Excerpt 1
A NIGHT AT THE COCK FIGHTS
Of course, it’s all about the money. Of that there can be no question. Money is why nearly 1500 people, all but four of them men, are out at the smoke filled Elorde cockpit in Sucat, Paranaque, Metro Manila on a Monday night. Money is why many will stay until the deep hours of the night. And money is why many will finally leave at the finish close to dawn.
Oh sure, the color of the cockfights, or sabong as it is often called, is as good as it gets, especially to a foreigner like myself. The cockfights offer that rare combination of spectacle, tradition and pure violence that one can only find in a few places on earth, maybe the bullfights in Spain, and Muay Thai boxing in Thailand.
But perhaps only in the Philippines is the spectacle as blatantly out front and in your face; the hard scrabble men legally gambling thousands of pesos on two birds with razor sharp knives tied to their legs and fighting to the death inside a glass walled dirt pit; the impossibly loud, primeval sound as hundreds of cristos–bet takers– rise to their feet before each match and shout the bets of their financiers in to the air, flashing their incredibly complicated hand signals while looking for someone in the arena who will take their wager; the fact that many of these cristos do this for a living, with many putting kids through school via their earnings here; the fast moving action as each deadly match takes only a few minutes.
Then there’s the notion that while cockfighting may be a blood sport, it is unquestionably a gentleman’s game. There’s no rule book and no house to bet with. All bets are made with other bettors and on an honor system. Nothing is written down. After each match, everyone pays up. When the loser is too far away to hand over the money, he rolls up the cash in to a little ball and throws it across the arena to the winner. Even if the money gets dropped under the bleachers, nobody steals it. On the rare occasion that some joker tries to run without paying, payment will be extracted by a quickly formed mob, and it will not be painless.
And yes, there’s even compassion for the cocks. Monday nights are derby nights at Elorde. Cock owners bring their best cocks to fight for big prize money, which tonight will be P100,000 to the winning handler. If the bird loses and dies, he will not get eaten, like at an ordinary cockfight.
“Some guys will bury their cocks after it is killed,” says Johnny Elorde, who runs the Elorde cockpit. “The cock may have brought him good fortune.”
And, yes, fortune is what this ritual is all about. After an hour of watching, I realize atmosphere can only take me so far. Although not a regular gambler, I decide to place a bet.
Another cock fight is getting set to begin. The two handlers bring their cocks in to the pit. The pit consists of a hard packed dirt floor raised up to eye level and completely surrounded by glass. Bleachers rise up on all four sides. The handlers stand under lighted signs hanging over the middle of the pit. One sign says ‘meron,’ which literally means ‘to have.’ The other sign says ‘wala,’ which means ‘have nothing.’
Each handler is joined by another handler whose cock will fight in the following bout. The purpose of the extra cock is to help each cock in the current bout warm up. The idea is to get the cocks angry, which any fighting cock will instinctively do when face to face with another male. Each handler holds his fighting cock by the tail and faces him towards the extra cock. Both birds try to attack each other, but are held back by their handlers.
As this is going on, a man holding a microphone, the casador, walks around inside the pit looking in to the audience. He is looking for somebody who wants to put up P12,000. The respective handlers bet against each other and sometimes one handler puts up more money than the other. They need to even the bet and finally he finds a taker.
As soon as the bet between the handlers is even, the cristos rise up and begin their ritual shouting. The two extra cocks leave and the two remaining handlers face their cocks against each other. The hot and sweaty arena immediately explodes in a cacophony of throaty noise as the cristos bark in to the air, looking for someone to take their bets. It is a deafening noise, a frothy and guttural sound that seems to come from the depths of the crowd’s very soul, something akin to the days at the Roman Coliseum when the Romans fed the Christians to the lions.
Amidst this spine tingling tumult, I flag down an Elorde cristo, a guy named Hermil, who is standing a few seats away. Bets are taken by hand signals-fingers flashed to the side mean hundreds, fingers flashed pointing down mean thousands. I flash him two fingers to the side and give a pulling motion with my hands. He turns around, looks up in to the bleachers and shouts in to the noisy bedlam. With one hand he loosely covers his mouth-so as not to spit on anyone sitting nearby– while at the same time repeatedly shouting ‘Meron!’ With the other hand he holds two fingers to the side. I notice he catches the attention of another cristo in the bleachers and they exchange several hand signals. Hermil turns around towards me and indicates the bet is in. I have 200 pesos on ‘Meron,’ the favorite.
Inside the pit each handler removes the leather cover from the razor sharp blade anchored on the cock’s leg. The sententiador(referee) carefully wipes each blade with a rag, assuring no foreign substances alter the fight. The handlers bring the cocks to the center of the ring where the cocks peck at each other. The handlers step back and drop their cocks on to the dirt. The crowd settles down to watch and the fight begins.
Meron does not waste any time and immediately attacks Wala. Meron jumps and kicks and mauls his opponent. Within seconds Wala is laying on the dirt floor writhing in pain while blood spills from his wounds. Moments later he is dead.
Hermil turns towards the bleachers and collects my winnings from the other cristo, who folds up the bills and tosses them down. Hermil then hands me the money. I have no feeling for the dead bird as it feels good to win.
After the handlers leave the ring, a man holding a broom and dust pan climbs in and sweeps up the loose feathers. Within moments the ritual begins anew. A new set of cocks enters the ring, the casador helps even the bet of the handlers, the cristos then rise up in mass and the arena erupts in absolute bedlam.
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