Off Pacquiao, Marky Cielo, and this bitchy tactless daughter of your 500 peso bill

Sunday was a day of triumph...

Vamos a terminarlo!- Ignacio “Nacho” Beristain, Oscar Dela Hoya’s celebrated hall of fame trainer signaling the stoppage of the one-sided “The Dream Match”. Pound-for-pound King Manny “ Pacman” Pacquiao scored an 8th round TKO over The Golden Boy Dela Hoya on a night the heir apparent chased out the "has been" of the boxing world to retirement. This seemed to be a third world country far east winning a world war against a predominant super power tale like of a story, an unprecedented handling of the mantle to the new king of the boxing hierarchy. And for a long moment still, Pacquiao’s ring exploit reminded us what a fighting heart a Filipino posses that made each and every one of us worthy of the world’s adulation.

It was an awesome display of domination, one that would etch in eternity to our very senses in the next centuries to come how an erstwhile unassuming pan de sal boy rose to the ranks of boxing to defeat and dominate his proud and bemedalled rival to submission. Not your ordinary opponent but someone who breathe the sports as if boxing was his middle name. Despite winning so big, he never forgot to let his Nike shoes kiss the ground, reminded that after all, he’s still as Filipino as we are—only an immortal embodiment of our very own bravery. Even giving a last respect to his befallen opponent, a trait none of those publicity hungry officials who went on with him to snatch that glory of his for their own interest—That’s Pinoy for you.
For all the cockiness he’s been branded with before, no one can deny that when he shows his humility, that’s a Filipino for you giving samples of modesty in spite of greatness.

Aren’t you proud of being a Pinoy at least Sunday?

and mourning…

And there of course was the death of a teeny bopper, who made news shortly after Pacquiao TKOed Dela Hoya. Allegedly a victim of Sudden Unexpected Death Syndrome (SUDS) or bangungot on street terminologies, Marky Cielo passed away during slumber. As no definite medical confirmation would attest to the real cause of his death, I’ll have to leave the term, in the mean time, as the supposed culprit to his early demise. Cielo, a reality-but-you-already-knew-the-winner-two weeks-before show champion was seen laying motionless on his room as he’s supposed to be informed of his appointment that day. An Igorot like me, during his showbiz career, even went to his grassroots in Mountain Province to spread awareness how minorities are being displaced off their own domain. I may not be a fan of his brand of artistry but sure his passing away did matter at the very reason he did an exemplary act of progressing to the modernity of life without shunning away from his heritage. May God bless his soul.

…and of course a foul play by a certified bitch.

Now while the untimely death of Cielo is being discussed on air by three hosts of a biz talk show, this bitchy, tactlessly idiotic host who calls her husband the best player in the Philippines (in dreamland maybe) was caught nonchalantly laughing at the sight of an expensive jewelry of her co host in the midst of the show’s expression of grief for a lost colleague. Emblazoned by her irritating perkiness on cam, this moron didn’t have the self-respect to at least shut her bedeviled mouth to oblivion while at someplace in the country there’s a mother and a father pondering on thoughts of how they’ll be able to get by after a young man’s passing away. What a classless act, no an idiotic act. And to think lots of equally idiotic people bought her crap of crying for all of her misfreewheeling before. What the fuck is wrong with this bitch, and why a TV network such as ABS-CBN bankrolls her borderline nonsensical blabbers on air.

Does she owe Cielo’s family an apology? No. She owes to live by on the scum of her personality and the ideals of her land grabbing family.
Pacquiao’s conquered opponent (Dela Hoya) needs to hang up his gloves and bid goodbye to the sport that made him a household name. as for Kris, she needs to hang herself to at least pay herself some dues, run away from the scene that made her a perennial laughing stock.

GMA-7, Solar Sports, milking too much off Dela Hoya- Pacquiao bout

What a day of triumph for the entire nation upon seeing in action our very own Manny “Pacman” Pacquiao demolished one of the most recognizable face in the history of boxing, The Golden Boy Oscar Dela Hoya in a battle of supposed mismatch proven accurate but with an improbable twist. What a day for both Atty. Felipe Gozon (GMA-7) and Wilson Tieng (Solar Sports) for bathing their filthy selves of the revenues of “The Dream Match”. Congratulations!

