Pacquiao the convert, Bradley the shameless

Manny Pacquiao can be beaten, but this is not news because any man who ties gloves on his fists and makes combat with large and good enough men will be beaten eventually. Manny Pacquiao can be beaten by the man he faces Saturday, and this is news. It is not an outcome aficionados have allowed-for in a Pacquiao fight since at least Miguel Cotto but probably Oscar De La Hoya – and nobody knew what the hell was going to happen in that fight.

Pacquiao was unofficially beaten by Juan Manuel Marquez in November, yes, but you couldn’t find three people to predict it aloud in the MGM Grand Media Center during fightweek. It will be different this week. Pacquiao has not looked sensational against another prime fighter since his second tilt with Marquez in 2008 – another fight he may have lost with every scorecard in an honest hand. None of his recent opponents, not even Marquez seven months ago, prepared him for what he’ll see Saturday, when he faces Timothy Bradley at MGM Grand for the WBO welterweight title.

Bradley, 7-0 in world title fights, is an undefeated 28-year-old volume puncher who leads with his head. That sentence comprises everything needed to beat a subprime Pacquiao.

It has been more than five years since Pacquiao faced someone who had no idea how to lose, and that was the overmatched Jorge Solis at Alamodome in a fight with more anxious moments than one infers today from its boxscore. Those moments came behind a collision of heads that caused a cut to drop blood in Pacquiao’s eye, much as had happened two years before in the last prizefight Pacquiao lost – when Erik Morales took notice of the queasy look Pacquiao showed him after a visit to the ringside doctor. The Solis cut, too, brought a queasy look, one followed immediately by Pacquiao thrice making the Sign of the Cross – forehead to breastbone, left shoulder to right – in rapid succession, before tearing into Solis with a savageness unpredicted by any previous act in the fight.

The Sign of the Cross is a thing young Catholics learn to make in anxious situations, an emergency petition of sorts: I could be in over my head, here, so please watch over me. Pacquiao learned to do it as a child, like millions of others, and has continued to do it through a career that, as discovered in this match’s promotion, saw him occasionally eschew the teachings of Rome. Pacquiao’s rededication to his Catholic faith is sincere, but like other sincere initiatives Pacquiao has launched – like eradicating world poverty with yellow gloves – this one looks flighty.

It should be a private matter, either way, Pacquiao’s born-again Catholicism during a prizefight promotion, but as a matter that exploits Americans’ dual fascinations with evangelism and salesmanship, it was too rich for HBO not to shine its documentary light on – as part of a “24/7” programming concept, once innovative in 2007, that now covers mostly itself and predicts storylines it once discovered.

Pacquiao’s unconventional conversion is a bit relevant, too, because a fighter is not supposed to “feel empty inside” during training camp. If he is not too physically exhausted and mentally obsessed with another man’s injury to partake of such flummery, he’s likely not throwing hard enough at the heavybag. Or is that too ungentle for this era? Well. Can you imagine Marvelous Marvin Hagler, cloistered at the Provincetown Inn – the better to marinate in hatred and rage – having a telegenic advisor to ensure his spirit felt fulfilled? Heavens.

Just another part of the Pacquiao mystique, we are told. The soap-operatic entourage, the constituents in Sarangani Province, record deals, lawsuits and countersuits, the feuding corner, training breaks for Bible study; none of these is a distraction because Pacquiao has preternatural focus in the prizefighting ring. Or he’s been well-matched.

Inherent in most aficionados’ Pacquiao fight predictions has been a wager like this: Too much money to be made in a Floyd Mayweather fight for promoter Top Rank to risk it with a miscue. This has been a well-placed bet on the legendary marriage of matchmaker Bruce Trampler’s prowess and promoter Bob Arum’s business acumen, and their continued assumption a superfight with Mayweather is still doable.

Timothy Bradley’s one other showing at welterweight, an unimpressive 2010 outing with Luis Carlos Abregu, also indicates a prime Pacquiao will have his hand raised Saturday. Bradley is special in his way, special in both style and character, but he is not quite special as a guy who went 4-1-1 (3 KOs) against the primest versions of his era’s three best Mexican champions, as Pacquiao did. When was that prime-Pacquiao last seen, though? Pacquiao is the variable, Saturday, not Bradley; if the Pacquiao who has been showing up since he decked Ricky Hatton makes a pre-concert appearance at MGM Grand later this week, he will get conclusively outworked.

We already know what a volume puncher like Bradley brings: a glorious sort of shamelessness. Bradley doesn’t care much where he hits you and cares even less if you stretch him; so long as he surrenders himself fully to his intensity and does what his corner tells him, he is contented. Bradley doesn’t have to worry about losing because he has never done so as a professional, and because a volume puncher knows quickly when someone is decisively better than he is, as Pacquiao will be, and finds euphoria in breaking that man’s spirit with a want of polish, an enchanting rudeness.

I’ll take Bradley, SD-12, then – with a dissenting 112-116 scorecard filled-out the day before.

Bart Barry can be reached at bart.barrys.email (at) gmail.com