STORY AND PHOTOS by ALEX KOLYER
The men enter the small, dirt yard through a rickety, wooden gate. It’s just after 9 in the evening as they begin to arrive with their satchels in tow. There are no advertisements, flyers or messages written on bathroom walls to announce the event. To know to come here, someone had to tell you about it.
It’s Friday night, and these men have decided once again that this will be where they will spend it.
They gather around a large, wooden table as greeting each other. The men talk about what has changed in their life since they last saw each other a week ago. Cigarette smoke fills the night air as the men open the satchels and take out their prized possessions.
Cockfighting has been a tradition in Ecuador for more than a hundred years. The sport is legal, unlike most of the United States, and is seen as a tradition among its enthusiasts.
Guillermo Aragon, 49, who hosts the fights every Friday night in Ibarra, a city in northern Ecuador, has turned the small, dusty area behind his tire fixing business into a place of social gathering and enjoyment. Los populares, as they are known, are cockfights not run by the city; they attract the average Ecuadorian looking for inexpensive entertainment. A few cents is all it takes to enter the venue, unlike the five dollars it costs to attend Ibarra’s matches.
Aragon’s girlfriend, Esperanza Godoy, stands over the outdoor stove making puntas, an alcoholic drink made from blackberry juice and aguardiente, or “fire water,” an anise flavored liquor known for its slow burn down one’s throat.
The bleachers face the small dirt ring on all four sides. Within the hour, a bird will die here and another will be blinded.
When the men gather around the table again, it’s strictly business. One man’s bird is compared to the other’s by size, weight and even wins or losses. Owners negotiate the amount of a bet, usually no more than $100. Spectators may choose to bet among themselves.
Each bird is taken and prepared. The light created by a single hanging bulb illuminates the back of the fighter’s leg while it is held by its owner. Electrical tape is wrapped around a stump that used to be the bird’s natural nail. The group watches as red wax is melted over the flame of a candle and poured into the bottom of a long spike made from a turtle shell. With a solid push, the spike is attached and the bird is ready to kill.
The birds are brought into the ring as the crowd takes their seats.
A flurry of feathers becomes a single mass. The birds peck at each other with muffled thumps. They leap in the air, thrusting their red and brown chests forward while trying to incur a fatal blow. A stab to the heart ends the match 37 seconds later, and the victim gasps for his final breath on the dirt floor.
Luck or skill
Jose Ruviel wakes-up each morning the same way. The sound of 200 roosters crowing at dawn is hard to sleep through.
Ruviel is the gallero, or trainer and caretaker, of a gamecock facility owned by prominent lawyer and local politician Joaquin Lalama. In a small area just outside Ibarra, the facility houses young and old birds. All of them, except for the hens, have one purpose: to be a champion fighter.
The birds here are not fighters entered in los populares. They are a different kind of fighter. Trained by Ruviel, they can make much more money in local and international fights, up to $3,000.
A great fighter depends on its breed. There are many breeds that can lend themselves to great fighters, according to Ruviel. It is more common these days to see a mix of breeds in the ring, however.
“People started trying to fix the blood, the breeds.” Ruviel says. “Nowadays, most of the bloodlines are very mixed. People like to have a cock that is fast, with a good aim, a cock that will determine the fights in as little time as possible.
“That's why at the moment of the fight, it's very important to cheer on the cocks, to know how to cheer and rally them on based on their type of breed. That's the key, to know how to cheer them on.”
Each day Ruviel cleans the cages, makes the meals and even administers medicine to what he calls his hombres. He has a special place in his heart for each of them, even petting them when he feels they need it. The caring is in sharp contrast to what is commonly thought of as a brutal sport.
Training begins with two birds receiving an exercise regimen fit for Rocky Balboa.
As Ruviel holds one bird, the other is free to run. He teases the other with a back-and-forth sweeping motion, making the free roaming bird run along the floor in hot pursuit of a target he’ll never catch. This builds strength in the fighter’s legs.
He then throws each bird gently in the air causing them to flap their wings. The tactic strengthens the cock’s wings and increases dexterity.
The final step is to give the birds some sparring practice. Ruviel places botainas, or boxing gloves, on the legs of each bird. The gloves protect the birds from serious injury during the sparring. After about 10 minutes the birds are done with their workout.
Ruviel acknowledges the training is only a supplement to luck. But since he can’t control luck, he decides to train his hombres.
Just for fun
Retired electrician and cockfighting hobbyist Silvano Scacco believes the sport is strictly about fighting.
Just as any gallero, every time one of his birds enters the ring, Scacco puts his reputation on the line. He prides himself on making his birds the type that won’t run away during a fight.
“When a rooster runs away, it’s the worst thing that can happen to me,” he says while standing in his tiny front yard. Next to him are three chicken-wire holding pens with a bird clucking in each of them.
“When you win, you feel great, full of energy. But when you loose, you bring the rooster to feed the dog,” he says jokingly.
Scacco has been a follower of the sport for years. He makes an effort to attend the Sunday night fights every week, although more as a spectator than a competitor. He enjoys the sport so much he is satisfied with watching. Scacco makes a point that if he goes to the fights, he doesn’t bet more than $20 for the night.
Those who oppose cockfighting say it is cruelty. Some may argue that the sport is not as violent or cruel as others. But in Ecuador, it’s just part of an everyday life backed by old tradition.