I felt bad for myself, and so with most Filipinos who anticipated this bout at the confines of their free/cable TV living room—or at worst, at someone’s boob tube set to watch the National Fist (Pambansang Kamao) upstaged a legend. Wonder why some people, despite the sum of money their supposed to splurge, opted to storm into theaters just to watch the megabuck fight it’s because GMA-7 and Solar Sports are borderline crocodile (crocodile in its most figurative definition as someone who would suck up the hell out of you) and downright devious exploiting each and every fight of Pacquiao. Wonder no more. For those who watched it through their TV sets, sure they can relate to what the heck I’m ranting about. And for sure it also caught their ire learning the news of Pacquiao’s drubbing of Dela Hoya beforehand they saw Karylle sang our National Anthem. Am I exaggerating? No. Try this on for size, Both Dela Hoya and Pacquiao would square off on top of the ring for one good round and on the intermission, TV commercials would go round robin. All of them.

And boy, my friend Ted has put up the near perfect narrative of such:

“At the end of each three-minute round, the TV station commences with 15 minutes of inane ads, often repeated only minutes apart. For this fight, the station cut to commercials even after each of the three national anthems and Michael Buffer’s introduction. The products being pitched are a mix of everything the common Filipino could want: beer, brandy, fast food, multivitamins, feed for your fighting cock, weight loss pills, car batteries, courier services and even some substance that will fix leaks in your tin roof. Most of the viewers who have tuned in happen to have tin sheet roofs, just like the tricycle stand. And in the Philippines, nearly every tin-sheet roof leaks.”
Ted Lerner, Ring Magazine

What the fucking fucker is wrong with you, Gozon and Tieng? Aren’t you fat enough that you may no longer get into your car? Give your fucking ass a fucking break!
Gozon, Tieng, and all the sponsors of the event should be ashamed of themselves for simply exploiting this juncture of national celebration. Too much of your capitalist’s greed. Pacquiao is such a national treasure and his fights are to be considered national events. Him fighting on top of the canvass can clear up the streets from heavy traffic. Watching him alone will give burglars, kidnappers, corrupt officials their share of holiday as you would expect them to get their eyes glued to the screen as well—rather than strutting their usual bedeviled selves. He can make truce of the warring ideologues and the continually separating/ alienating societal classification. We don’t need these fucking capitalists dictate what we should get from this type of holiday.




Photo Credit: Yahoo! Sports and some excerpts from Ted Lerner's article in Ring MAgazine.

Pacquiao-Dela Hoya: Dream Match of Monstrous Proportions

In the eve of December 6, 2008 (December 7 in the Philippines), the best of the best haymakers will take the center stage on what to be the biggest fight of the year. Pound-for-pound king Manny “Pacman” Pacquiao of the Philippines will try to stamp his name on the boxing world pitted against the most popular boxing commodity, the pay-per-view king Oscar “The Golden Boy” Dela Hoya bidding farewell on the boxing world but not without this bout that shall further cement his stature on the upper echelons of the boxing world’s demigods. Taunts and provocations had all paved the way to the staging of the Dream Match that will transcend to the genre of the undersized against the huge, David versus Goliath, and basically a match that doesn’t seem like matched at all.

It can be recalled that HBO’s grizzled sportscaster Larry Merchant quipped waning with hope to witness a fight between this year’s pound-for-pound ranked number one against the boxing’s top draw, and as if the two about-to-be protagonists living with the hype and acting to grant the wish of the old fella, the December 6 bout was signed, sealed and about to be delivered on pay-per-view thru HBO. While the hyping machine upped the ante, and as nearly as the first day of sale sold out all of the venue tickets, the match in itself took a lot of beating as it almost didn’t materialize due to some glitches on how much to be paid to whom and how much will the lion is willing to distribute his share. And it took two-time trainer of the year Freddie Roach to provoke Dela Hoya stating that he could no longer pull the trigger thus giving reason to the Golden Boy to pursue Pacman.

Pacquiao, on his part, will be dealing with the biggest fight of his life—not to mention his biggest paycheck to date and potential revenues off pay-per-view shares. Jumping from a measly 112 pounder when he began his career to fighting Dela Hoya at 147 lbs, the Pacman will be on a definite unchartered territory. The uncertain impact of Pacquiao’s hand speed and iron-coated fist to carry on a much heavier division will be tested no end on fight night. And this matter-of-factly issue of his had odds makers favoring Dela Hoya a wide 2-1 favorite. But Roach, wistful of the mere fact that he has trained Dela Hoya on the past is banking on the fact that Dela Hoya is past his prime and to put more emphasis to his running gag, he can no longer pull the trigger.

