Thrilla in the camalig

As I mentioned in the previous post, friends and I had lunch at a renovated camalig or granary in Angeles. The strong downpour forced us to stay inside, we sat by the window watching the rain, munching on our pizza. We were the only customers there for an hour, and our only companions were the waiter, the cashier, and the cook in the back. But we were regaled by the radio broadcast of the Pacquiao-Barrera fight. Round after round, we listened to what was happening over in Vegas, while we joined the rest of the country to listen or watch the show.

Listening to a sports event made me feel very relaxed. Yes, it was man vs man, fight to the finish, blood, gore, sweat, tears, and a lot of pain for both gladiators. Thousands of miles away, two guys and a lady sit listening to the broadcaster narrating the play by play action, watching the rain cool the earth, sitting in a stone and wood hall, the fans overhead circulating the rain cooled air. If I were watching it, I think I'd have been turned off by the sight of what they were doing, but having the experience second hand, through the voice of the sportscaster, I could imagine the ballet of the fight.

When he won, we raised our milkshakes (well, E raised his fork) to him. Cheers!