By Lyle Fitzsimmons - OK, let's start with the allowances.
I've never been a Mexican. I've never been a Mexican-American. I've only been to Mexico four times, in fact, and the last trip ended with me throwing up in the Cancun airport on the way to an overnight hospital stay when I finally returned home.
I've also never been a Filipino. I've never been to the Philippines. And I freely admit that most of what I know about the island nation comes from two sources -- my 11th-grade Social Studies teacher, Anthony Franc; and a former co-worker in my former home state, Annie Marcelino.
For the record, I've never been anything other than a humble native of Niagara Falls, N.Y., born to a wonderful Scottish immigrant mother and a hard-working Irish-American father, neither of whom qualified for "world traveler" designation during their combined 141 years of life.
And maybe that's why I don't get the whole "vengeance is mine, sayeth De La Hoya" thing.
Perhaps if I'd been born somewhere else and had grown up somewhere else, I might actually understand the logic that the "Golden Boy" -- a justifiably proud Mexican-American -- has suddenly come up with while pondering an opponent for his long-awaited winter swan song.
Because to these lily white Anglo-Saxon ears, what's been reasoned so far is pretty ridiculous.
To hear Oscar tell it, he was sufficiently dissed by former trainer Freddie Roach's claim he can no longer "pull the trigger" at age 35 to scrap a rumored plan to meet the Margarito-Cotto winner for a chance at ultimate 147-pound supremacy -- and instead meet Roach's top charge, Manny Pacquiao.
Yes, that Manny Pacquiao. The WBC's lightweight champion. Who's had exactly one fight at 135 pounds. Who's had exactly zero fights above 135 pounds. And who as recently as 1999 was KO'd for a championship in the flyweight division by an opponent weighing 112 pounds. [details]
I've never been a Mexican. I've never been a Mexican-American. I've only been to Mexico four times, in fact, and the last trip ended with me throwing up in the Cancun airport on the way to an overnight hospital stay when I finally returned home.
I've also never been a Filipino. I've never been to the Philippines. And I freely admit that most of what I know about the island nation comes from two sources -- my 11th-grade Social Studies teacher, Anthony Franc; and a former co-worker in my former home state, Annie Marcelino.
For the record, I've never been anything other than a humble native of Niagara Falls, N.Y., born to a wonderful Scottish immigrant mother and a hard-working Irish-American father, neither of whom qualified for "world traveler" designation during their combined 141 years of life.
And maybe that's why I don't get the whole "vengeance is mine, sayeth De La Hoya" thing.
Perhaps if I'd been born somewhere else and had grown up somewhere else, I might actually understand the logic that the "Golden Boy" -- a justifiably proud Mexican-American -- has suddenly come up with while pondering an opponent for his long-awaited winter swan song.
Because to these lily white Anglo-Saxon ears, what's been reasoned so far is pretty ridiculous.
To hear Oscar tell it, he was sufficiently dissed by former trainer Freddie Roach's claim he can no longer "pull the trigger" at age 35 to scrap a rumored plan to meet the Margarito-Cotto winner for a chance at ultimate 147-pound supremacy -- and instead meet Roach's top charge, Manny Pacquiao.
Yes, that Manny Pacquiao. The WBC's lightweight champion. Who's had exactly one fight at 135 pounds. Who's had exactly zero fights above 135 pounds. And who as recently as 1999 was KO'd for a championship in the flyweight division by an opponent weighing 112 pounds. [details]
****in' chump!
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