Chinese temple in Chiang Mai

Bowlin' with the hommies

en gagged!

The unofficial save-the-date card.

Natalie and I are gettin' hitched! Yip-yip-yip-yip-yip-Ahuh-ahuh-ahuh-ahuh!

Muay Thai, Mui Bien!

My night at the Muay Thai boxing match in Chiang Mai.
It twas a night of brawling, beer and broads, albeit some false ones...the broads that is, and the brawls too actually. But the beer was real. Real beer. Real good- (actually I want to go into drinking beer in Thailand a bit more here- There are very few times of which I can recall in my beer drinking life, where this common beverage has tasted so good and so refreshing. The tropical climate of this country, if nothing else, has created an atmosphere where your first swig of a frothy Singha, or Chang is probably the best experience of your life to that point.)
Okay, back to the Thai boxing match.
A typical balmy night in northern Thailand; my parents bowed out of an evening at the Muay Thai boxing match, both weary from trekking virtually the entire old city of Chiang Mai on foot, and more than content to make it an in evening with HBO.
As enervated as I was, I didn’t want to miss what could be my final chance at seeing a Thai boxing match. All my time here and I had yet to attend one of these fights in person. Earlier in the day while touring the city, we’d passed a boxing ring encircled by at least a dozen beer bars, all closed at the time, but promised to be open after the sun set with a boxing match starting at 9:00pm.
A sign nearby also read that this was also the location of cockfights and singing competitions. And to think I’d spent so long looking for such a venue. Finally here it was, one place where I can watch roosters tear each others’ gizzards out whilst enjoying the pop stylings of Chaing Mai’s finest chanteuses.
I finally found my way back to the ring around 9:30pm. I had missed the first match, but if the second one was any indicator as to the quality of the first, it was no big loss.
For those who have not had the pleasure of attending such a fight…imagine going to a WWF-esque match where the fighters only weigh a buck-ten, have spent the day digging ditches, are drunk and are not being paid anything for taking a beating. Let’s just say the motivation ain’t all there. At least for the first couple fights. There were however some white trash fans in the crowed. Two worth noting resembled Tommy Chong and a septuagenarian Fabio, both clad in tank-tops and jean cut-off shorts.
At the start of the match, my ears were assaulted by what can only be described as a horrific synthesis of snake charming music and an out-of-tune bagpipe. (How an out-of-tune bagpipe is different from an in-tune bagpipe, I’m not sure – but I think the point is clear.)
My theory here, is that this “fanfare” is played simply to piss everyone off…get everyone in the mood to watch someone get their nards bashed in. After about thirty seconds of this “music,” I was officially in the mood.
Now, I’d heard that some Muay Thai matches are staged – mainly the ones that don’t charge you anything to get in- such as the one I was attending tonight. It quickly became apparent that such a fracas is organized much like a stand-up comedy show in Hollywood; where the beginning comedians totally suck. Same goes here with the fighters. The only difference is that a comedy show in Hollywood still charges you at the door and then requires you to order two over-priced drinks. So I guess what I’m saying is that at least Thai boxing is a better deal than comedy shows in LA.
Trying not to overtly avoid the flamboyant beckoning of a group of lady-boys who seemed to be running their own bar in the corner, I found a vacant seat and dropped into the low cushioned chair at a thick heavily lacquered table. The waitress was kind enough to put her pool cue aside long enough to take my order. The “music” eventually ceased, leaving my brain throbbing in my skull. Then, the fight begins. One fighter was about as thick as my forearm and about six feet tall, the other…I swear, I saw the other day on the street begging for change, acting the part of an invalid. At any rate this cat was in the ring, and they were going at it. Actually, that makes it sound they were fighting…and that’s not really true. Thus far I was working up more of a sweat drinking beer than the guys in the ring. The fight was weak to say the least. Every punch and kick (I use those words loosely) were feigned at best. This kind of rock’em sock’em robot style fighting went on in a repetitive fashion for about five minutes until the bell is rang. The fighters then retreated to their respective corners where they would wait to be attended by a portly older woman with a water bottle. From what I could figure, she was the equivalent of a Thai boxers’ den mother.
The next round went very much like the first. Then as if on cue the fighter with the physique of a bamboo-stalk fell to the floor like he’d been shot in the ass with an elephant tranquilizer. The victor was announced. Game over.
I’m wondering what I’m missing on HBO.
The next thing I know, the two fighters are standing at my table with a wooden box in hand, asking for a tip. I dropped a few baht in the slot, after which I received a hot, sweaty handshake from both. (Now, I can probably count on one hand how many times I’ve actually had to shake hands with a Thai person. The Wai is custom here, and it’s something I’ve gotten quite accustom to. Why now, after these guys have had their hands crammed in sweaty, sticky gloves do I have to shake them? Where’s the Wai now?!) Anyway, I watched them tote their tip-box around to each table collecting gratuities. Tommy Chong and Fabio didn’t tip.
Their den mother follows them around, as if in the position to administer some serious ass-woopin’ if you don’t fork over some dough. I was waiting for Chong and Fabio to get smacked. I didn’t happen.
The next match definitely raised the bar a bit. A big white dude, looking the part of an Irish bare-knuckled boxer hopped in the ring, matched with a much more cut Thai fighter, though he still looked to be a hundred pounds shy of being in the same weight class. Yet he put up a good fight. It was hardly full throttle, but they did make a better go of it and were at least sweating by the end of the first round. Despite his efforts, the Thai guy went down in round three with a shin to the balls. “Yes! The horrible music had paid off!”
I decided I would only stay for one more round despite the lady-boys seeming to be just getting started as they downed shots whooping and hollering, trying to make their bar seem like the “awesome” place to sit.
The final round was decent. The match-up was still a little weird, a stocky guy maybe just over 5’, went head to head with a guy who was at least 6’3”. The lanky guy dished out kick after Manute Bol-style kick, the stocky guy just taking each one to the armpit, with a “doggonit!” look on his face. Then suddenly, still not quite sure how he managed the reach, but the stocky guy rocked a fierce jab into tallie’s nose. The big guy’s knees buckled, dropping him to the canvas like a wad of sticky rice.
That was enough for me. I paid my bill. Not a shabby evening of entertainment for about 3 bucks.
As I departed, the referee himself was taping-up for a fight of his own; apparently had seen enough pussy-footin’ around and wanted to lay the smack down. However, the promise of that wasn’t enough to keep me around. I had some HBO to catch up on.

Ring of fire

King of Beers