Fight like a Thai - Part 5

My fourth attempt at finding a Muay Thai gym suitable to train in and fight for led me to Chakrit Muay Thai - a club that was well kitted out but surprisingly light on students. It was on my route to work and I had thrown a glance at it many times, but there never seemed to be much going on. I eventually dropped in and got chatting to Ek, a 28-year-old Thai trainer who still fought occasional bouts. I arranged a training session and when I popped along I found I was the only student. The club's namesake head trainer, Chakrit, asked me about 10 minutes into my first class whether I would be interested in taking a fight, which he said could be arranged at short notice. I'd decided I would be staying in Bangkok for about six more weeks before leaving, and the bout was penciled in to happen a week before I left.

Once I had committed to fight for the club, the training became sickeningly difficult but Ek's permanently cheerful attitude made classes enjoyable. He would regale me with tales of his conquests at every available opportunity, assuring me on a daily basis that he was known far and wide as 'Casanova Thailand'. He frequently attempted to demonstrate his ability to draw women like moths to a flame by dropping whatever he was doing any time a girl walked past the gym. He would run outside and burst into song, a strategy that won hundreds of smiles and dozens of phone numbers. His stunning success rate was in sharp contrast to my own experiences, largely on account of the fact that both trainers had banned me from going near women for the full run-up to the fight, arguing that, "If you have lady you no have power!"

The fact that I was due to fight sparked the interest of a number of individuals casually associated with the gym. They had precious few students and no fighters other than me and no foreigner who trained there had ever brought home a win. It all meant that on an average training day I would arrive in the gym to find Ek, the head trainer Chakrit and four or five of his mates, who would frequently be hammered drunk on Thai whiskey, waiting to instruct me. About two weeks in I was put to work on a heavy bag while Ek and six ex-fighter oul lads stood around screaming encouragement/abuse. One particularly manic individual's contribution consisted of leaping up and down repeatedly screaming, "You must have tiger heart! You must have tiger heart!" If I hadn't of collapsed with fatigue first I would have fell over laughing. While the preparations were in full swing I decided to shave my head as my shockingly inappropriate habit of fixing my hair in the mirror during breaks was threatening to earn me a beating from my sometimes over-eager mentors. Sadly, when word of the new do reached home my friends decided I'd did it in a bid to "appear more menacing", and my mobile hummed with appropriate abuse.

The date of the fight finally rolled around last Saturday. I'd been told the previous week that it would be against a Japanese guy who had been in Thailand a long time and was now a professional fighter with a number of bouts to his name. Myself, Ek the head trainer's brother who I had previously never met and my buddy Chris from Ireland made the two hour trip to Bang Pa-in (Bang Pain with a hyphen, would you bloody well believe), which was basically an old school barn shed-style Muay Thai stadium with a 500 capacity in the middle of absolutely nowhere. It took us a while to find the place and when we did the looks we were given by the rough looking all-Thai punters crowding into it made it clear that the presence of a farang fan was rare - and that foreign fighters were practically unheard of. While I forced myself to eat something, Ek headed off to have a chat with the promoter who had arranged the fight; a slippery looking character who dripped with gold chains and rings. He announced that the Japanese guy I was supposed to be facing off against had unexpectedly pulled out at the last minute. Not to worry he added, he had a pro Thai fighter willing to step into the breach. Myself and Chris exchanged glances – we were both in agreement – this was a set up, driven most likely by the betting that goes on around Muay Thai bouts.

The stakes had just gotten a lot higher, but as the kiddy fights got underway outside I decided that there was absolutely no way I was going home without having fought if there was anything I could do to help it. My bid to remain stoic in the face of the codology that was going on around me was dealt a blow when Chakrit called to tell me not to take the fight. He told me I was in over my head and was risking getting hurt. I explained that I'd made up my mind and that although my chances of getting a win had basically belly-flopped out the window, I found the thought of not fighting after all my preparation a lot scarier than the idea of fighting and loosing. So, the promoter marched a group of ludicrously tough looking young Thais over to our table, and pointed at one.