Dela Hoya on the other hand, took a barrage of criticism for taking this fight with Pacquiao. Accused of just doing this all for the money, in large part of the fact Pacquiao is way undermatched in terms of reach and heft. But the Golden Boy, may be business oriented, sure has other things in mind in stating that he wanted to fight the best of the best to be the very best and it so happened that the person the description was referred to was Pacquiao.

But critics and enthusiasts alike are all unanimous that this bout will be an epic battle worthy of everyone’s attention as both fighters try to salvage the sagging popularity of boxing and making it as intriguing and as entertaining as before. Climbing on the ring with their nations behind, this will be more than an individual battle as anyone would deem this Dream Match is just as illusory as its title implies to be.

FFUgay

Oh... I'm sorry!

Promises are made to be broken...And when you do, please make a valid excuse!

Well, yeah! A perfect way to cap yer first week of blogging, eh? But as obligatory as it sounds, I know for sure how to make up for the sorry cancellation of our WT10 or Weekly Tough 10. While I have no plans at all to make this week's edition as Weekly Tough 20, but rest assured to double the angst, if not the antsy-pantsy of my beloved 10's of the week.

Well, I'm sure you might want to read some of the encouraging comments of people that had read Poetic License Renewed! and I would even buck down because of the enormous support these people have for me. Kudos for the people that made it in to my list:

How do you do? I am reading your blog, I realized that I have never really known you. I was amazed with way you conversed with the "Big Boss". Keep me posted when He replies.

(Commenting on the blog entry "Told my Prayers)

Eda Belisario, Singapore.

Eda by the way was the last gal I'm with inside a church, again, not that I'm proud of it, but just so you know the history in between.


I have read it na! Ang ganda pare!

Alex Almonte, Saudi Arabia

Alex is a schoolmate of mine which I met on our alumni site but unfortunately haven't had the chance to meet him personally.


Kikz, paano ba mag sign up sa blog mo?

Robert a.k.a. Tweety Bird, was my former agent who has this knack of looking at the mirror posing like he meant it. Then out of fuckin nowhere, he'd vaingloriously exclaim, "Anlakas ng dating mo!"

For the benefit of all, I even attached his pic:







Wow! Gawa mo naman ako description sa year book namin!

Catherine Garcia, is my girlfriend who's about to finish her second degree and seems upbeat of the money-making prospect of her course.

Told my Prayers

"I've never been the praying kind/ But lately I've been down upon my knees/ I'm not looking for a miracle/ Just a reason to believe"
Savage Garden, Hold Me

Off to work and bound to Metro Manila ( Just in case you want to gun me down, Cavite is the place) I was caught in a heavy traffic thus requiring me to push my panic button . Called my manager that I won't make it on my scheduled shift, I requested to do half day, filed for leave the first half of my working hours. It turned out there was a vehicular accident on the highway, splattered blood on the cement-paved road validated the dangers road-related accident bring.

Shortly after the road cleared up, the jeepney I rode must've springboarded off a long slumber and let the vehicle fly its way to Baclaran. I alighted on Baclaran around 7 in the morning, knowing I still have at least 3 hours before my adjusted schedule, I decided to drop by at the Baclaran Church.

What of it?

Did I probably ran out of place to go to so I'm seeking refuge on a place I rarely frequent?

Not really.

It wasn't my first at Baclaran Church. Not that I'm proud of such but it's not blasphemy at its finest to be honest at least. Though the last time I've been there was way way back. I'm just about to graduate high school then, gangling and unmolested by societal disillusion and poetic disambiguation, all I did ask from Him before was, well, success on my then upcoming college years and safety and personal success of my girl back then. Peace on earth was a definite shoo in then, but the young lady sitting next to me already wished for it.

Fast forward to real time, here I am, probably doubled the weight but the same soul (Do souls gain weight too?). It was safe to say what I wished 8 years ago were fulfilled- only regretful that I could've wished more before. But that's not really my cup of tea, I made it a point every time I go to church, that would be only to say thank you. Rarely I submit my fate relying for wishes to come true.

But as if gravity's pulling my leg the moment I alighted off the jeepney, in a split second I transformed like a man on a mission and the gates of the church, normally flocked by people of diverse faith and ideologues, was like an open lane all mine to trudge. Once inside, I stood there for an enthralling momentary cessation. No,I'm not being nostalgic (again) with things of the past, at least during that time, at most as I think of someone I hope to save from mortality.

