Battle in Isaan

The Chi river, the longest river in Thailand, begins its 765km run from the Petchabuhn mountain range. The north-south running mountains separate the Chao Phraya river valley from the Khorat plateau. The dry land of the plateau is bordered by the Mekong river on the east and is considered Isaan, the poorest part of Thailand.

A few kilometers from the Chi River, close enough so that one can take a short motorbike ride and go swimming in the waters but far enough that one can take in the expanse of the mountain range is a small village called Hong Buduang. The village, which is 370 kilometers from Bangkok, is much like the other small towns in the rural area. It is made of houses with tin roofs, thatched huts that sit in the hot fields providing the farmers shade during the day, a main paved road that is well worn by the tractors and pick up trucks, mango orchards whose fruit is bagged to protect its skin (thus hopefully procuring a better price at the market), it consists of a house much like any others and next to that house a boxing ring.

Jongsanan Gym

Jongsanaan Gym is located right next door to the house where the famous Fairtex fighter grew up. With the monetary winnings from his bouts Jongsanaan, like many Thai boxers provided for his family. It was with a prideful grin that his sister told me; “Jongsanaan bought this pick up truck for me.” Along with the basic furnishings for his kin, The Wooden Man also set up a small gym that bears his name on the ring.

The gym is basic. It contains the ring, Fairtex boxing mitts, gloves, shin pads, three heavy bags, cement flooring, and dedicated participants… all the equipment necessary from which a champion to arise.
My first day there I was given a few hours respite after the 9 hours of travel from Bangkok then trained with the other young fighters. The camp was composed of mainly young fighters, with three of the boys being 10 years old, one being 15 and the trainers being in their early 40s. I skipped rope for a few rounds then hit the bags. After three five minute rounds, marked by the passage of time of the clock hanging from the rafters, I did pad work with Koh, one of Jongsanaan’s original trainers. The pad work was exhausting and similar to an actual bout with Koh’s style of catching attacks rather than having me feed him combinations. Added to this difference in style was Koh’s insistent march forward. The endless attacking and defending had me quickly fatigued but I was told to knee spar with Koh and another trainer for another few rounds. With aplomb I managed the plum. Koh’s aggressive kneeing, and his positioning reminded me of my recent bout in Rajamadern, the way he pushed me towards the ring ropes and made space for sharp knees began to give me painful flash backs.

Pluhm Koh

King on the bag

After the basic training was over I did a series of kicks on the bag, 50 on each side, 200 knees on the bag, and 100 sit ups.
The young fighters did their own similar, if pared down training. They each took turns having pads held for them, and beating the swinging bags with as much force as their small frames could muster.
The sun had set on the rural landscape when we’d finished our training, and all of the boxers bathed and ate. A few hours later a pick up truck parked in front of the house. Out from the vehicle hopped two boys and an older man, their father. The boys were young, wirey, and of the same age as the Jongsanaan Gym fighters. Within twenty minutes of discussion and preparation the first practice bout was under way. The ring was lit up with overhead lights that would highlight both the action in the ring and the hoards of moths that hovered in the air. The moths were attracted as much by the beautiful movement of the human body as by the neon light overhead.
The boys pummeled each other wildly with their gloved fists. The rounds seemed endless as the action went back and forth. The second bout was even more of a fearsome contest as hometown boy, King, tried to knock the clock off the other boy. The visitor was able to throw King for a loop, as when the visitor knocked King square, King’s headgear would spin around his head providing cartoonish humor.

Haymakers!

moth invasion

The next day would bring another morning session of training, and the afternoon would be the same. Saturday was a different. The boys rose from their bamboo mat on the flooring of the bedroom at 5 am, while I, more than slightly lazier rose at 5:15. We brushed our teeth and got into Jongsanaan’s father’s pick up truck. Most of the fighters were huddled in the back of the truck, the wind from our travels opening their eyes. Inside the cab I was squeezed in with the adults. Almost the entire family had hopped into the vehicle (in one form or another) for the hour and a half ride to another small town where the bouts for the night would be.

one of these is not like the others.

We parked next to an old gas station. The gas pumps had been covered with tarp, and the station had turned from petrol outlet into another residential abode. Chickens wandered the yard looking for feed while the inhabitants sought shade from the already blazing sun of the morning. We napped for a while in the shade provided by the gas station garage and I was woken by Jongsanaan’s father shaking my leg. He repeatedly asked me if I wanted to fight that night. I shook my head and pointed to my stitched face hoping desperately that the pain marked on my grill would provide a pass from incurring more injury. He told me to join him outside where a swarm of men were inspecting the shirtless bodies of boys on a wooden platform.

weigh ins

The match ups for the bouts were made through argument, size, and approximate weight of the contestants. Boys were pushed onto the platform and sized up next to each other. The men in the crowd would shoot approval or dismay at the potential match. If the pair was considered poor the crowd would search for another lad of the approximate size amongst the populace loitering about the wooden platform.
Three fighters from Jongsanaan Gym were matched up for bouts. Ten year old King was matched with a slightly taller, skinnier, lad of approximately the same age. Petdam, the muscled 15 year old, was matched up against a greasy looking hipster with long hair and bad tattoos. Finally Koh, the 43 year old trainer, would step into the ring with another man who had girth around his middle and long hair pulled back highlighting his receding hairline.
After the match ups were made we loitered in the shade. While fights always contain excitement, adrenaline, and constant motion, life around fighting is much slower and in rural Isaan life was moving at a snail’s pace. We laid in the shade, occasionally breaking out into conversation and eating. The conversation was beyond my linguistic talents. While able to speak basic Thai, I am at a complete loss when it comes to speaking Isaan, which is more similar to Lao than it is to the central valley dialect that I’m used to speaking. The conversation I was able to understand was in regards to food (delicious yes?) and fighting (you fight yes?).

