Manny Pacquiao Studies Scripture

The lights along the Hudson flickered low through the windows as the session stretched past midnight. I had come for the usual pre-fight questions, notebook open, recorder ready, but the room had filled instead with open Bibles and the low sound of voices turning pages. Manny sat at the center table, his engraved white copy never more than an arm’s length away, finger tracing verses he had already marked. Pastor Soriano leaned forward, explaining a parable from Matthew while the rest of us listened.

I had watched Manny’s circle for years. The late nights after training used to run until the sun came up, pool tables crowded, cards scattered, bottles passed around. The schedule stayed brutal, yet the distractions multiplied. After the third fight with Marquez the strain showed in every face. Jinkee had nearly stayed home that night in Las Vegas. When she finally stepped into the suite, the delay left Freddie Roach with barely fifteen minutes to loosen Manny’s shoulders before the walk to the ring. The performance that followed told its own story.

Soriano had entered the picture the previous December in Manila. A single study at the house turned into another the next week, then an urgent call to General Santos City. Soriano cleared five days on his calendar and flew south. By the third visit the trust had settled enough that Manny asked him to teach the same lessons to the extended family. The pastor, twenty-two years into the work, recognized the hunger. He had seen it in his own life after the car crash that killed his friends when he was nineteen. The empty seat that night had kept him on the curb. A Bible given later finally made sense only after he accepted what the giver called a living spirit.

In Los Angeles the pattern held. Training finished, the group moved to a rented house where the Bible studies replaced the old routines. Manny set the music equipment aside. The basketball court stayed empty. He read two sessions a day, sometimes more, and brought Jinkee into the circle. The verses on self-control and faithfulness were spoken aloud, not argued over. The same man who once needed seven-figure advances from Bob Arum to cover gambling markers now spoke of long-term investment in something he called eternal life.

I sat through one of those evenings in a quiet corner of the living room. Soriano read from Mark while Manny followed along, repeating the lines under his breath until the phrasing felt natural. No one raised their voice. When the study ended, Manny stayed at the table, underlining passages with a ballpoint pen. Outside, the city kept its usual noise, but the room held only the sound of pages turning and the occasional question about obedience.

The change reached the gym as well. Freddie Roach noticed the difference in focus during mitt work. The old restlessness that had once pulled Manny toward casinos or late-night drives had given way to early returns and quiet meals. Jinkee traveled with the camp now without hesitation. She read alongside him in the evenings, their copies side by side on the kitchen counter. The marital distance that had nearly ended the marriage after the Marquez fight narrowed with each shared study.

Bob Arum watched from the promoter’s side and said little at first. Then, one afternoon before a press event, he mentioned the shift reminded him of another fighter’s turn, though the circumstances differed. Manny was older, already carrying the weight of eight divisions and a congressional seat. The peace he described came from the daily reading rather than any sudden vision. Soriano stayed close, traveling from Manila to Los Angeles to Las Vegas, adjusting his own schedule each time Manny called.

By the week of the Bradley fight the routine had become fixed. Morning training, afternoon rest, evening study. Manny quoted from memory during interviews, moving from Josiah to Matthew without notes. The old habits, the womanizing, the drinking, the careless speech, had stopped. He said the Bible served as the manual he had been missing. The fear of being alone that once drove the nightlife no longer pulled at him. Instead he spoke of readiness for a day he could not schedule.

The MGM Grand Garden Arena filled on fight night. The entourage remained large, the schedule tight, yet the center of it had narrowed to the ring and the book that traveled with him. Soriano stood in the corner section reserved for the camp. Jinkee watched from the suite level. Manny entered with the same measured steps, but the expression on his face carried none of the earlier distraction. After the final bell he returned to the same table, the same Bible, the same verses.