NOTE: I got this from my old Live Journal blog. I can't believe this blog is almost 20 years old now.
“While some bet because of the trainer, the chicken’s built, and its size… I bet on the cuteness.”
Hmmm...
Seriously I kind of fear death.
For some reason, I always spit whenever I see roadkill, other people’s phlegm, and feces lording over the streets. But what about fierce chicken combat?
One Sunday when I was in Batangas visiting (my cousin came back from the States) when my other cousins went to a cockfighting center. I wasn’t really ecstatic at first but hell it’s about time I look on the fuzz. My cousins brought a chicken, I thought they were gonna fight it.
Fact: In order to get inside free, bring a chicken and tell the ticket bookers that "panlaban ‘to!" Whatever dude, naka-libre ka ng P100 – which is also the lowest bet you can wage in the game.
It was the biggest display of men lording the women ratio I’ve ever seen in my life. Over half a thousand sweaty, poop-smelling guys are flashing their money in the air and surely, most of them will feel empty afterward (kept looking at their wallets cursing that they should’ve plowed a field or fed a farm animal instead).
Think of this, minus the vendors I think I saw four women... 500 to 4... SAUSAGEFEST GALORE!!!!
Anyway, beginner’s luck never really happens to me. Okay so I have that in me at times but I lose pretty heavily so basically beginner’s luck for me is like a typical soft drink in a supot – great stuff starting then a massive drought afterward.
Can’t figure it out really… In the Lemery trip, I won the first Texas Hold ‘Em Match only to drop four straight. I was winning the matches but I wasn’t betting so everything I called was invalid. My cousins keep on winning/dropping money then it suddenly hit me.
“Hindi pa ako kumakain ng almusal!”
Then another thing hit me.
“Bat ang daming chicken barbecue?”
And the final thing that hit me (this was after we ate and went back to the arena…)
Aww.
It was a bundle of dineros hurled by the bet makers which ran splat on the back of my head. That was the time that I wanted in on the action. By this time, my cousins just got penniless and my 800 bucks remained unharmed.
Betting starts!
What sucks about betting is that the most wonderful chickens are the really dumb ones. The younger, lively at the start… the really, really feisty ones often land dead and flat in just a little over a minute, thus destroying the 100 pesos that I waged. Three times I bet and three times I lost. Now I felt that another turn would make my remaining 500 bucks go poof so for one hour I resisted and enjoyed the affair as a spectator… merely as a spectator.
But then it happened.
It was a hard-fought match where the “meron” chicken was nearing death and the “wala” poultry is wielding his bladed Adidas like hell. The birdie-laden arena filled with birdie-having men had decided the meron chicken was a goner. But as if the “wala” chicken was doing a rest hold, the meron fowl drew life and literally raped (pecking like crazy) the wala chicken’s neck.
(a rest hold in wrestling terms is either an abdominal stretch, a chin lock, a rear naked choke, or anything involving two guys clamped together where they never pinned or submit the other but just merely “soft strangling” the other)
The rest hold stopped and as their weary feathers faced off, wham! a slicing jackknife to the neck by the meron chicken sealed the fate of the other, from a wonderful week of wound rest to a pity meeting with a turbo broiler is basically nothing but a…
… very long intro to what I was trying to say.
Ahem.
The dead chicken was carried upside down, looked by his trainer if he can see a sign of life was suddenly attacked again! But the match was over and the other chicken was carried off. It came from a white chicken with a great stance. It was the bird for the next match and his trainer set him loose to “feel the grounds he will fight in”. Just like looking at a great femme I instantly check on my wallet to see if I have a means to bet on her (not a good analogy but what the hell). I asked the bookie to change my 500 pesos to smaller bills and yes, despite my frugality I shaved 200 bucks out of my wallet to the white chicken.
While some bet because of the trainer, the conditioning, and its size… I bet on the cuteness. My cousin, the balikbayan, asked me if I was sure. He betted once, with me actually, and we lost. I am certain I should bet for this fowl. One thing I like about wrestling is it had a back story. This chicken had aggression. Flying in the air (a grown big guy’s shoulder level) to pounce on a lifeless soul (if chickens have souls) was just fun for me to watch.
It was sooooooo cute.
Match starts, no holding back. The crowd was ecstatic. The majestic white chicken will face a black-feathered opponent. I suddenly feared for my cash!
It ended after a few seconds. The white cock flew and with a flurry of slices, he wins! His opponent never had a chance. His stomach was scratched out - there is blood in the chest of the rooster but it certainly wasn't his! I won! I freakin' won! The bookie gave me 200 bucks – my first cockfighting victory.
Though I wished I should’ve gone all in and thought I wanted to break even (ever since my idea of a winning cock was its cuteness… my life as a yuppie dumbass taking shape) I resisted. I will bet the next time.
And my fear of dead things? I think looking afar not touching things or not even looking at the blood wielded to the air or perhaps not looking at the dead chickens just laying in the side, about to get their feathers plucked, with their guts exploding and their intestines showing made me realize that yes...
...maybe I’m not afraid anymore!