I closed my eyes as I told my prayers, "Dear Lord, 'musta na po? Antagal na rin, pasensya na. Since the last time dami na nagbago, maraming nalaman na bilang tao gusto ko ring suriin. Nanaig 'yung pagiging inquisitive ko pero siyempre andiyan ka pa rin. Nga pala 'yung Auntie ko medyo napapalaban siya ngayon. Sana huwag muna. Kasi kung may ititira ako sa mundo, isa siya ron. Siyempre hindi ako diyos. Mukha kasing di pa kaya ng mga pinsan ko. Salamat pala sa nauna ko nang hiling, sana maihabol ko 'to. Yaman din lang narito ako, bigyan mo naman ng sign. Andami nang nagsusulputang relihiyon sa mundo at obvious naman na ginagawang negosyo 'yung mga salita mo. Bigay ka naman ng clue. Yun lang muna, keep safe!"

See, I'm not good at asking favors.




(This entry I solely dedicate to Auntie Eva who's battling breast cancer nowadays. Though strong willed and positive, prayers we can contribute may well convince cancer cells to calm a bit.)

Weekly Tough 10!

Weekly Tough 10 is a segment on this blog that will appear every Friday night ranking 10 tough issues or events or basically, newsworthy stories recapping that coverage week. Alongside WT10 will be a sub segment called Top 10 reasons why... ranking 10 reasons corroborating the issue on the winner of the WT10 segment, actually, we can discuss things on it that may shy away from the WT10.
We'll make sure your Friday's a leisure and for comments, readers may want to present their own WT10 and Top 10 reasons why...

FFUgay

My Tatay

With my new home's (www.poeticlicenserenewed.blogspot.com) construction underway and transitions to a rather abrasive genre and issues, just like the way we introduced this site to everyone, we are bound to bring in some of the contents of the demised blogs we've taken care of for the past years. As an integral part of my approach to life structured under the melodramatic irony of things, jumping into another site is never an attempt to move on, hehe. But as the cliche kills us for the nth time, "moving experiences" are bound to make the grade...

My Tatay

January 15, 2008—it was the date of all dates that should've taken place the moment these pair of eyes saw daylight…

I have been living by and by at the confines of what I and my surrounding molded upon me and after all of these 26 years of struggle and otherwise, I have been feeling great knowing the direction I'm taking has been smoothen and broaden by those experiences. I should no longer elaborate on life's ups and downs since its constancy is no longer news to everyone—as every breathing organism get along with it very well. And through these theses of living holding true no matter what, question is who befits who and who completes who comes in the hanging conclusion of everything.

What came as of late on that fated day completes the missing link of my whole being, the unknown quantity of the equation that solves my whole being.

I grew up fatherless. No, my father didn't die nor lost in oblivion but for sure you've heard of these things. I am pretty much an emotional person but this fact was the kind of thing I never put too much weight with. It's not my concern at all, but deep inside I knew there's something missing within me. That situation caused me aplenty of explanation to the world—which, based on my character, I never did.

Fact is I never reeled from believing I would someday meet my real father. And as it seems that every element surrounding me gives motivation to wait, if not pursue, I trusted these instincts of mine to connive with hope. Though my mom and I never ever discussed about it all this time until recently that she concerned meeting my origin, I knew she wondered about the feeling I must have growing up with no one to look up to. I can understand her, perhaps on my side I wouldn't want to inflict any of that pain on her, assuming there is, to inquire about him. My mom now is in Canada so she sent an SMS saying,"Hi Mac, are you interested to know or meet your real father? I know you're matured enough to understand." It never occurred on me such a chance but I didn't answer back. I'm mulling over that this set up could get me nothing but false hope. And then she called me to inform that she actually contacted my real father and told that he just recuperated from a stroke—which nearly paralyzed him and taken away half of what he is. She gave me contact numbers of my siblings and relatives on my father side which apparently my mom got as well upon contacting them and the rendezvous is to be slated.

Then from there on things get to start sending shiver to my bones. I'm being taken back to my childhood days on my place in Pangasinan as someone that had been taken special care of sufficing the absence of my biological father. Been ridiculed as well, kids my age bully their way toward me 'cause they believe I'm helpless and no one can defend for me.

My father does live on the mountainous region of cordillera, in the province of Kalinga and that is to say I have an Igorot blood. Just before Kuya Herbert (my older brother on the fatherside) and I met, I told him thru SMS that I am in Baguio City few months ago and told my girlfriend that's with me by that time that I'm having such feeling that it would be sooner that I'll meet my father. My brother told me, "you've got those feelings maybe because you belong here in the cordillera region. You're an Igorot. Igorot means people of the mountain."