"He never have fight before. You fight him."

The lad he pointed to was a good 6 foot 2 and about 15 kilos heavier than me. He was also struggling to take the smile off his face at the prospect of going up against the foreign minnow who, unlike him, actually hadn't fought before. "Are you having a laugh?" I said, hoping it was some sort of a wind up. In a desperate attempt to stave off the prospect of being crippled, I pointed out one of his other fighters, who, although still taller than me, looked to be of similar weight. "I'll fight that guy," I said, trying to affect some sliver of confidence. Worryingly, the move seemed to delight the promoter.

"He fight four time. You really want fight him?" he said with a reptilian grin.

"Yeah, sure," I said, as Ek and Chakrit's brother sank into their seats.

Chakrit made one final phone call attempting to talk me out of the fight, but at that stage I was getting my hands taped up while the mosquitoes savaged my ankles and the betting roared outside. One elderly Thai gent wandered into my changing cubicle while I was being plastered in Thai oil. He poked skeptically at my shoulder before telling my trainer that, as the one-to-five outsider, I might be worth a punt. Farangs tended to have a decent punch. I could pull off a shock. He shuffled off back outside as the announcer roared my name over the din of the wailing Thai music. It was time to get out there. I pushed my way through the crowd while Chris filmed proceedings on my camcorder. My stomach was in a knot as I clambered into the ring with as much grace as a new-born Wildebeest. That said, my initial fear was about doing the Ram Muay - a pre-fight dance performed as a sign of respect for trainers. Happily, I had enough Thai to understand that the announcer was explaining to the crowd that I was a new-comer to the sport and that this was both my first Ram Muay and my first fight. Once it was out of the way, I was sent to my corner and there was no time to be nervous about the fight itself. The bell went, Ek shoved my gum shield into my mouth and it was time to give this thing a fucking shot.

In the first exchange of the first round, my lightening fast opponent, who was around the 18 mark, nearly put my ribs in with a shin kick, winding me in the process. During the next exchange he followed it up with a second, but I managed to catch him with a left straight and a hook to the head which sent him reeling.

The rest of the first round was quite tense, but to the shock of the audience, I probably shaded it. The second, sadly, was a different story. He came out like a demon, latched onto me around the kneck and blasted a half dozen knees into my rib cage one after another. I attempted to land an elbow over the top but he was too tall and it didn't connect. I however, wasn't too tall and his elbow planted me right on the top of the head. It somehow failed to draw blood, and the fight continued. Although I was soundly beaten in the second round, I managed to land a flurry of punches right at the death, which sent him to his corner minus the swagger he carried previously. My trainer picked up on it and told me the fight might actually be there for the taking.

"He no have power!" roared Ek over the manic crowd, which had suddenly started rushing to place more bets. "He finished!"

The bell went for the final round and it was time to test Ek's theory. I went out urged on by the thought that no matter what happened, this could not go on for any longer than three minutes. I threw in a couple of low shin kicks but instead of blocking them effortlessly like he had in previous rounds, the Thai hesitated and took the full force on the side of his knee. Low kicks hurt the person throwing them almost as much as the lad who takes them, and I could see straight away that while adrenaline was rendering me numb, he was feeling it and losing his stomach for the fight. With that, I went for it, landing a load of heavy southpaw lefts and more low kicks. By the end of the round he was on the back foot and I had to chase him to get close enough to land anything. He'd had it, and everyone in that little stadium knew it. I finished the round by punching him into the corner. He responded with a body kick which I caught, threw to the side and landed another nasty low kick to the side of his standing leg. I'd won the crowd over by the final bell. They screamed at the judges and the ref and pointed and clapped their hands towards me when it came to decision time. I was so smashed up and exhausted that I could barely stand, until the ref took me by the hand – and raised it in the air. The pain disappeared. I’d be going home with a win.

© Rob Carry. All rights reserved by the author.