my husband has two religions: the roman catholic church and the manny pacquiao church.
my late great dad, ramon p. blanco, was a boxing fanatic. one of my fondest memories would be of him and my tito bong, watching heavy weight boxing on the latter's black and white tv, the kind of tv encased in a large, coffin-like wooden cabinet. the one with real push buttons that you push to go to another channel and real dials that you really have to dial to adjust the volume. with your thumb and forefinger. at that time, people only needed six channels to live a fulfilling life and buttons 8 and 9 were really just superflous.
daddy and tito bong would watch the fight, sitting on their haunches on the arm chairs, head and shoulders jutting forward, their entire body weaving from side to side, ducking, careening, mouthing fighting sounds, their every movement shadowing the actions of their boxer of choice. fighting vicariously, if you will. us kids, we derived our fun from watching our fathers watching the fight. we thought it hilarious that our normally sober dads could turn into these comical creatures.
i have no love for boxing. it's a stupid game, if you ask me. husband knows this so he NEVER asks me. but it's not just boxing husband loves, it's manny pacquiao in particular. he says things like "i am so lucky i live at the same time that manny lives." i roll my eyes 'til my pupils make contact with the back part of my eye socket but he basically ignores the feat and goes on to say "i live at the same time he lives. ang swerte ko."
how pathetic is that?
i find no equivalent feeling in me for anyone or anything. i try to say "i am so lucky i live at the same time as miuccia prada lives" and "i am so lucky i live at the same time as sting lives" and "i am so lucky i live at the same time as jk rowling lives" and all three just ring false.
then this morning, my sister anna emails me an article on GQ about pacquiao. great article, articulate and insightful and all.