Pacman could’ve danced all night after fighting all night! In the annals of boxing history, has anyone ever fought so hard, so long, and looked so good?

Is that the Pacman magic, to outfight and outlast the enemy and still come out looking fresh as a daisy after 12 rounds, 35-plus minutes, or $214,300 per minute? No sweat! Compared to the monster he vanquished, his face and body were practically untouched, his pants all nice and shiny still.

But yet, is Pacman losing his touch? Why did it take him 12 rounds to floor the foe? In previous engagements where he slew the other guy, didn’t he make short shrift of the game by Round 3?

Uncanny how the promoter Bob Arum had predicted a “brutal ending” either way, a prediction that Hillary Clinton was to outdo when she said, without hesitation and equivocation, without batting an eyelash, “Is there any doubt that Pacman will win?” (Would Secretary Clinton, the diplomat that she is, have made the same forecast if she were in Puerto Rico?)

The fight was brutal and savage, especially on Cotto’s end, though I could just as easily sympathize with how Mommy Dionisia, even with her newfound fame as a commercial model and movie star, must have cringed each time a blow landed on her Manny. I am not a boxing fan, but I am almost certain that if the referee had been a woman, she would have ended the fight at Round 9.

That round was so devastating it appeared to be terminal for Cotto. But he bravely fought on, even as the wind was knocked out of his sail and his corner refused to throw in the towel, seemingly blind to the punishment he was receiving. And still Pacman gave it to him, pursuing him, hunting him down like prey. Pity Cotto’s poor mother. Was she cringing, suffering, too?

In the end, the most beautiful shot was Pacman dropping to his knees to pray, only to be interrupted by a Cotto who could not wait to embrace him and pay his respects.