'Til Death Do Us Part

A steal door with a large man behind it guards the arena. He looks through the speakeasy-style slot window and curtly pointed the way to the ticket booth. Because tonight is a major event general admission is $5, second row $15 and the ring side seats are $20. We opted for the $5 general admission; the arena is not big by any means so general admissions will suite our purpose just fine.

Clint (another PCV) pointed out that the air was not as smoky as he had imagined, I agreed. However, I did not know entirely what to expect.

First is the weigh-in for the initial round of fights. A long feather and shit stained table is where the men place their prized fighters to match up against a fighter of similar size and weight. Most of the fighters like to brag and boast to the other fighters and occasionally a pre-fight skirmish happens on the table. It is because of this that the fighters are faced towards their trainers and away from the others. Once a match is made they are then brought over to an official scale to weigh in.

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to cock fighting.

First rule of cock fighting is, if you make a bet, you pay up if you lose without a protest. This is the word of the gallero. This is a term similar to caballero, which means gentlemen or cowboy and is a very respectful thing to call a man. Gallo is a rooster or cock, so a gallero is an honorable term for men who work with or raise fighting cocks. Now that you have an idea of how things are done and some terminology, let us move on.

Once the match-ups were decided, a purse was agreed upon between the two owners. The purses for tonight’s fight were in the range of $100 to $1,500. Though if the owners had wanted, the fight could be worth more.

Preparation for a fight takes some time. Before the birds are even brought to the arena or coliseum their feathers are trimmed in numerous styles. One commonality was that all of the fighters’ legs were completely shaved. Some sported grand tails up to a foot long with many feathers while others only had a few.

We watched over the shoulder of a gallero as he was preparing his bird for a fight. The spurs of the cocks are cut off (in advance and is only needed once in the life of a cock) and tape is put around the nub of the spur. Some kind of wax/glue is heated (in this case it was done by a candle) and the hot goo is applied to the tape/spur nub. Now a metal piece is applied to the glue. Once it is dry, more tape is applied to secure it. Next comes the artificial spur attachment. I had been told before coming here that they attach razor blades to the spurs; this is not the case, at least not here.

The gallero showed us his case of spurs; he had many of different sizes and material. Some were made of turtle shells and others were from the teeth of fish. They ranged from around a half inch to almost three inches. The fighters have to have equal length spurs. Fair is fair.

Once they are in place the bird is almost battle ready. Many of the trainers had different styles to warm up their fighters. Some would let them run around the arena keeping space between their fighter and the opponent. Others would hold the tail of the fighter while they trotted around on the floor and some just kept them in their arms stroking the plume while they negotiated side bets with the crowd.

The love, the pride and the respect for these animals is obvious even to outsiders.
Bets can be made at anytime with anyone who is willing. Some would shout out the color of the bird and the price they wanted to bet and a man might accept on the other side of the arena with a reply and that is it. The bet is set in stone. Occasionally we saw people up the stakes or make bets mid-fight.

Cock fighting is legal in Ecuador; dog fighting is not.

For tonight, the rules were as follows. A fight will last twelve minutes, unless one of the combatants dies, no longer fights or the owner throws in the towel. There is also a prize of $1,000 to the winner if the fight was over in 12 seconds.

The referee comes center arena to announce the big fight worth $1500. Bets are being made all around the room and I make a meager 5 dollar bet to a man sitting near me. My friend Jaime (Ecuadorian) gets up to buy a beer and is back within 30 seconds but the fight is already over. The arena was in an organized chaos of people exchanging stacks… stacks of bills to pay their debts. I forked over my dollars without complaint seeing as how I lost pennies compared to what the one man just lost. Such is the nature of the sport; it can be 12 minutes of ferocity on both sides or 30 seconds of utter domination.

As I write this, I find myself torn between two sides of an argument. On the one hand, I greatly enjoy watching these stunning creatures fight and the fluidity of their movements within the arena. And yet, from time to time a fight results in the death of one the contenders.

As the first round of fights came to an end, we made our way over to the weigh-in table. What we came across was a heartbreaking sight. The loser of one of the fights was face up on the table and breathing heavily while his owners stood next to him.

Some critics of the sport will say that fighting these animals can only be done by cruel and heartless men. These people have never seen a man watch helplessly as his prize fighter, his companion, fades to the next world. There was nothing but love and admiration as he stroked the plume of his dying friend. Some of these men have 5 cocks, while some might have 500. But there is no doubt that these animals are viewed with the equal, and if not more respect than most Americans have for their beloved four legged friends.

For some of these men, this is their livelihood and for others it is a very serious passion.

I remember one time in high school when my father came to a wrestling match of mine. I got pummeled and beaten for 2 rounds before being pinned, not scoring a single point. I felt embarrassed and ashamed and defeated. I do not think I fully understood the love a father has for a son until I saw my father’s face after that match. Something unexplainable was in his eyes, and I saw the same look in the eyes of this gallero as he looked on to his cock breathe his last few breathes. Not much was said at this time; you did not have to understand the language, even if there was something to be said. This was a sad affair and the visible truth to the ugly side of the sport.

The love, the pride and the respect for these animals is obvious even to outsiders.