A bout of aggression

The action inside - and outside - a Bangkok boxing ring fascinates Steve McKenna

As the sparse crowd stands for the Thai national anthem, two fighters, seemingly no older than 14, climb into the ring. With their cropped dark hair and wiry frames shorn of any excess body fat, they look almost identical. In fact, the only way to distinguish them is by their trunks - one is wearing purple, the other red.

As they limber up, a band of four middle-aged men armed with drums, cymbals and a flute begin playing a tune that sounds as if it had been lifted from a snake charmer's handbook.

As the referee stands impassively, the fighters work their way around the ring, caressing the ropes, kneeling, stretching and jigging.

For a sport famed for its fast and furious action, where finely chiselled competitors hammer each other with hands, shins, elbows, knees and feet, this calmness is surprising.

Superstitious Muay Thai operators believe, however, that these pre-bout rituals ward off evil spirits and are as important as the physical encounter itself.

Their ancestors would have followed similar routines and applied similar fighting techniques, only with swords as well when defending the kingdom against Burmese and Khmer armies in the 14th and 15th centuries.

These days Muay Thai is mostly about leisure, entertainment and, of course, money and honour. The action, minus the swords, takes place nightly throughout the country, including events staged almost exclusively for tourists at beach resorts such as Ko Samui and Phuket.

Bangkok, however, is the epicentre of the sport and on Thursday nights, Rajadamnern Stadium is the place to be. With my 1500 baht ($66) second-class ticket, I have an elevated standing position above the ringside seats and below the third-class tier, which is encircled by view-obscuring metal-cage fencing.

After the five-minute pre-fight rituals, the band stops playing, the fighters' garlands, pra jiad (armbands) and mong kon (headgear) come off and the bell sounds for the first round. Then, to my surprise, the band recommence their repetitive, trance-inducing performance.

In the ring, concentration levels are initially as high as the fighters' guards. Children begin their Muay Thai training as young as seven and these boys circle each other with the caginess of wily pros.

There are a few punches, looping kicks and clinches, where they grapple each other and manoeuvre their knees in round-house, potentially rib-crunching motions, but even though sweat soon begins to glisten on their taut, flexed muscles, first-round action is sporadic.

After a two-minute rest (Thai boxers get twice as long as regular boxers), they loosen up and the crowd, which has swelled noticeably since the first bell, gets louder.

Soon enough the action outside the ring is as intriguing as inside.

Tourists calmly fill the ringside seats, while the second and third tiers are choked with talkative Thai men, who seem to have one eye on the boxers and the other on catching each other's attention. They keep making a series of twitching gestures with their hands.

After five largely uneventful rounds, the boxer in the purple shorts is awarded the judges' decision and begins bowing to the crowd. I duck out of the arena and find Boae, a ticket tout I'd spoken to earlier. I want to know what the spectators are doing.

"They're betting," he says. "They agree on the odds with finger signals. Then, if they're right, they have to remember who they bet with so they can collect the money afterwards."

When I return to the stadium, it suddenly makes more sense. Wads of baht are being exchanged either side of me, further bets are being made and, at last, the fighting becomes more exciting.

The next two boxers display admirable, though somewhat scary, levels of passion, not least when an eight-punch combination draws blood from a nose.
I recall Boae's response when I asked him if the fights are fixed.
"No!" he'd cried. "It's real. Very real. When the fighters are in the ring, they look like they want to kill each other. But after, they're cool. They'll eat together, laugh together and be friends again."
Despite appearing slightly deranged, the bloodied competitor is sticking by the rules, refusing to succumb to biting, gouging, head-butting and aiming shots at the groin area - all banned in Muay Thai, along with swearing.
When the final bell rings, and with the judges' decision imminent, both fighters throw themselves to the canvas and begin doing press-ups. The bleeder does it one-armed.
I don't know if this show of fitness tips things in his favour but the referee duly raises the bleeder's arms aloft.

Muay Thai action usually takes place at Bangkok's Rajadamnern Stadium (often called Ratchadamnoen stadium, as it's on Ratchadamnoen Avenue) on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday. Lumpini Stadium (on Rama IV Road) has bouts on Tuesday, Friday and Saturday. Tickets cost 1000-2000 baht.
See muaythai.co.th.

Source: The Sydney Morning Herald