For the first few bouts, Hatcher cruised the crowd around the betting windows and bookies and checked out the screaming gallery during the fights, paying little attention to the action in the ring.
No Wol Pot.
At six-thirty, Sy was ushered into the outdoor ring. On the edge of the city, lightning streaked across the sunset sky accompanied by the distant rumble of thunder, but nobody paid any attention to the threatening storm.
The referee, as in Western boxing, introduced Sy and his opponent, a larger and huskier fighter named Ta Tan.
No biting, wrestling, judo, spitting, butting or kicking the opponent when he is down, the referee warned in Thai, explaining that there would be five three minute rounds and the match would be stopped in the event one of the fighters was injured. There was a loud chorus of boos and catcalls at the latter announcement.
The ritual of the fight began. The music stopped and the crowd became silent. Sy lowered his head and folded his hands in the traditional wai, thanking his trainer and praying to Buddha, telling his God that he believed he had the ‘right’ spirit to win his battle. Gautama Buddha spoke of four noble truths: first, existence is suffering; second, suffering is caused by desire; third, eliminate desire and you eliminate suffering; and finally, the eight ‘right’ rules by which one eliminates suffering — right understanding, right thought, right speech, right bodily conduct, right livelihood, right effort, right attentiveness and right concentration. Sy repeated these to Buddha, promising to abide by the rules and live the right’ life.
After the prayers the music began slowly, providing background for the two fighters, who circled each other in the ring, showing their moves. Sy seemed a more classic fighter than Tan, whose style was less poetic. He seemed more of a brawler, less quick than his smaller opponent.
The first round passed without incident, a dizzying exchange of kicks and punches, most of which missed their mark as the two fighters parried and studied each other’s style.
In the second round, Tan moved from his corner fast and struck first, jogging forward on one leg while with the other thrusting at Sy with short, stabbing kicks. Sy easily avoided the first moves, dancing away from him, spinning around and parrying Tan’s kicks with his own feet. Then Tan did a change-up, switching legs quickly, parrying and leaning sideways and throwing a hard kick at Sy’s groin. It connected but it was high. The little Thai grunted, doubled up and backed away, but Tan pursued him, punching now with lefts and rights, which Sy dodged by moving his head away from the blows until Tan landed a hard punch on the temple.
Sy spun around and lashed out with his right foot, slashing it into Tan’s side. The larger fighter took the blow with ease, charged Sy and threw a series of lefts and rights, his gloves smacking loudly as they caught Sy on the cheeks and jaws. The crowd, sensing a kill, was on its feet, screaming for a knockout
Tan, the brawler, although slower and more clumsy than Sy, had the advantage of size and weight. He bulled in, kicking and punching while the little Thai dodged and danced, trying to avoid the blows. He could not avoid all of them. They rained down on his head, and the kicks found their mark on stomach and thigh. Sy twisted one way and then the other while Tan seemed to have complete control of the match. The bell saved Sy from further damage.
He sat in his corner, casting an occasional glance at Hatcher and smiling. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of his nose. Sweat poured in rivers down his hard, lean body.
Sy was tougher than the crowd thought. The third round began much the same way as the second with Tan charging out, kicking and punching and then going for the change-up, switching feet and lashing out much as a Western fighter might change his lead from right to left. But Sy had psyched out his opponent’s style, and he, too, did a fast change-up. Now he suddenly started showing his stuff. He ducked inside Tan’s combinations and lashed out with a brutal uppercut that grazed Tan’s jaw, throwing him off-balance. Sy jumped back and landed two quick kicks to the stomach, switched feet and caught Tan with two more vicious kicks. Tan staggered back, stunned by the sudden ferocity of the little fighter. Sy took immediate advantage. He came in fast on one foot, then quickly changed feet and landed a sizzling kick on the bridge of Tan’s nose. Blood spurted like juice from a ripe orange. Tan backed away, shaking his head and fell into a protective pose.
Now it was Sy who became the pursuer. He feinted with two kicks. Suddenly he switched feet again, turning the upper part of his body almost parallel to the ground, and lashed out with a brutal kick to the groin. The larger fighter roared with pain, spun around and dropped to one knee. He took a six count, then, bellowing like a bull, charged Sy from his knee.
Sy was expecting the charge. He spun around, landed a brutal kick on the side of Tan’s neck, snapped three right-left combinations straight into Tan’s face. The bloody nose got bloodier. Then he kicked again, this time with deadly accuracy. The blow snapped Tan’s head back. He stumbled backward, obviously in trouble. One eye was beginning to swell shut. In desperation he charged the smaller fighter, wrapping his arms around him, pinning them to Sy’s sides and snapping his head against Sy’s forehead.
The crowd reacted with boos their affections quickly switching to the underdog. The referee moved in quickly and separated the fighters, admonishing Tan, who jogged back away from Sy. The little man’s nose was bleeding from the head blow. He shook it off, waved off the referee, and began to stalk the big man. The bell ended the round.
Sy’s trainer was babbling in Sy’s ear, and the small fighter was listening and nodding. Hatcher continued to scan the spectators between rounds, hoping he might get a break, although it was an adds-on bet that Wol Pot was not there. This was not, after all, a major bout.
The fourth round, Tan changed his tactics. He moved more precisely, more like a Western fighter, feeling Sy out, looking for an opening. Sy moved gracefully, dancing around his heavy-footed opponent.
Suddenly, ferociously, Tan slashed his foot out and landed a direct hit in Sy’s groin_ The little Thai doubled up in pain and fell against the ropes.
The crowd wasn’t sure whom to scream for.
Tan stepped in like a tiger and landed three grueling punches to the face. Sy was down on one knee, shaking his head, blood spattering down his chest and mixing with the sweat. He glared up at Tan, and Hatcher saw hate in his eyes. This was the look of a killer. Sy wiped the blood from his face with a glove and shook his head when the referee leaned over and said something to him.
Now he was back on his feet, bolstered by the cheers of the crowd.
Tan charged again, using his flat—footed jogging step to get inside Sy’s defense. But then the little Thai did something amazing. He cart-wheeled away, landed on his feet behind Tan, and as the bigger man whirled to face him, took three short jump steps, leaped in the air and snapped two kicks straight into Tan’s face and landed back on both feet.
While Tan was still staggering under the blows, Sy jogged in again, feinted with a kick, and landed two right-left combinations straight to the point of Tan’s jaw.
All four punches found their mark. Tan staggered backward and Sy did his change-up step again, jogging in, switching feet, leaping up and lashing out with a double kick before he landed back on both feet again.
Hatcher was on his feet, screaming with the rest of the crowd.
Bemused, hurt, dizzied by the ferocity of the attack, Tan threw a desperation roundhouse killer punch. It whistled a quarter-inch from Sy’s jaw.
Sy smacked him with two fast lefts and slammed a right into the corner of Tan’s jaw just under the ear. Whap!
Tan spun around, fell face forward into the ropes, bounced off and sat down hard, flat on his ass. He looked around the ring through glassy eyes.