“The Gentleman, the Fool, and the Man Who Didn’t Show Up”
Cue the neon lights, fire up the synths, and step into the ring—because this isn’t just about boxing gloves and bravado. This is about reputation, responsibility, and a no-show that said more than any punch ever could.
In one corner: PNP Chief Gen. Nicolas Torre III, dressed down, gloved up, and standing tall inside the Rizal Memorial Coliseum. Calm. Composed. Present. No trash talk, just a man honoring a public commitment—for charity, for country, for dignity.
In the other corner—well, not even in the building—Acting Davao City Mayor Baste Duterte, who jetted off to Singapore days before the match, leaving the ring cold and the crowd waiting. Over 2,000 people packed the venue. Torre stepped in. The bell rang. A 10-second countdown passed. No Baste. And just like that, a win by default—but a loss in the court of public perception.
And then came the podcast. “I never challenged him,” Baste said. But wait—he also claimed he could take Torre on if he wanted to. The kind of post-fight excuse you’d expect from someone who lost a street brawl, not from someone who didn’t even show up to the fight.
They forgot something important. Baste isn’t just any man. He’s a Duterte, a politician, and a potential presidential hopeful in the shadows of 2028. The name comes with weight. It comes with expectations. The Duterte brand has long been wrapped in machismo, in raw bravado, in the myth of never backing down.
But this time? He blinked. Worse—he flinched before the first round.
This wasn’t a grudge match. It wasn’t a bloodsport. It was a charity event—voluntary, symbolic, and public. Torre, a fellow Visayan and a man in uniform, took the challenge in good faith, not for ego, but to send a message of discipline, sportsmanship, and unity. He trained. He showed up. He followed through.
Baste? He talked the talk, then walked the jet bridge. And when the time came to explain, he gave us a dodge in podcast form. That’s not courage—that’s PR damage control with a side of bravado.
Because if you can’t commit to a harmless boxing match you helped provoke, how do we expect you to handle a national crisis? If this was about daring, then what does it say when the dare meant nothing, and the exit meant everything?
So let this note be blunt, in full 80s style:
Who, then, is the gentleman? Torre, who showed up, stood firm, and let his presence speak louder than any insult.
And who, then, is the fool? Baste, who backed out, made excuses, and thought swagger could substitute for honor.
In a world craving real leaders—those who show up, shut up, and deliver—one man entered the ring. The other never even laced up his gloves.
The bell tolled. The countdown passed. And history, as it often does, made the call.