It's Friday night. We have amassed at the gym, each of us in our matching Tiger Muay Thai black top. One of the Thai guys used to be in the military and he has on his green combats and army boots, fully unlaced. With his bald head, but for a pony tail at the back, he looks like he could kill you in any one of 35 fast ways, and 34 slow painful ways. I like having him around.
One of our guys is fighting tonight. He sits on the side of the ring looking relaxed, sipping red bull. Our trainer looks alert, constantly moving, oozing confidence and sipping red bull.
I'm a bag of nerves and I'm only here to watch. My stomach is tight and I cant wait to get to the stadium. I wish I had a red bull to sip on.
We fill two trucks and a handful of bikes to make our way out. I'm in the back of one of the trucks watching the night fly by and thinking about the rest of the night ahead. Whenever I travel in the back of a truck it really makes me feel like I'm abroad. I don't know why, but riding in the back of a pickup seems to symbolise the 'holdiay' experience for me. I watch shopfronts and scooters as they pass quickly by. My mind all the time flicking back to the fight ahead.
We arrive at the stadium, buy our tickets and enter en-mass.
The first thing I do is get a beer and quickly drink it. We sit on the bleachers with a good view of the ring. Our presence had been noted by the stadium.
Tiger Muay Thai has entered the building.
I try to watch the fight but find myself disinterested. I'm only here to see one fight. I start crowd watching and notice a guy on the other side without his top on. Nice way to disrespect another country jack ass. There is another guy near him, looks like an American trucker. A large set guy with a black wife-beater, his arms and chest heavily tattooed. He keeps on glancing over at us.
I give up trying to keep myself interested in the fights and head into the locker room to see our guy get ready. All the fighters share one room to get ready in. This means you can be going through your pre-fight routine right next to your opponent. Our guy has the bench on the end next to the toilets. It smells like it. I notice this only for the instant it takes for me to notice it. I have bigger things to think about.
Our guy is heavily muscled. He draws a crowd of children who want to see the foreigner get ready. The Thai kid who trains with us looks so proud to be part of the spectacle we have created. He sits there holding our fighters gloves tight, that's his job for tonight, hold the gloves till we need them. I give him my camera to play with and he starts taking photos till my battery runs out. He beams.
The opponent enters the locker room. We ignore him. Our guy is oiled up and ready. His gloves are on. No more to do. All the hard work has been done over the previous weeks at the camp.
Now it's show time. Now he gets to do it for real. Now. . . it's show time.
The fighters enter the ring and perform the Wai Kroo. A ceremonial pre-fight ritual to show respect to your family, trainer and God. Straight after this our guys does his Haka. It has been explained to the crowd that this like a Wai Kroo, New Zealand style. The mainly Thai crowd goes wild, our guys looks stone faced and ready. His opponent has had over 100 fights, he stands and smiles, impressed but unfazed.
Round one.
Almost immediately our guy hits the canvas. Get it together man. He takes a fierce knee to the stomach. Move man, move! The first round is usually a round for feeling out the opponent and warming yourself up. The opponent is experienced but not conditioned, he's in no shape to drag this fight out. Knees and elbows are thrown with wreckless abandon. Our guy takes some big hits. For the love of God get some movement in. Our guy takes a huge left hook. Then narrowly escapes a fierce elbow to the face. The round ends. Our guy took a beating and gave little back. My heart sinks. Come on man. Punch this guy out. Please, for me . . .hit him.
Round two.
After a rub down and talk from our trainer that liberally used the word 'fuck' in almost all of its contexts, the second round starts. Our guy is moving now. He looks lighter on his feet. He throws a punch. It connects. I go wild. That's it man. That's the stuff. There is movement now. There is confidence. There is anger. Our guy took some big hits last round, that wont happen again. They move in towards each other. Our man sends more fists flying, they hit again. Yes, yes, more of the same. Our man moves in and sends one right down the pipe, it connects squarely and the guy is sent to the ropes. The ref moves in, checks the guy and starts the fight again. Immediately our man moves in. He smells blood. More punches. He's boxed for years and now it shines through. A hard combination connects and the ref moves in again to check on the opponent. He's being held up by the ropes and looks shaken. This is it man, take him out, let it all go. The ref starts the fight and our man attacks. Left right, left right, hook, body, hook, straight. He send the punches in, the guy is getting knocked around. This is it man, keep at it, don't stop, give him everything. After two or three more punches the ref has to step in and stop the fight for good. The opponent was punch drunk and couldn't defend himself. Our guy was just using him as a soft flesh coloured punch bag for the last fifteen seconds. Our guy wins. I scream and shout with everything I've got. He did it. His first fight and he won it. What a man. I'm in awe. I'm proud of him.
His first fight and he won it.
He drops and does some pushups in the middle of the ring. The crowd love this. He's on fire. He won. This is his moment. He did this. It was all him. He went up against a man and beat him. His first fight. What a feeling.
We go out and celebrate with tequila and beer. Our fighter goes home early. He'd been ordered to stay away from his woman for a while before the fight; he wants to make up for lost time.
We keep on drinking tequila, I even win a free shot off the owner of the bar because we beat her at pool. I don't know what I'm more happy about, getting a free tequila or actually winning a game of pool.
The night ends and as I'm laying on my bed, the room spinning ever so slightly, I think about the fight. I think about the guts it took to get in the ring for the first time and fight a Thai. With violence and pride in my head I fall asleep. Only two hours later my alarm goes off for morning training. I think of who was out last night, there is no way, I say to myself, that we are training today.
The only guy to show up was the guy that fought.
I've learnt something.
Don't fuck with a Mauri.