Manny for president?

Well, it’s not as crazy as it sounds. Manny Pacquiao has shown time and time again he has a willingness to face difficult tasks. Here’s a guy with six championships belts now, someone who looks at the odds makers and simply flashes that genuine smile; who takes apart Oscar De La Hoya in eight rounds and Rick Hatton in two. And who seems to believe it’s all part of God’s plan.

A man with a plan. Maybe he’s the man for the Philippines.

Of course, on camera, in his disarming way, Pacquiao denies any oversized political ambition. But, interviewed after the much-anticipated, blink-and-you-missed-it tussle in Las Vegas last Sunday, Manny (whose English has improved since earlier bouts, making him now more believable as a candidate than Sarah Palin) was canny enough not to close any doors. “There’s talk of you as a presidential candidate,” went one interviewer’s question. “Uh, no. Congressman only,” went Pacman’s almost-too-honest reply.

Manny for congressman. Well, how serious is he?

You’ve seen your share of celebrity candidates here, and the key to their undoing is generally the company they keep. Estrada had some pretty shady company, for example. Pacquiao, so far, has a tight coterie of friends and family, with an ever-expanding fan club worldwide. No political favors owed, at this point. Is it too much to wish that Pacquiao will pick his friends (and admirers) carefully, if he ever shoots for higher office?

Watching the Vegas fight must have been manna from heaven for Filipinos, another shot at proving the country’s greatness to the world. (I almost felt bad for the Brits who flew all the way to America, braving swine flu, for six minutes of humiliation.) The Filipino’s win comes at a time of flu hysteria, economic jitters and perennial political bugaboos. So a moment of true greatness must taste all that much sweeter.

Can Manny translate that greatness to the political realm? Some say: yes, he can.

But wait: he’s not educated enough, some will fire back; he’s no lawyer or real estate genius or financial wizard. How could he ever handle writing legislation, or overseeing the country’s prickly problems?

Well, for one thing, he’s got his own money, which could mean he has less incentive towards corruption. (They say the same thing about Manny Villar, incidentally, which is one reason why he’s considered a favorite in 2010.)

For another, Pacman’s seemingly got God on his side. The guy hunkers down in the corner before every fight, says his prayers, thanks the Big Man constantly in interviews; he dedicates every single fight to his fellow countrymen, something few politicians could ever do without evoking snickers and rounds of guffaws; Pacquiao comes across as humble, God-fearing, never trash-talking his opponents but offering them words of consolation and praise, even after he’s thoroughly cleaned their clocks.

Best of all, President Pacquiao could get a lot more accomplished than most heads of state. You don’t really want to get on his bad side. If anybody in Congress starts giving him too much shit, he could just whale the piss out of them. Problem solved. Next problem.

But Pacquiao’s got something else going for him: a genuineness that can’t be bought or cultivated. It doesn’t come from grooming oneself for leadership over decades, picking the right schools and jobs, tweaking your résumé. It comes from within. He’s like Jimmy Stewart in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington with lethal Jedi skills. The common man, with fists of steel. Hell, Abe Lincoln never went to law school or college, but he still steered the United States through its toughest times.

Watching Pacquiao play Hatton like a hoedown fiddle, you can easily imagine the guy sizing up any mealy-mouthed fiscalizer on the Senate floor. You guys want another Strong Man to run the place? Manny fits the bill. He managed to knock the Mancunian flat on his back three times in six minutes, and it came in a barrage of blows that Hatton should have seen coming, but his guard was never really up long enough. By the time he knew what he was up against — a southpaw with a two-inch reach advantage, sure, but also a masterful combination, all leading back to a devastating left cross to Hatton’s wide-open jaw — it was way too late to lift those gloves up higher. Hatton clinched Pacquiao every chance he got, but that was no match for the shorter opponent’s speed, power and strategy. When the final death blow came, in the last 12 seconds of round two, it was almost like a classic Ali move, dangling the cheese: “See this right? See it? Good!” Wham! goes the left.

That’s really the kind of fighting skills the Philippines sorely needs right now, not the death crawl of litigation and Cha-cha moves and halfhearted hearings “in aid of legislation”; not secret business deals and not-so-secret agendas. Not endless bickering between those lining up for their turn at The Trough. Just the short, sharp shock of steady, straightforward punches.

Coming up in 2016: Mr. Pacquiao Goes to Malacañang. Don’t bet against it.