It never failed to amuse me that I was even part of a bloodline from a minority origin. Though, I must say, the closest association of moi to a higher place was being an activist way back college and before dreamt of trudging the struggle of the mountains (I will no longer elaborate on this point). It's funny I'm beginning to dress myself on my thoughts with those bahag and everything, dancing my way to some rituals I can only see on movies or documentaries relating stories of the minorities.

When it was time to see my father, it was hard to absorb everything. Both of us went awkward as we didn't know if we have to hug or just simply shook our hands (the latter that we did as we never knew what to really do by then). I was just stealing glances off him, trying to figure out how I was able to be created by this man, just like me, even the air he breathes was full of intrigues of the past. We just had a simple question and answer thing but my heart longed to embrace him, probably tell him I survived everything without him. All this time, I longed for those times I should've had him on my side braving my storms, but never was I resentful he never had the chance to saw those phase of my life. I never harbored indignant thoughts blaming him for whatever that happened to me, after all, who am I now would only translate to be part of his glory—with or without his presence.

My siblings accepted me wholeheartedly and it was an addition to an already heavy cast of characters in my life. They all have their stories to tell, moments to wonder what could've been growing up together as brothers and sisters known to one another. We are all starting all over, as if, like a clichéd telenovelas, this one deserves a second book—another set of characters to deliver their lines.

Reunion that would mean to me...

The Eheads Reunion Concert (That fever which hasn't died down yet) for all the stir it caused and inspiration it meted out had all, even at this prime time of their lives, branding the fab four as the greatest band ever in the local shores. It's been going almost three months since the momentous event that forever changed the landscape of what one true concert is, but the impact of 083008 on the consciousness of my generation will of course, be remembered until another bold individual or group for that matter inherits another firm guts to brave against the existing order of manufactured entertainment. Things will never be the same till then...(to be continued)

What was the worst thing you were called?

In an imperfect world comprised of 99.99 percent people that see first other's imperfection and .01 percent people who are blind and doesn't seem to appreciate physical imperfection, we all grew accustomed with the variety of ways we had been name called, and for some reason it even induced our own thinking how creative those "pang aasar" was to the point we even laughed out loud to our own imperfections. It's nasty to hear those, especially if you're the type that seems not good at handling it and it easily get your goat that you go nuts and probably go berserk on mauling that bastard that's taking notice of those imperfections, hehe!

I myself went onto that stage where I've been a constant target of those, growing up I've always been that gangling monkey and t'was my staple thing to be called, payat, bangkay, and kalansay and basically everything/ anything that resembles boney creature (even for such a dish like bulalo, darn!). But I've always won the battle of irate-loser (transliterate:pikon-talo) simply because I've learned, even as a kid, to think quickly on a retort which somehow made those things a lot of fun. They'll go like, "Buto, kalansay tabi tabi po sa bangkay!" then I'll fire back with, "Leche, magtigil, 'kaw, kakasama mo sa tao akala mo tao ka na rin!"

For sure (check my stats), we've all been called and took heed of our own imperfections but what such thing could learn you is how to rise on those occassions. While it's funny that we test characters through those shallow ways but it made sense to me. it did in a way that you learn to accept your shortcomings, and not being oblivious about it. Because when you do, that;s the time you'll start giving weight to the pressure of our very own imperfections.

Devirginized!

When was the last time we thought of venturing on things which to be considered a "first time"? On such point we are anxious and wobbly about the rising excitement as such we forget to let things happen naturally- and more often than not, screw things up because we're overpowered by the anxiety of being on that "first time" scenario, "Sweety, that ain't my hole. That's my groin, you bastard!"

As this blog can never be considered as first time, nor a "pa try lang" attempt just for the heck of creating a blog (Cool daw kasi pag may blog, it's the "in" thingy in the webby), but sure it does have it's own firsts and fits as well with all the things that go along with firsts. I'm not going to tell what are those and those will just surmise as our accountings progress. For some who may have read items on my two previous blogs (Well, the very reason I'm abandoning those is because I wanted to start fresh, here another first) which might appear on this blog, pardon me for being too nostalgic of the past that I haven't moved on yet but really some of those I think could still hold true during this time and my age.

So just like a cab driver who went on hiatus and just got his license renewed, I hope to start a journey, now with a new blog aptly named "Poetic License Renewed! (Kailangan merong exclamation point) where I could bring you all to my journey without the hassle of nonchalantly glancing at the cab's meter which mysteriously adds up with every bump on the road.

So, without further due, let me take you there in a joyride of cockiness, pure wiseass nonsense which we'll try to make a sense out of, and of course, with the perpetual topics that fully defined Francis Ugay- Love and Politics!

Happy Trip!