Last Sunday, in ABS-CBN's "Hangad na Paghihiganti," Zeta Celestino Oliveros Gorres (popularly known as ZC Gorres), once again made his way to the ring, only this time, he walked slowly, haltingly, his right arm carefully held by his lovely, loving wife Datches. As he stepped onto the mat to the rousing, poignant applause of the crowd, tears rolled down his cheeks. He was shaking and still shaken, no doubt tortured by his heartbreaking past and his now uncertain future.
Six months ago, Gorres was poised for a breakthrough win in U.S. soil. He was delivering a command performance against hard-hitting Colombian Luis Melendez. It was a masterful yet sublime boxing clinic when out of nowhere, he got caught flush with a crunching left hook. Gorres went down, dazed, disoriented, and down for the count. Someway, somehow, he managed to will himself up. He held on to dear life, finished the fight, acknowledged his victory, and paraded the Philippine flag around the ring—all on rubbery legs.
After that, everything began to fall apart for the affable, unassuming pride of Agusan del Norte. He collapsed on his way out of the ring and was rushed to the nearby University Medical Center, where he underwent emergency surgery to clear up the blood clot in his brain. Gorres survived, yet a part of him died that night. His dreams, his aspirations, his career all came crumbling down with that one vicious punch.
Now Gorres is
a shell of his former self. Only 28, Gorres looks beaten and battered, hurt and hurting. Always in control inside the ring, this once dynamic young man now has little to no control over almost everything. Eating can be laborious, walking even more. He tries to speak, but oftentimes he can only mumble the words that are dying to come out. He looks almost helpless, perhaps even hopeless. The tears that rolled down Gorres's cheeks said it all. They were tears of absolute pain, tears of undeniable sorrow.Unfortunately, Z Gorres’s tragic fate is a sad, forgotten story now, and yet his is a story—sad and as tragic as it is—that reveals a reprehensible, understated reality: most Filipinos are blinded by the otherworldly excellence of Manny Pacquiao and oblivious to the often heartrending struggles most Filipino boxers endure. What we fail to remember, wittingly or not, is that beyond the supernova that is Emmanuel Dapidran Pacquiao is a slew of lesser-lights like Gorres, some dreaming of superstardom, of championships, of admiration; many, simply carving a perilous path out of poverty.
Gorres’s case isn’t an isolated one. Two years ago, lightweight prospect Czar Amonsot suffered the same fate—though relatively minor compared to Gorres’s—after going toe-to-toe with Australian slugger Michael Katsidis for 10 brutal, back-and-forth rounds. Another boxer, young Lito Sisnorio wasn’t so lucky. In only his 11th professional fight, he was pitted against former world champion Chatchai Sasakul in a colossal mismatch, and predictably, he got the beatdown of his life. His brain bled and he died just days after the fight.
Admittedly, the risks of prizefighting is as great as its lucrative rewards. Unfortunately, Gorres, Amonsot, and Sisnorio got the wrong end of this risk-reward conundrum. We know of Gorres, Amonsot, and Sisnorio, but to say that they are the only ones wo have fallen prey to the inherent dangers of the sport would be naive. In fact, a case can even be made that more than a fair share of Pinoy pugilists—many of whom have turned to boxing as a means of livelihood—have gotten the wrong end of this risk-reward conundrum.
The problem, however, is not simply about the risks endemic to the sport. The bigger problem is actually the collective apathy—or perhaps utter lack of concern—most Filipinos have toward Filipino boxers other than Manny Pacquiao, and to a lesser extent, half-bloods Brian Villoria and Nonito Donaire. The dangers Pinoy boxers face are already very real, and they are exacerbated by the lack of a coordinated system or organization that will monitor the health, safety, training, matches, and general welfare of Filipino fighters.
Both Gorres and Amonsot got immediate and world-class medical attention because they were fortunate enough to be in the ALA stable of Tony and Michael Aldegeur. The Aldeguers went to great lengths to make sure that their fighters survived their rendezvous with death. Poor Lito Sisnorio wasn’t so lucky—he had no one. Not a single soul came forward to really help Sisnorio fight the fight of his life. If such a coordinated system or organization had been in place then, the chances of Sisnorio surviving that ultimately fateful ordeal would have increased exponentially. In fact, he wouldn’t have been put in such a preposterously dangerous position had this system been in place then.
Unfortunately, such a system didn’t exist then, and it still doesn’t exist now. Sisnorio’s death in 2007 should have already been the wake-up call that would facilitate the establishment of such a system, but apparently, no one cared enough to actually do something. The Games and Amusement Board, tasked to oversee the licensing of boxers and other athletes, can only do so much. In fact, it has proven to be near inadequate in protecting Filipino boxers. As such, many a number of Pinoy fighters—in particular, those who are not affiliated with the country’s prominent boxing stables—pursue the sport without the benefit of a safety net in case anything untoward happens to them (as in the case of Sisnorio). In addition, most Filipino boxers have very limited options in case their careers bomb out or when their once successful careers fizzle out, as in the cases of Luisito Espinosa and Rolando Navarette. This is the sad reality that many Filipino boxers have to deal with, and what’s sadder is that they can’t do anything about it. All they can do is work hard, pray to any and all deities they know, hope for the best, and let the chips fall as they may.
ABS-CBN and the people who organized "Hangad na Paghihiganti" gave Z Gorres a fitting and heartwarming tribute last Sunday. Pinoy boxer Michael Domingo even exacted a measure of revenge on Gorres's behalf by knocking out Luis Melendez later that night. These, however, are not enough. If these people truly want to honor Gorres, the best thing they can do is fix the system so that every Filipino boxer will have a safety net in case something goes tragically wrong.
Gorres's tear-jerking, emotional return to the ring last Sunday was a sad but apt reminder of the inherent dangers of boxing. It should also be enough to convince people in position to really do something to protect and take care of our boxers.
