by Fox Doucette
(WARNING: The following column contains crude, vulgar language, blatant use of dick jokes, and Manny Pacquiao. Viewer discretion is advised.)
I am sick and fucking tired of you people. There are three types of people in this world who are experts at rationalizing away every bit of stupid, mindless, retarded bullshit in their empty little heads. Nazi death camp guards, every ex-girlfriend of mine and every woman I will ever date again in my natural-born life, and goddamn Manny Pacquiao fans. It makes writing about the consensus second-best fighter in the world, a guy who when he’s in the ring exemplifies everything beautifully brutal about this sport, about as much fun as being punched in the dick by Andrew Golota.
Pacquiao fans are a game within a game. When I wrote last week’s Southpaw column, my first goal was to write a good in-depth look at the immediate future of the sport of boxing in a cleverly wrapped package (and since most people seemed to like it, I must’ve done something right.) My second goal was to piss off as many Pacquiao fanboys as possible. I didn’t even get a single death threat despite my email being right there. I’m disappointed. Only 20 of you mouth-breathing fuckwits even bothered to comment. Fercrissakes, I anointed Floyd Mayweather Jr. as the greatest of all time at his weight, and that wasn’t enough for you people?
I can understand blind fandom. Hell, I grew up in and currently live in Boston, a city where apropos of nothing at a game against the Cleveland Browns, football fans at Gillette Stadium will start chanting “Yankees Suck”. Before that, I lived in Reno, where Tea Party conspiracy theorists and meth heads (who, incidentally, are usually the same people) campaigned for Sharron Angle last year like she was Jesus H. Christ with tits. They regard Senator Harry Reid with the same scorn and disgust usually reserved for Adolf Hitler. And yet even they weren’t as annoying as the rats that come crawling out from the baseboards every time I mention Manny Pacquiao in a goddamn boxing column.
Carl Froch’s fans aren’t like this—I wrote about Lucian Bute like he was the Second Fucking Coming of Christ and all I got was polite disagreement, probably because Carl Froch is from England and British folks have a tendency to say “I think you’re a bit in error here, mate” when they really mean “YOU NAZI-LOVING DOG RAPING PEDOPHILE”, but they actually gave clearly defended, well thought-out (and, as it turned out, crystal ball-like accurate) assessments of why they thought their fighter would win when he stepped into the ring.
I might’ve thought this sort of behavior to be endemic to people from the Philippines, but besides that being more than a little bit racist, it’s also completely inaccurate. I say nice things about Guillermo Rigondeaux, but fans of Nonito Donaire don’t then accuse me of wanting to use my asshole as a cigar cutter for Rigondeaux’s crotch Cohiba. So no, it’s not racism (even if Filipina chicks frankly scare me sometimes…if Pacquiao were married to a local girl I’ve got ten bucks he loses every fight at home).
Miguel Cotto’s fans aren’t like this, and unlike Pacquiao Miguel Cotto actually had the balls to step into the ring and test himself against the best fighter in the world rather than wading around in chickenshit excuses the way Pacquiao and his army of yes-men have been doing for the past five years. I said Mayweather would win that fight and got politely disagreed with (mostly by Puerto Ricans) but never verbally assaulted.
I don’t even know what the fans’ stake in all this is. These people aren’t on Manny Pacquiao’s payroll (like the platoon of “journalists” who shill Pacquiao’s every move for penny-clicks, which has been covered better by the head honcho of this site). They get absolutely no compensation beyond “hey, the guy I was cheering for won his fight, good for him” when Pacquiao does something good. I watched the Oklahoma City Thunder beat the Spurs last night, and at no point did I feel like I needed to put a condom on just to contain the jizz when the final buzzer sounded. I’m a Celtics fan and I didn’t need to do that in 2008 when they won the title for the first time since my father was still alive.
My point is this. To every Pactard, every ordinary person who lives and dies by someone else’s fortunes in order to cover over the gaping holes in their own pathetic lives, to everyone who substitutes hero worship for sense: Just shut the fuck up. You sound worse than the girl whose boyfriend dumps her, strings her along to get his dick wet while he looks for a new girlfriend, then she ends up jumping off a fucking bridge when he finally falls in love with someone else. In other words, a whiny little whore. Don’t be a whiny little whore. Watch Manny Pacquiao, enjoy his success, be a little disappointed when the end of the line comes for him, but don’t lose your fucking emotional identity in the process.
Fox Doucette covers Friday Night Fights for The Boxing Tribune. His weekly column, The Southpaw, appears on Thursdays. He actually believes Pacquiao will win fairly easily over Timothy Bradley Saturday night. Fan mail, hate mail, and death threats can be sent to firstname.lastname@example.org.
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