaw's body was constantly moving like a metronome, left-right, left-right.

He was throwing one punch the entire round, his powerful and lightning-quick straight left hand.

Marquez looked as confused and bewildered as Jason Kidd did in the first two games against the Pistons.

Marquez got caught with one of those heavy left hands and got knocked down. Marquez bounced back up, Pacquiao sensed that he could take this thing in the first round and went for the knockout.

Lunging at Marquez with another straight left that connected and knocked Marquez down again, Pacquiao looked as if he was going to walk away with the Featherweight belts without as much as breaking a sweat, but Marquez got up again, like a masochist asking for more punishment.

Pacquiao looked like Apollo Creed when Rocky wouldn't stay down, he just couldn't believe it. Another straight left hand and again Marquez went down.

I was ready to hit the swap button on my remote to go back to the basketball game when for the third time in the round Marquez got up and wanted more.

It was the most exciting three minutes I had seen in a while.

Pacquiao must have jarred something loose in Marquez's head because any normal human being would have stayed down, but normal human boxer is an oxymoron of biblical proportions.

Literally saved by the bell, Marquez was gushing from his nose, his brow swollen and his white shorts now a crimson hue from his own blood.

Pacquiao, covered in Marquez's blood, barely breathing hard was in complete control of this fight, his corner knew it, he knew it, I knew it, the announcers knew it but fortunately Marquez didn't know it.

I was now fading fast, I took off the Lakers-Spurs game from my TV so I could concentrate on one thing, my brain was now running on fumes of fumes.

I was still tired from the previous weekend of playing golf and partying like I actually thought I was a rock-star.

I thought Pacquiao would finish what he started in the second round and then I would get some much needed rest.

Marquez thought otherwise.

He had figured out Pacquiao's speed somehow. He was counter-punching effectively slowing the charging Pacquiao down.

Marquez's nose was still oozing blood but he protected it as well as he could and it didn't look like much of factor.

Pacquiao, according to the ringside TV scorer won the second round and was now ahead 20 to 16, with 10 rounds to go -- an eternity in boxing time.

The next 10 rounds turned into a stalemate.

The boxing was superb, as Pacquiao landed a few more signature straight lefts, but not far behind it came Marquez's well placed counter punches.

Back and forth they went, just when you thought one boxer had the upper hand the other one came back with a quicker and stronger punch and or combination.

Pacquiao got cut right above his right eye, but it looked like a scratch which didn't effect his vision through the fight.

Marquez's cut man did an unbelievable job stopping his bloody nose.

HBO gets right up in there in the boxer's corners, the viewer is fortunate enough to see Marquez's cut man shove a five inch q-tip covered in what looked like a mixture Vaseline and lard up Marquez's nose.

Sounds appetizing doesn't it?

It was hard to believe that 11 rounds ago Marquez was kissing the canvas, now he was the one placing the pressure, getting stronger with each round and knowing exactly what he had to do to win.

The 12th round came and went without a final round knockdown that Marquez would have needed to have a fighting chance to win the fight.

According to HBO's Howard Lederman, Pacquiao won 115-110.

I was confident my fellow countryman had won as well, but I knew that it was close enough to warrant me keeping the TV on an extra five minutes to officially put closure on one of the best fights I had seen in years.

A MAJORITY DRAW.

Needless to say I was shocked, upset, confused, flabbergasted, tired, sleepy and hungry all at the same time.

I hadn't felt that many emotions since I discovered Charlize Theron's nude scenes in "2 Days in The Valley."

I had forgone two hours of sleep to witness a fight that embodied everything boxing was supposed to be but was not rewarded with a final outcome. These are the kinds of antics that drive casual boxing fans up the wall.

Two of the three judges marked the first round 10-6 in favor of the Pacquiao, the third judge, scored it 10-7.

Pacquiao would have won if that judge had scored it 10-6 which according to the analysts is the proper way of scoring a three knockdown round.

I am officially hallucinating by now, because I flip over to the basketball game and the Lagers have beaten the Spurs yet again.

Back to the fight, Pacquiao is being interviewed by a sleep walking Larry Merchant.

Pacquiao is upset as well he should be, although there have been bigger controversies in judging this one has to rank up there in terms of utter disbelief.

Marquez pulled a rabbit out of his hat by managing a draw.

His display of perseverance will be remembered for a long time in boxing lore.

I finally turn off the TV, just five hours before I have to get up in the morning, I'm thinking, "God, what an awesome fight, it was worth staying up this late to watch great athletes performing at the highest of levels."

Maybe not quite like that but you get my point.

You get caught up in the drama, the violence, the skill in a boxing match, I got so caught up in fact that I started kicking myself when I woke up the next morning puffy eyed and drowsy, why didn't I just Tivo the fight?!

Apparently, boxers aren't the only ones that take too many shots to the head.