Sunday Afternoon at the Cock Fights

--Warning: Viewer Discretion Is Advised--
I just returned from an afternoon at the cock pit, or bulangan, for a cock fight, bulang. Cock fights are a Sunday afternoon ritual here in the Philippines, cock fighting being the most popular sport in the country. I have read that the Spanish at first tried to the illegalize the pastime but they quickly found that to be about as easy as holding one's breath for an hour. Fortunes are made and lost, a lucky winner quickly losing not only that day's winnings, but also the clothes off his own back. I say his because this is a male-dominated pastime. I only saw two women in or around the pit and they were selling cigarettes. Having told some teachers I intended to go with Sir Erwin, they replied "watch some of the audience's feet, they will have no sandals since they sold them" and "they will sell their own family's clothes and assets for an afternoon at the pit." I didn't see any bare feet, this must have been a lucrative Sunday.
So I went with Sir Erwin as my chaperon to the local bulangan, which was made of wood, bamboo and corrugated metal for a roof.
We arrived at two o'clock, the official starting time, though such a leisurely activity started, well, leisurely. We stayed for nearly three hours, seeing about 24 pairs slash it out in the pit.
The cock on the left side of the pit is known as the biya or underdog, judged the least likely to win, the cock on the right is known as the inilog or projected winner. While the cock handlers pet their cocks, pat them, jostle them and provoke them otherwise (get your minds out of the gutter!), the crowd makes their bets. At this point, the cocks have a sheathed spur, looking like a miniature scythe, attached to their left leg typically. Before the fight, spurs still sheathed, the handlers lift them up to let the cocks take turns pecking at each other's necks, one handler holding the cock's head still while the other lets the other one peck. The cocks get furious and ready to rumble.
While the handlers enrage the cocks, the crowd furiously bets, yelling at the tops of their collective lungs. The sound and fury is maddening, further driving the cocks deeper into fits of passion. Yelling with all their might, those who bet use complicated combination of hand gestures and facial expressions to place their bets. Betting on the biya is more risky though it brings a larger return if it wins and vice verse for the inilog. I did not bet anything though Sir Erwin and I made verbal acknowledgments as to what cock we thought would be victorious. As far as I can tell there is no way of knowing. As it turned out, the biya roster was far more victorious than that of the inilog.
Watching the bets taking place is much like watching the stock market; in fact, standing above the crowd, seeing money literally fly in crumpled wads across and around the arena is like watching a real-live market in action. I'm certain that the nature of betting on cocks could be a comprehensive thesis on microeconomics if one chose to closely study it. Don't believe me that it's like the stock market?

Hell could break lose the world over but those inside the bulangan would be entirely oblivious. Once the bets are in the cocks are let loose on each other. The fights are lightening quick (God willing) and often, after an explosion of feathers and the occasional splashes of blood that stain the dirt floor, the fights are over, the victor getting his spur re sheathed. Every once in a while, the cocks are too lame or maimed to attack each other, ending in a stalemate. At this point, the referee picks them up by their back feathers and, while in mid air, the first one to stop pecking at the other (typically because of a loss of both consciousness and blood) loses. The losers are turned into that evenings sumsuman, or beer food including pritong manok or fried wings, chicheron, literally fried chicken skins (DELICIOUS!), and tin-a-i, or BBQ intestines. If the winning cock is too lame to fight again, which seems to be the case more often than not, the same tasty fate awaits him later for the beer, rum and recounts of that afternoon's exploits by the winning and losing handler's alike.

As always, watching the people at these kinds of events is far more rewarding than watching the actual main attraction. I must admit I did enjoy the spectacle, both in the pit and surrounding it. I realize that the average American would bristle at this kind of "cruelty towards animals." At first I did too. But I thought this was an important cultural experience, much like when Aaron and I went to the bull fights in Pamplona, Spain during the Running of the Bulls. All I could do is go with an open mind and I must say I wouldn't mind going again in the future. I know many of you must be thinking "this isn't the Sean I know." Well, Peace Corps told us that we would adapt to cultural practices in ways that would confuse our friends and families back home. This is one grim example I suppose.
To see more pictures from the fight, please visit my Picasa Web Album.