RollingStone: Manny Pacquiao and the Fight of His Life

By Michaell Weinreb

There is the inner circle, there is the outer circle and there are the ever-widening concentric circles of hangers-on who drift about the periphery like a distant star hovering around the sun. There are the members of the Filipino media who show up every day, and there are the members of the American media who show up in fits and starts (today Rolling Stone, tomorrow The New York Times), and there are the HBO executives, and there is the promoter and there is the camera crew the promoter hired to document everything.

There is the security detail and there are the pressmen and the managers and the canines and the trainers and the celebrities, because it would not be a Pacquiao camp without the celebrities. One day, it was Chappelle; on another day, it was Robert Duvall; sometimes, it's Mark Wahlberg, and a day or two from now, it will be a fellow Christian soldier named Tebow. On this particular afternoon, a sedan lurches forward into one of the spots and discharges a gadfly of a fight promoter named Bob Arum, who casually introduces his driver as Bill Friedkin, the man who directed the most iconic celluloid car chase of the 20th century.

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