Juan Manuel Marquez lands a blow for the nearly men of sporting history

The Mexican boxer’s dogged refusal to accept defeat resulted in the most glorious of pay-offs.

At some point in time Sisyphus must have hit a wall.

Calves burning, back broken, blood coursing from his ragged hands, even the most durable of mythological figures must have despaired at the size of his task.

Punished by Zeus for a legacy of evil and scheming, the first king of Ephyra, is somewhere approaching 2,500 years of fruitlessly attempting to push a never resting boulder to the top of a never ending hill.

Last Saturday, a world or two away from Sisyphus’ perpetual toil, Juan Manuel Marquez’s personal boulder was a heavy one.

Facing eight weight world champion Manny Pacquiao for a fourth time, the Mexican pugilist stared up at a climb he had failed to scale on three separate occasions and prayed for redemption.

Before the pair’s first meeting in May 2004, he was the ugly sister of a trio of Mexican fighters dominating the sport’s lighter weights. Dwarfed by the instantly iconic Erik Morales and Marco Antonio Barrera, Marquez entered into a Las Vegas ring to face a whirlwind Pacquiao as a major betting underdog. 

During the opening stanza of the rivalry, Pacquiao set Marquez on his backside three times and, had referee Joe Cortez stopped the fight then and there, as many would have, this story would have been aborted before conception.

As it was, the Mexican would instead face a near decade long battle for vindication as he shared first a draw and then two razor thin defeats with the man many argue to have become one of the finest fighters ever to enter a boxing ring.

On Saturday, eight years and 42 rounds later, Marquez finally set his burden to rest.

What anguish must the Mexican have faced in November last year when, having put together arguably the most consummate performance of his career, he was deprived so cruelly on the judge’s scorecards for a third time in succession.

The four weight world champion threatened retirement- admittedly not a luxury afforded the condemned Sisyphus, however the crisis of confidence reflected the weight of the past sitting squarely on the then 38-year-old’s shoulders.

The last forty years of ring history would have told Marquez that chasing career defining fights against boxers who have transcended the sport in the manner Pacquiao has over the last decade, rarely ends positively.

Like Joe Frazier, Marvin Hagler and Ricky Hatton in their respective pursuits at the mountain, Marquez had waged a war against a man whose influence extended beyond his sport and whose achievements defined a decade and in doing so had come up agonizingly short.
The cost of that failure could never be defined in dollars earned or in titles won. 

Hagler’s ultimate rival Sugar Ray Leonard would be revered as the finest pugilist of his generation and rewarded handsomely for his charisma and commercial appeal. Hatton’s conqueror, the undefeated Floyd Mayweather Jr, would become the wealthiest fighter in the history of the sport and Frazier’s long-time foe Muhammad Ali would be simply remembered as ‘the greatest’.

For Marquez, the idea of failing to undo his great foe for a fourth time was too dreadful to bear. Even the perennial nearly man Frazier had an initial triumph over Ali to fall back upon as he sat in his Philadelphia apartment for 30 years between his 1981 retirement and death in November last year.

Hagler had his victory over Tommy Hearns, Hatton had one night in Manchester with Kostya Tszyu but Marquez, despite his four world titles at different weights, had only a legacy of missed chances to torture him for the rest of his life. Coming from a nation of great Mexican fighters, he would not even have the undivided adulation of his people to console him.

Somehow he had to better his best creation. Months of bag work, early morning road runs, hill sprints and iron clad discipline would have to follow for the chance at possibly scaling that impossible mountain- an obstacle he was convinced he had done enough to already conquer.

All of these factors combine as context for Marquez as he produced as close to a perfect punch as you are ever likely to see in a boxing ring. Having shipped the majority of the first five rounds and with only a handful of seconds left in the sixth session, the Mexican found the right hand of Sisyphus to lay Pacquiao out cold.

With that blow, Marquez simultaneously landed a punch for the nearly men of boxing’s brutal history.

Logic would have suggested that Pacquiao, at a fourth time of asking, would finally lay his ghost to rest. The Filipino man of the people could blame his busy work schedule and marital problems for his most recent failures but by laying the aged Mexican on the canvas for a fifth and final time, he could remove all doubt from the equation he had struggled most to solve. But this was no longer about logic.

A motionless Pacquiao brought back memories of a lifeless Hatton after he was destroyed by the Filipino in 2009. As ESPN’s Dan Rafael put it in the immediate aftermath of the fight: “Sometimes you’re the windshield and sometimes you’re the bug.” Marquez, like Sisyphus, knows well the feeling of being the bug.

Sadly, after of this, however, the fable is unlikely to end here. Pacquiao has already rejected his wife’s plea to quit the sport and Marquez could make upwards of $20 million from a rematch, so boxing’s Sisyphus appears likely to volunteer another stab at his grandest test. He should walk away and in doing so secure something that none of his nearly men brothers have ever managed. But he won’t. He can’t.

Juan Manuel Marquez (R) and Manny Pacquiao battle during their welterweight fight on December 8, 2012 at the MGM Grand Garden in Las Vegas. Photograph: Getty Images.