really in the middle of a cornfield

While the hours rolled by the ring was set up. The ring was arranged in the middle of a cornfield on the broken down dry plants from last season. The ring was professionally made and of stout bearing. As the night wore on stalls were set up near the ring to provide viewers with som tum, Leo beer, and Thai whiskey. Behind the ring was a small stage was set up to provide room for four young women, their faces painted white, to go go dance before each bout. The women would also remind the crowd of what round the bout was in.

Dancers!

King was the first bout of the night. The sun had set as we prepared him for his battle. On a small hillside near the ring we laid his thin body down on a blanket and massaged him with nam may muay, boxing liniment. The air was permeated with the sweet smell of menthol and my hands began to stint slightly as I lightly rubbed down the boy’s legs, back and chest. He looked relaxed as we covered him in the oil. After he was swabbed down in the liniment I attached a plastic cup to him and helped him with his handwraps. Not having guaze and tape we wrapped his hands with regular cotton boxing wraps, the kind you buy at the gym back in the states. I wrapped his hands with care, and the cotton became a cast around his small fists. I helped him on with new Fairtex shorts and the Fairtex hoodie that would double as a robe.

Rub down

Ready to Fight

His bout began after an introductionary dance from the ladies on stage. The dancer’s  slightly synchoronized dance was a shimmy and shake to Isaan country music. The crowd roared with approval and then cast their gaze on stage. King was announced and he hopped into the stage. He walked around the ring, and then bowed in the middle of the ring to do a short wai khru. The referee checked both of their equipment (both fighters, like most fighters that night fought sans mouth piece), and announced that the fight was on.

“Chok,” the referee cried.

King pushed forward for the bout. Throwing looping punches with a will to damage. His kicks were accurate if not beautiful. Every time he threw his shin into his opponent he would hop off the ground and move forward. His shin would arrive high on his opponents shoulder. His opponent in turn would clinch up King. The two would wrestle with some technique but still looked like what they were, two young boys fighting.
The crowd roared with approval with every blow and the gamblers shouted out their offers. The gamblers augmented their cries with hand gestures, a very basic system in which they’d wave their hands toward the corner for whom they assumed would win along with a number of fingers raised noting the hundreds of baht they were willing to wager.
In my eyes King won the first two of the five rounds, and then lost the fifth to the other boys ability in the clinch. King all the same moved forward with determination and continued to try to do as much damage as possible. I believed that he edged a win on the fourth and fifth round but the fight was given to the other boy. King didn’t seem phased by his loss, after all he did win a purse of 500 baht.

King after his bout

After the bout I turned my gaze to the go go dancers. One of the trainers convinced (dragged) me to give one of the dancers money. I gave her a 100 baht note and then the trainer sniffed her fingers, and put her hand to my nose. They smelt… like fingers. I was confused by the event, and slightly embarrassed being the only falang in the crowd with all eyes on me. Every few minutes another member of the crowd would go up and hand one of the girls money.
Soon enough Petdam’s fight came up. I helped him with his handwraps, and rubbed him down with nam may muay. He strode into the ring with confidence, not worrying about his grill at all (he also wore no mouthpiece). The bout began and Petdam kicked the hipster opponent in his arm. The hipster, slightly bigger, and lacking fighting finesse came forward with haymakers straight from the fields. The hipster swung wildly at Petdam’s chin occasionally connecting with Petdam’s upturned face. While many Thai boxers are skilled at their craft it is only after years of long practice. These boys looked like they’d spent days honing their talents. Petdam continued to swing back at the hipster, no doubt resenting the hipster’s bad haircut, blasé attitude, and poor fashion. In the third round Petdam began to back away from him as the local boy was ahead on points. The fight would only be three rounds and Petdam would win by decision.

The last fight of the night, for the Jongsanaan Gym fighters, was by Koh, the trainer. Earlier in the day he’d been sipping on Thai whiskey but the alcohol didn’t seem to provide a state of drunkenness but instead a fire within. Koh got into the ring with selfconfidence and swagger. When his fat longhaired opponent kicked him for the first time Koh backed away and fell onto the ropes feigning injury and gaining the loud laughter of the crowd. Koh pushed forward into his opponent and swung at his head. He punched into the gut of the longhaired goon’s gut and I could hear the painful “ooomf,” emitted from where I was sitting on a hillside.The second round started with more aggression by Koh, and it looked as if he would be able to knock out his foe but then he was cracked in the left brow with an elbow. The vicious elbow cut open our hero’s brow making it bleed profusely. The referee stopped the action and had the doctor examine the cut. After several minutes of deliberation the fight went on. Koh rallied and managed to deliver some devastating blows before the end of the round.
The third round had Koh’s foe backing away letting Koh bleed. Blood dripped down his face and into his eye. Koh stopped, unable to see beyond the red liquid in his eye. The fight was called with Koh losing by TKO but gaining 5 stitches. On the ride back home Koh was able to sit in the front of the truck.