I got the feeling

MASTER BLASTER
Neil Bravo


I got the feeling

Mark this Sunday on your calendar, sports fans. I got the feeling Sunday will be a beautiful day.

For four or five hours this Sunday, the world stops. It’s those four or five hours when the applause will crack like fireworks indoors and the outdoors will be in deafening silence.

It is that moment when Arnel Pineda of the Journey belts out his version of the national anthem, feel the heart pound in throbbing pride for a country curtained in crisis and despair. It is that moment when our hero garbed in red robes frolic in cheerful cadence. It is that moment when Michael Buffer rants a familiar name in prolonged baritone and the world roars in chorus. It is that moment when the bell rings and our hero rushes out of his corner dancing.

Yes, I got the feeling.

It is this twice-or-thrice-a-year occurrence as anticipated as an eclipse. It is this 12 or less than rounds as fervently yearned as rain in the midst of an El Nino spell. When the punches hit their target, it will be like drops of rain on cracked earth. When our hero ducks under a flurry of attack, it will be like air blowing from windmills on a hot summer day.

Yes, I got the feeling.

This beautiful Sunday, the country will forget about politics. Not minding that the hero himself is now a politician. I have seen many fights of our hero where politicians surround him in the ring after each win. I will be glad not to see most of them around. Nevertheless, prepare yourself to stretch your patience when you watch this fight on tv. Expect the barrage of political ads in between breaks.

Yes, I got the feeling.

People will troop to cinemas, to restaurants, hotels, bars, and just about every corner showing this fight. There will be free viewing in parks and gymnasiums courtesy of politicians. Those who cannot afford the price of pay-per-view will be happy with their ears glued on their radios. And then there will be those who will view this fight enduring the long litany of commercials. It is this time of the year when the battlefields in the mountains will be most peaceful. No need to declare ceasefire.

Yes, I got the feeling.

When he raises his arms in the air atop his corner, this country will erupt like Mt. Mayon and tremble like Haiti and Chile combined. There is no heat more intense than a Manny Pacquiao win. Not even this summer heat made more intense by El Nino and rotational brownouts. It is high-strung and highly emotional. I can say that with anticipation. A win by Manny over Clottey is like deliverance from despair and crisis. Albeit momentary.

I have seen many mothers other than Nanay Dionesia shed tears of unexplained joy and relief, grandfathers jumping what remains of the aging hop, children yelling in Christmas glee, ladies giggle in orgasmic delight and men fall in love with such an enviable machismo.

Yes, I got the feeling.

Chill the beer early. Prepare for a wild celebration. I bet even the President has asked the Press Secretary to prepare her statement. Sunday will be a beautiful Sunday. As sweet as Daniel Boone’s oldies song Beautiful Sunday. Yes, I think this Sunday I’ll take a walk in the park.

Yes, I got the feeling.

I’ll lend my thoughts once more barking on the radio via DXDC to give color and analysis to this fight. I am getting ready for the dance. I hope this will be over by lunch. I am wary though and I must submit to the rationality of Murphy’s Law. If anything can go wrong, it will.

I got this funny feeling at the back of my mind that if there is one thing that can beat Manny this Sunday, it will be the brownout, or blackout, whichever is appropriate. I hope they don’t spoil the party. No rotational brownout please. No blackout. Not this Sunday.

Clottey is black, but I bet he’ll be out.