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The UK press’s timid reaction to Brexit is in marked contrast to the satire unleashed on Trump

For the BBC, it seems, to question leaving the EU is to be unpatriotic.

Faced with arguably their biggest political-cum-constitutional ­crisis in half a century, the press on either side of the pond has reacted very differently. Confronting a president who, unlike many predecessors, does not merely covertly dislike the press but rages against its supposed mendacity as a purveyor of “fake news”, the fourth estate in the US has had a pretty successful first 150-odd days of the Trump era. The Washington Post has recovered its Watergate mojo – the bloodhound tenacity that brought down Richard Nixon. The Post’s investigations into links between the Kremlin and Donald Trump’s associates and appointees have yielded the scalp of the former security adviser Michael Flynn and led to Attorney General Jeff Sessions recusing himself from all inquiries into Trump-Russia contacts. Few imagine the story will end there.

Meanwhile, the New York Times has cast off its image as “the grey lady” and come out in sharper colours. Commenting on the James Comey memo in an editorial, the Times raised the possibility that Trump was trying to “obstruct justice”, and called on Washington lawmakers to “uphold the constitution”. Trump’s denunciations of the Times as “failing” have acted as commercial “rocket fuel” for the paper, according to its CEO, Mark Thompson: it gained an “astonishing” 308,000 net digital news subscriptions in the first quarter of 2017.

US-based broadcast organisations such as CNN and ABC, once considered slick or bland, have reacted to Trump’s bullying in forthright style. Political satire is thriving, led by Saturday Night Live, with its devastating impersonations of the president by Alec Baldwin and of his press secretary Sean Spicer by the brilliant Melissa McCarthy.

British press reaction to Brexit – an epic constitutional, political and economic mess-up that probably includes a mind-bogglingly destructive self-ejection from a single market and customs union that took decades to construct, a move pushed through by a far-right faction of the Tory party – has been much more muted. The situation is complicated by the cheerleading for Brexit by most of the British tabloids and the Daily Telegraph. There are stirrings of resistance, but even after an election in which Theresa May spectacularly failed to secure a mandate for her hard Brexit, there is a sense, though the criticism of her has been intense, of the media pussy-footing around a government in disarray – not properly interrogating those who still seem to promise that, in relation to Europe, we can have our cake and eat it.

This is especially the case with the BBC, a state broadcaster that proudly proclaims its independence from the government of the day, protected by the famous “arm’s-length” principle. In the case of Brexit, the BBC invoked its concept of “balance” to give equal airtime and weight to Leavers and Remainers. Fair enough, you might say, but according to the economist Simon Wren-Lewis, it ignored a “near-unanimous view among economists that Brexit would hurt the UK economy in the longer term”.

A similar view of “balance” in the past led the BBC to equate views of ­non-scientific climate contrarians, often linked to the fossil-fuel lobby, with those of leading climate scientists. Many BBC Remainer insiders still feel incensed by what they regard as BBC betrayal over Brexit. Although the referendum of 23 June 2016 said nothing about leaving the single market or the customs union, the Today presenter Justin Webb, in a recent interview with Stuart Rose, put it like this: “Staying in the single market, staying in the customs union – [Leave voters would say] you might as well not be leaving. That fundamental position is a matter of democracy.” For the BBC, it seems, to question Brexit is somehow to be unpatriotic.

You might think that an independent, pro-democratic press would question the attempted use of the arcane and archaic “royal prerogative” to enable the ­bypassing of parliament when it came to triggering Article 50, signalling the UK’s departure from the EU. But when the campaigner Gina Miller’s challenge to the government was upheld by the high court, the three ruling judges were attacked on the front page of the Daily Mail as “enemies of the people”. Thomas Jefferson wrote that he would rather have “newspapers without a government” than “a government without newspapers”. It’s a fair guess he wasn’t thinking of newspapers that would brand the judiciary as “enemies of the people”.

It does seem significant that the United States has a written constitution, encapsulating the separation and balance of powers, and explicitly designed by the Founding Fathers to protect the young republic against tyranny. When James Madison drafted the First Amendment he was clear that freedom of the press should be guaranteed to a much higher degree in the republic than it had been in the colonising power, where for centuries, after all, British monarchs and prime ministers have had no qualms about censoring an unruly media.

By contrast, the United Kingdom remains a hybrid of monarchy and democracy, with no explicit protection of press freedom other than the one provided by the common law. The national impulse to bend the knee before the sovereign, to obey and not question authority, remains strangely powerful in Britain, the land of Henry VIII as well as of George Orwell. That the United Kingdom has slipped 11 places in the World Press Freedom Index in the past four years, down to 40th, has rightly occasioned outrage. Yet, even more awkwardly, the United States is three places lower still, at 43rd. Freedom of the press may not be doing quite as well as we imagine in either country.

Harry Eyres is the author of Horace and Me: Life Lessons from an Ancient Poet (2013)

This article first appeared in the 20 July 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The new world disorder