Manny Pacquiao was late, so we all stood around in the courtyard of Manila's colonial-style city hall, listening to the 30-piece band that greeted me upon arrival. The first note was struck the second the van door slid open, but it took a few seconds for me to realize it was part of my official welcome. I shouldn't have been surprised, especially as it was just one of countless surreal scenarios that unfolded during my 11-day stay in the Philippines in 2004.

And it was about to get even stranger.

Pacquiao arrived about 15 minutes later to the cheers of the crowd that had gathered to greet him. He looked sleepy and reeked of morning breath, but nobody cared. We were hustled inside, where Mayor Lito Atienza made a brief speech and presented me with the key to the city. A few minutes later, I was back in the van as the driver struggled to keep up with the motorcycle escort leading the way to Malacanang Palace, the official residence of the president of the Philippines.

After a protocol briefing, I met then-president Gloria Arroyo, a small perky woman with a professional smile -- and who would be indicted on corruption charges after leaving office. We joined Mayor Atienza, Rod Nazario (Pacquiao's former manager) inside Ceremonial Hall, where I presented Manny with The Ring magazine featherweight championship belt he had won by stopping Marco Antonio Barrera.

Sportswriters are not considered dignitaries in the Western world, but I was treated like visiting royalty. The extravagant hospitality and seemingly endless series of media events had little or nothing to do with me personally. It was the Filipinos' abiding love of boxing and the fact I had come halfway around the world to honor one of their own that had turned the occasion into a weeklong extravaganza.

Children in the Philippines can read in their history books about the exploits -- both in and out of the ring -- of former junior lightweight champion Gabriel "Flash" Elorde. Getty Images

Although it was the highest-profile event of my visit, presenting the belt at the Philippines' version of the White House was only one indication of the special place boxing holds in the hearts of the Filipino people. Virtually every move I made became headline news in the surprisingly numerous English-language newspapers. There were so many news conferences, interviews and visits to various luminaries that there was little time to relax. At one point things got so crazy, a TV reporter emerged from the bushes as friends and I ate dinner poolside at the Manila Hotel.

Most likely, boxing would never have become so popular in the Philippines if it were not for the United States' occupation following the end of the Spanish-American War. In an effort to reduce the rates of desertion, suicide, sexually transmitted diseases, drug abuse and drunkenness among U.S soldiers and sailors stationed in the Philippines, commanders offered boxing as a potential solution.

According to an article by Joseph R. Svinth, which appeared in the July 2001 edition of the Journal of Combative Sports: "Many early boxers in the Philippines were African-American" as they "formed a significant percentage of the American soldiers serving in the Philippines between 1899 and 1902." There were also white soldiers who boxed in the Philippines, the most notable of whom was New Jersey's Mike Ballerino, who returned home to win the junior lightweight championship in 1925.

For most of the first decade, Filipino boxers were usually limited to preliminary bouts, but by 1919 they were fighting main events. Manila-based American promoter Frank Churchill, along with Stewart and Eddie Tait, opened a venue called the Olympic and helped the rise of indigenous boxers. It was Churchill who was responsible for the development of Francisco Guilledo, who would become famous after changing his name to Pancho Villa in honor of the Mexican revolutionary.