Things Mothers Hate

One fine (read: "muggy") Bangkok evening, while Marita and Ireta were off being lady-like, the boys hit the town for some cultural enrichment, bloodsport-style. Put two men in a ring and let them beat on each other with fists, feet, and knees -- you've got Thai Boxing, cultural enrichment for the testosterone-charged masses.







From our second-tier tickets in Ratchadamnoen Stadium, we had a great view of the ring. Before each match, the fighters performed a formal ceremonial dance to pay respects, gracefully swooping and bobbing around the ring. Their trainers would prep them for the fight, then they'd have five rounds to punch, kick, and throw their way into the hearts of three judges who picked the winner.



The mood in the area was inspiring. While the fighters sparred, two drums and finger cymbals would set a beat to the blows, with a woodwind instrument wailing overhead. The fighters would literally bounce with the beat, using it to keep up a sort of rhythm between blows.



The crowd sat quietly on the concrete steps during the first round, sizing up the fighters, but as soon as the bell rang to end the round, people were on their feet, hands in the air, trying to place bets. Apparently, people put up fingers representing which fighter they want to bet on, and what odds they'll put up. Everyone looks around for someone who wants to bet on the other guy, then they make eye contact and have an informal bet going.







Once there's money up for grabs, the match gets a lot rowdier. Every time a fist or foot finds its target, there's a simultaneous shout in the crowd, emphasizing for me exactly how those blows must feel. Fans leaning over the arena rails pound on walls to support their fighter. The atmosphere of the voices, the music, and the betting really made the night for me. After the final round, people shuffle around to exchange money on their bets, and things calm down until the next match.



I think that Marita would have liked the Thai Boxing, despite her protestations. The cockfight however, she was better off avoiding. In the big weekend market north of the city, we spent over three hours exploring the maze of stores selling almost anything you'd want to buy. August and Maris were pretty intent on finding the cockfight, which we'd read took place among the part of the market reserved for pets and other animals. August finally found the ring, and I went along for the experience.







In a match, two birds are placed in the ring, then shoved into one another until a confrontation begins. They then jump, peck, and swing their spurs until one owner believes his bird is sufficiently beat up. I couldn't figure out exactly why the matches ended, but I can guarantee that no one wants their bird to end up dead. This hobby demands a lot of time and money, evidenced by the shops selling "Super Cock" bird food and "Cockfighting" magazine. Although some people at the ring seemed more than slightly involved in this interesting subculture, I can't see myself seeking out any other matches soon!