Living a Dream

Sometimes in life, if you are really lucky, a chance comes along to live a dream. When it does come, you’ve got to grab it with both hands and whatever you do don’t let go.

When I was near to school leaving age my thoughts were turned towards deciding on a choice of career. My dreams of being a professional footballer would never happen, I was not good enough.  My love of sport then swayed me to consider a life in sports journalism, my father chose otherwise. British Rail and engineering were a far cry from Wembley Stadium and a clash with the auld enemy.

Late Friday night there was a loud banging on the back door. I opened the door and there swaying in front of me was Khun Somchai the Sports Editor of our village newspaper ” The Thaksin Times “. He had obviously been drinking the ink jet cleaning fluid because his speech was some what impaired. Wonderful Wi listened intently then rushed off to the bathroom and then onto the kitchen fridge. She returned and handed over to Khun Somchai a bottle of toilet cleaner and a lemon. He staggered off knowing we shopped at Tesco Lotus and he’d be having a quality drink in his office tomorrow.

Wi relayed to me the wonderful news. The newspapers Muay Kai (cock fighting) reporter had broken flight and gone to roost somewhere in Khon Khaen. My services were required to cover tomorrows big fight. A chance to live my boyhood dream had fallen into my lap. A restless nights sleep followed, I kept waking up and wondering if I had sharpened my pencil to an adequate length and point. My notebook cover was red, hardly a neutral colour. Would my Vivitar 8010 camera cope with the high speed multi coloured action or would springs pop and thick black smoke follow. A restless night indeed.

The venue was no Theatre of Dreams but the Village Mud Bowl was the districts biggest sporting arena and affectionately known as the North Eastern Nou Camp. The fight billed as ” Blood In The Mud ” was a sell out and no wonder, two sporting Muay Kai Greats would lock beaks and fight it out for the New Year Papaya Salad Plate. In the red corner would perch Udon Thani’s unbeaten local village boy wonder Uuuuuuuuuudon the Dancing Demon. In the yellow corner, prim and properly perched, the rich kid flown in by business class from Bangkok, the all conquering Pppppppppppaddy the Pad. Two contrasting styles from very different backgrounds, a rich kid versus rice boy contest that would only end with one winner. 

I arrived 30 minutes early, paid the samlor driver and hurried to the respective dressing rooms, I intended to interview both fight managers. Both interviews bore no fruit. Udon’s manager knew only four recognizable English words, Lao Khao, Sang Som, cigarettes and Leo, the latter meaning beer or he also owned a Lion. The Pad’s manager wanted 500 baht for his efforts, a village journalists expenses do not stretch that far. Ten minutes later the action started.

Hoo Don reporting live from the Mud Bowl, Ban Norn Chad, Udon Thani. Both birds were immediately locked in a tight clinch, Paddy scoring heavily with pecks to the wings as Udon tried to break free and dance his way out of distance of the Bangkok boy’s greater reach. The sell out crowd were in a frenzy with the smaller contingent of Paddy supporters making their voices heard above Udon’s noisy fans. Udon came fighting back with a solid wing hook that stopped the determined Paddy in his tracks. Cries of ” Udon, Udon, Udon” rocked the packed arena. Then my telephone rang. It was my mother, ringing from England.

Mother:Stop what you are doing now. Our house is surrounded by Anti Bird Sport Protesters wearing duck billed coloured t shirts. They have staked your father to the garden lawn and are tickling him around the rib cage with imitation turkey feathers. Stop it Hoo Don. Stop it.

Sports Journalist: Mother I am sorry but nothing and I mean nothing can come between me and my story. I’m a sports journalist now…………. ring me back if they start on his feet……brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Back to the action and it’s pretty rough stuff but fairly even. Only legends produce moments worth the entrance money alone. Udon raised his right wing high in the air, showing the red highlights of his feathers, a show of his true colours. He dipped his left wing and it gently caressed the sacred Mud Bowl soil. His clawed feet became a blur, the Udon Shuffle, worth five baht of any one’s money. 

The crowd are cock a hoop or perhaps cock a doodle, and then it all happened. A moment like Cooper against Clay, the Maradona “Hand of God”, Geoff Hurst”s disputed World Cup Final goal, all of a sudden it happened. As the referee shouted break Udon nutted, sorry beaked Paddy, with a clearly deliberate illegal blow. The Pad was sparko and the referee counted him out. All hell broke loose with the Pads’s supporters shouting ” Fowl.”

A large scrum followed and the outnumbered Padddy supporters retreated to the village main street Soi Buffalo and squatted on the dirt track. A splinter group then sealed off the arena car park. There would be nothing moving in or out of this village tonight. The village economy could be ruined. Papaya salad without chillies, two chickens and their loyal supporters had brought a village to it’s knees.

I woke up on the living room sofa, my head still spinning from an afternoon ride on a carousel sponsored by Beer Chang. Had I dreamt it all or had I lived my dream, my Vivitar would surely reveal all. The blurred images were conclusive, I had captured a Great Sporting Moment and the closure of a village to the outside World. Every great sports journalist fully milks the props he imports, milk, wring and bleed dry, so I will finish.

Take some ink jet cleaner, domestos and empty into a bowl. Immerse your Vivitar 8010 and ignite. Don’t be a lemon all your life, buy a decent camera and view a clearer image of your world. Hoo Don

Feathered Footnote   Any Anti Bird Sport Protesters can email me at  eggsforbreakfastchickenfortea@thaisabai.org   Pack your suitcase but leave out your rules.

© 2009, Martyn. All rights reserved.

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