By Glenn Findlay: Since crushing Antonio Margarito’s orbital eye bone socket in a fervent gusto of fist utopia; the boxing fraternity have adamantly insisted Emmanuel Dapridan Pacquiao is on the abrupt decline, with fair reason.

Time indeed waits for no man, never mind mortal boxers. His own insurmountable 7th division weight class record, captured against Miguel Cotto in statue-cracking classic fashion back in 2009 was then ruptured to its rapturous spleen a year on in the heart of Texas.

All challenges Manny had embarked on had now been simultaneously dismantled in a whitewash of car-crash, carnage brutality over an undefeated, seven year epic marathon of severe, heroic blockbuster performances.

We have all witnessed the ecstatic heights of Manny Pacquiao being heralded triumphant in euphoric acclaim, performing to 40,000 plus in the biggest gladiatorial indoor terror dome on the entire sphere back in November 2010. We have all then witnessed the instant descent of hurtling back-down into the closeted 16,000 capacity of the MGM Grand. From capturing his 8th world title in 8 different weight classes against an epic disparity of a colossal 17lb weight differential, to engaging in skirmishing conflict with an aging Mosley and then Marquez (again) in 2011. Where could his spurring impetus now be, the boxing intelligence mustered?

Manny Pacquiao has had relentless, rip-roaring tear-ups of terrifying consequences every six months of his mind-boggling career. No “convenient retirements” to elude prime opponents, no duckings, just slaying “hall of famer” after “hall of famer”, carpet-bombing his way through nemesis’s and weight classes, careering aside any modern-day stalwart that stood resolutely in his path with a blurring whirlwind of piercing, punctuating punches. Tear-down knuckle knock-outs of England’s finest, toe-to-toe blitz-creed battle-cries through the true warriors that are Mexicans and slick Americans dismantled with disfiguring punches that defied the art form of sadistic canvas bravery. I’m not sure what his most notable asset is…his granite-cast-iron chin or his heart; never mind his sense-splitting, blinding speed, bizarre angles, principle power or phonetic footwork? Has there ever been a boxer more fine-tuned in history with harnessing “energy” in the technique of perfectly executing a martial arts/boxing power punch from the strangest of the most bizarre, peculiar, illogical-degree angles?

Let’s be candidly, brutally truthful…Emmanuel Dapridan Pacquiao has been a fully-charged jolt of high-volatile, electric lightening to the pumping heart-beat of boxing for an ominous glorious decade. Gifting us all with unforgettable epic nights doused in rapturous applause, scribbled into boxing folklore, under starry-eyed Vegas that garnered the respect of the entire boxing world and far beyond. His time is nearing an end but rightly so; he is already heralded with genuine acclaim by boxing historians into the marble hall ranks as a bonafide “all-time great” of the sport before his career has even concluded. Captivating his place alongside such fabled names of Henry Armstrong, the great Sugar Ray Robinson, Leonard, Duran, Frazier and the Ali’s of this world, to name but a few of the immortal titanics of past glorious transcendent era’s.