Without a shred of doubt, I am now convinced that Pacquiao versus Mayweather is not the best fight to be made in our lifetime.
Why, last Sunday, the battle to end all battles, the fight that really mattered had actually already been made and you must be dumb and blind or you’ve been living in a cave to miss out on all the action. Brief as it was, fleeting even, the spectacle was unscripted, unannounced, and completely astounding!
We were treated to a fight way more profound and intense than Pacquiao and Mayweather fighting a hundred times over, could ever produce, if by any remote chance that fight could still be made.
I was gripped with suspense and glued to the teevee set, and so was the entire nation of tens of millions of rice-eating, rumor-mongering, and debt-ridden Filipinos when Mon Tulfo and the husband and wife tag team of Raymart Santiago and Claudine Barreto got down and dirty during a hilarious and highly entertaining punch fest at the NAIA 3 mezzanine floor.
Pound-for pound, I would dare say Claudine Barretto, all beefed up and with bulges her clothes could barely hold together must be tough to beat. I was worried her skimpy shorts would rip apart when she bends and expose her assets all over the cameras during the fracas.
Having literally “outgrown” her young and wholesome image, Claudine had been typecast for mother roles of late. But following this public embarrassment, I doubt if even mother roles would come knocking at her doorsteps these days to salvage what’s left of her fast-fading celebrity.
Ironically, she would probably end up losing all the “meaty” roles for throwing her weight around, pun intended.
As for Tulfo, the poor fellow was clearly in queer streets while trying to regain his footing from all that bashing on the head that he took that perhaps in the aftermath of the confusion, he must have thought of calling for help on the program Isumbong Mo Kay Tulfo until he realized when the cobwebs cleared, that “Goddammit! I would be calling myself!”
If anything, he was lucky his toupee was not yanked off during the attack!
Imagine this, Claudine’s shorts bursting at the seams and Tulfo’s wig blowing in the wind! It should be one for the books.
Before you bash my head for being insensitive and for making fun of people’s public humiliation, I stand by my choice to take everything in stride and see the whole picture for what it is, a ridiculous case of people being people and letting off steam in a savage, if comical way. I see no point in turning this incident into a feminists rights or a freedom of the press debate. With all due respect, Claudine is not worth bearing the banner for the typecast aggrieved women of the world in the same manner that Tulfo is not deserving to wear the mantle of the crusading journalist. I don’t know about you and I respect your opinion whatever that is, but for me, we shouldn’t dignify this incident.
Let’s save the argument for the real life heroes out there.
In the meantime, let’s sit and watch the aftermath, as the Senate with yet another investigation in aid of legislation in the offing, tries to get into the act while the Tulfo brothers grit their teeth waiting in the wings. Overall, it was wacky and wild, it was fun to watch. It was an advanced Mother’s Day bash.
And it truly was the Mother of Mayhem.