The other day, an aspiring doctor from Huntington, Long Island, went to dinner with a celebrity from the Philippines. They came straight from the New York Stock Exchange, where they had rung the closing bell in order to promote their joint business endeavor: a fight.
The celebrity was Manny Pacquiao, one of the great boxers of the current era, who grew so popular in his native country that he became a congressman. He kept boxing, too, and despite having been knocked unconscious two years ago, Pacquiao is still considered one of the best fighters in the world.
The aspiring doctor was Chris Algieri, who holds a master’s degree in clinical nutrition from the New York Institute of Technology. Algieri was little known until June, when he won a fight against a popular Siberian boxer named Ruslan Provodnikov. The victory made Algieri a plausible opponent for Pacquiao, though only barely. When their fight—scheduled for November 22nd, in Macau—was announced, boxing writers called it a mismatch, and oddsmakers agreed, installing Pacquiao as a sixteen-to-one favorite.
The long odds, combined with Algieri’s low profile, posed a problem for the promoter, Bob Arum, who organized a two-week transpacific tour, which stopped in Macau, Shanghai, San Francisco, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles before alighting in New York. Pacquiao is soft-spoken and Algieri is chatty; neither plays the brute. Arum has used their cordial relationship as a selling point, which is why he brought them to an Italian restaurant on Chambers Street for an early supper.
Arum, who was previously an Assistant U.S. Attorney, is known as a shrewd operator. (He once stated, in a sworn affidavit, that he had paid a hundred-thousand-dollar bribe to arrange an advantageous championship match for George Foreman.) “I’m sick and tired of fighters where you do a press conference and all they do is brawl with each other, and once the bell rings there’s no fight left in them,” he said. “Boxing gets a bad rap as being populated by thugs.”
Algieri, the aspiring nutritionist, recently outlined his nutritional philosophy on Facebook: “Get more sleep, cut out the processed foods, quit smoking, stop drinking alcohol, increase your water intake, eat colorful whole foods, no more artificial sweeteners, go easy on the caffeine.” He said he’d be happy to give Pacquiao some eating tips—after the fight, of course. Since training hadn’t yet begun, the fighters weren’t too concerned about their diets.
Pacquiao’s order came first: New York strip, grilled until it was dry and gray, which is how he likes it. He let it sit for a few minutes, fiddling with a pair of iPhones. “Eat your steak before it gets cold,” Arum said, and Pacquiao picked up his utensils, tucked his head, and prayed in silence.
Algieri ordered the steak, too, medium rare, and as he finished he was summoned to pose for photographs. “I’ve been smiling so much today my face hurts,” he said. He added that Pacquiao seemed slightly shorter than advertised (Algieri is three or four inches taller), and just as gracious. “I wanted to figure out if the way he was was real or not,” Algieri said. “And it is.”
As the plates were being cleared away, Pacquiao murmured a question to the waiter: “Ice cream?” A bowl of vanilla was served, with three rolled wafers standing sentry. Pacquiao noticed that his trainer, Freddie Roach, who was sitting across the table, was watching closely, so he ordered some ice cream for Roach, too.
Roach was the only person at dinner with a reason to view the coming fight as a grudge match: he also trains Provodnikov, the Siberian whom Algieri beat in June. He was getting sick of hearing about the budding friendship between Pacquiao and Algieri. “They’re not going to get friendly,” Roach said. He glanced at Pacquiao. “He won’t.” Then he looked at Algieri. “He might.”
Algieri wasn’t listening. He was still smiling, making his way to the front of the restaurant to pose with his World Boxing Organization Junior Welterweight Championship belt, which he was given for beating Provodnikov. Roach couldn’t resist a little civilized trash talk: “I said, ‘What kind of doctor are you going to be?’ He said, ‘A naturopath.’ I said, ‘That’s not a doctor.’ ” (In fact, Algieri is planning to be an osteopath.)
Pacquiao’s publicist, Fred Sternburg, stood up as if to leave. “Are we going?” Roach asked.
“Yeah,” Sternburg said. “Eat your ice cream.” ♦
