Political Punch

When things get out of hand, the job of clearing out gyms and hotel rooms usually falls to Rob Peters, Pacquiao's security chief. "It's getting a little better now," Peters says. Hired by a concerned Roach in 2005 after Pacquiao lost to Morales in their first fight, Peters has taped laminated signs to every conceivable flat surface: 9:00 P.M. CURFEW STRICTLY ENFORCED.

But the warning is as much for Pacquiao—whose missteps and rumored dalliances (since denied) are tabloid gold in the Philippines—as it is for those snoozing behind armoires. "Manny would stay out all night, and he had all these bad habits," says Arum. "It wasn't until Jinkee sat him down this year and threatened to leave him that he pledged to change." The promise was ultimately signed in ink: Pacquiao had the names of their children tattooed on his all-important left arm. (A girl is due in January.)

ROACH CLAIMS to have the inside dope: why De La Hoya's jab, the key to defending an up-close assault, mysteriously disappeared in the late rounds of that loss in May to Mayweather. The Hall of Fame cornerman would be in position to know too: He trained De La Hoya for that fight.

"Pacquiao's going to be busy inside and knock out Oscar in nine rounds," Roach predicts, pooh-poohing any size disadvantage. "Oscar's good, but Manny's the hardest worker I've ever seen. He's a machine."

For any ambitious pugilist, though, De La Hoya, 35, remains a certain archetype. Pacquiao admires Golden Boy Promotions, which tried to sign him in 2006 before Arum's Top Rank won out. (Long story short: Oscar allegedly gave Manny a suitcase of cash in the back of a limo and agreements were broken; people sued; boxing biz as usual.) He especially wants to keep growing the sweet science in his homeland, where the number of gyms and talented fighters is on the rise because of his success.

But unlike De La Hoya, Pacquiao has already traced a clear road map to retirement. No more than three bouts after this one—two of which may well be megafights against Britain's Ricky Hatton and Mayweather—he vows to hang up his gloves for good, likely at age 31. Why then?

The hero of the Philippines grins.

"In 2010," he says, cracking his knuckles, "I'm going to run for congress again."