Cock Fighting

I have had many experiences in this life.  I remember the first walk on the moon, the assassination of John F Kennedy, and the Viet Nam War, just to mention a few.

Then there are my personal experiences.  I have been to the casinos in Tunica just to say I have. I have been to a dog fight, again, just to say I have (and I did not like it!)  I have also been to one cock fight and this is my story today.  Who knows why today I have thought of it, I guess because I know many people are preparing their birds for a Thanksgiving feast or maybe because I just want to share this memory.

This was many years ago and no longer happens, to my knowledge and is also against the law.

Rumors had it that the local sheriff at that time had some property he allowed his cousins to use for cock fights.  A large empty barn stood on his property and as the crowds drove in, he turned a blind eye to what was happening. Maybe he got a take from the gate.

Hubby mentioned the event and I dolled up to go.  There is a certain way you must dress, I thought, to fit in.  I donned tight blue jeans, tough boots and a lavender sweater that complimented my curves.  No purses!  You carried your ID and your cash and maybe a drink if you wanted.

It was nothing like I had dreamed, although I must admit, I have never really dreamed of cock fighting. 

We walked into a smoke-filled barn.  A loud crowd had the area filled, people standing with drinks in their hands, some had coolers, others had lawn chairs, now this was an event!  I hired a sitter but there were whole families there!  The standard Saturday night event for the family, I guess.

In the center, a pit had been dug in the dirt floor about a foot down, ringed by bales of hay.  The fight was about to begin.  As an eight-year-old ran around collecting bets, I saw women and men taking and giving money.  I had no idea what was going on, so in that sort of situation, I just kept my mouth shut and my hands in my pockets.

The handlers readied their roosters by holding them and bumping them into their opponent.  The referee, I guess you would call him, looked at his pocket watch as the opponents and their handlers faced off in the ring. A hankerchief was dropped and the handlers released their game birds.

The noise level tripled as the people rooted for where their money lay.  The roosters hit together in mid-pit with spurs flying.  They came at each other, unaware of what was at stake, like their lives!  They may have fought silently, I could not tell.  The birds came at each other again and again.  They would back away and dance in midair and also fight in midair, dropping apart to just do it again. 

They were bred for this!  A good game cock was worth hundreds and you proved that yours was the best by putting him in the pit.

The Ref dropped the hankerchief again and the handlers grasped their birds with wings held flat.  I noticed their spurs were very long, but not artificial, I heard from the crowd.  That was not allowed but at some fights they were allowed to use metal spur extensions.

I am in shock and am shrinking into the crowd, moving closer to the outside wall.  While handlers give their game cocks a drink, smooth their feathers, check for injuries, and blow on their heads to calm them, there is a break until the Ref looks at that big pocket watch again and the cloth drops.  A few teases and they are at it again. 

I can't watch, I look at every thing else but these birds...the wall, the dirt floor, the other fighting cocks in cages waiting for their turn, the children laughing, and the adults wanting to win.  I see several hands full of cash.

While not watching, the fight has ended.  The losing handler carried his dead hope lovingly as blood dripped from the spurred chest and torn comb. The winner is holding his bird up high and very pleased with himself.  Money again changes hands and you can tell who lost by their faces.

I say honey let's go and we did.  I shall never watch another fight nor will I advise anyone to do so.  It saddens me to know I even went. 

We are silent on the drive home, each in our own thoughts.  I was thinking how sad that humans could be like this.  I didn't ask but I think Hubby was wishing he had placed a bet!