Old Balinese Cock Fighting Knives For Comment

Lew · 5th August 2005, 07:37 PM

Hi Guys

I came across this set of twelve cock fighting knives from Bali. They came in a nice wooden case and they are scary sharp

I always admired the skill of the Balinese smiths these knives are very well made. I Really feel sorry for those poor birds that are used in these fights now that I see how nasty these blades really are.

Lew

Tim Simmons · 5th August 2005, 07:57 PM

Hi Lew.
The beautiful feather form of those blades is most admirable it is just a shame they are used for such a mindless activity. Tim

VANDOO · 6th August 2005, 08:42 PM

THESE KNIVES COME IN QUITE A FEW SHAPES AND TYPES, SINGLE EDGED, DOUBBLE EDGED, CURVED OR STRAIGHT SHARP ON INSIDE OR OUTSIDE OR BOTH SIDES. LEAF SHAPED, SABER SHAPED OR SOME ONLY HAVE A POINT LIKE A NEEDLE. THEY ARE ALL DANGEROUSLY SHARP AS OFTEN A MAN WILL BET EVERYTHING HE HAS ON THE FIGHT. IT IS A MAJOR PASTIME IN MANY PARTS OF THE WORLD MOSTLY AMONG PEOPLE WHO DON'T HAVE MUCH AND THEY TAKE A LOT OF PRIDE IN HAVING A CHAMPION IN THE FAMILY EVEN IF IT IS A ROOSTER. I AM NEITHER FOR OR AGAINST COCK FIGHTING BUT WILL SAY THAT ON THE FEW OCCASIONS I HAVE SEEN IT THE BIRDS WANT TO FIGHT AND USUALLY DON'T SUFFER AS THEY ARE TOO MAD TO FIGHT TO NOTICE THAY HAVE BEEN KILLED AND USUALLY DIE VERY QUICKLY. SOMEWHAT BARBARIC PERHAPS BUT AT LEAST THEY ARE DOING SOMETHING THEY LIKE AND HAVE A CHANCE OF SURVIVING, THOSE THAT FALL INTO THE GRASP OF TYSON OR COURNEL SAUNDERS HAVE NO CHANCE AT ALL AND PROBABLY SUFFER AS MUCH AS THOSE IN THE RING.

Montino Bourbon · 6th August 2005, 10:58 PM

Imagine the most intense men’s cocktail in existence; a heady mixture of testosterone, adrenalin, and blood. Mix in a liberal amount of noise, money, and sweat and you may be getting close to the experience of a Balinese cockfight.

I had been to a little village cockfight, but I had to leave due to the presence of my friend, who is American (As the inhabitants of the United States somewhat erroneously call themselves) and female. Women, at least all the women I know, do not do well at cockfights. They do not understand the religious reason for a cockfight, which is that in Bali, just like everywhere else in the world, the Gods demand blood. Oh, you think Christianity is immune to this? You obviously don’t know history very well, or perhaps you simply choose to ignore it, as most Americans do.

So, I was staying for a couple of days in Lovina, which is in the North of Bali, and is a beautiful beach resort. The sunsets there are some of the most spectacular in the world, the sea is peaceful, the scenery is beautiful, the people (Just like the rest of Bali) are incredibly friendly, and the hotel we like, Baruna Beach, is comfortable and incredibly affordable. (About $15 a night for a double, breakfast included), and best of all, there’s NO YELLOW ALERTS! In fact, about the only alert is “Sunset is getting close, you better hurry out or you’ll miss it!”

On the second day the men of the group were offered a chance to go to a cockfight in the nearby town of Singaraja. Since it was the end of Galungan, one of the most important Balinese festivals, there was, of course, a cockfight. (religious ceremony, blood, remember?) The men piled into a minivan with our two Balinese drivers and we proceeded to Singaraja, and then into a neighborhood where Americans rarely ventured. We parked and walked to the ’arena’, which was a building of about 2000 square feet, with metal chairs in four tiers around four sides of a dirt floor marked with a square about twelve feet on a side.

We were told that the front row was for ‘bosses’; since we were not ‘bosses’ except to our Balinese drivers, we took seats in the second row. I went out to have a ‘Kopi Bali’, which is the best coffee in the world, finely ground, with boiling water poured directly on it and a liberal amount of sugar (No Stevia or other health-food sissy-isms here) and which gets drunk slowly after the grounds have settled; it’s not the kind of thing that you throw down like antiseptic, sterilized, no-trace-of-grounds Starbucks designer latte, but real honest-to-goodness wakey-wakey, what they call in Italy ‘liquid nap‘, meth-don’t-hold-a-candle-to-this-hi-octane-jet-fuel.

I walked, or rather buzzed back in the arena, where they were starting to bring the contestants out of the baskets where they had been meditating, or whatever roosters do when they are transported from their home to a roaring box filled with obsessed men yelling incomprehensible (to me) things to each other relating to the fighting abilities of poultry. I sat down among closely packed men, and more kept coming in until there must have been about eight hundred in a space that, in the USA would have been labeled “Maximum occupancy 65, NO roosters, no smoking, no wagering, and no yelling” and then the first card was presented.

Four roosters were held, each by one man ,while another man tied a knife blade the size of the biggest blade on a Swiss army knife very securely on the left leg of the rooster where the big backwards-facing spur usually is. The blades were double edged and very pointed and sharp. Then the first two roosters were brought to make each other’s acquaintance in the middle of the ring. They were teased, fluffed, allowed to peck each other in the head, their handlers being very careful to protect the eyes, and generally maltreated into thinking that the other rooster was doing the pecking; then the noise, already loud, jumped up about three notches as men started calling out bets and odds to each other. When that phase had continued for about five minutes and the roosters had had anger therapy two more times, (I’m talking about the kind of anger therapy that INCREASES anger, rather than learning to transform it) they were released at opposite sides of the ring, to the accompaniment of a roar that would put the sound of an airliner taking off to shame, and immediately raced towards each other. Meeting in the middle of the ring, they jumped up in the air and flailed at each other. The action was so fast that it was impossible to see what really happened, but whenever one of them passed above the other, the roar got louder. The third time that happened, one of the roosters came out of the clinch staggering and bleeding. I hadn’t seen what actually happened because it happened too fast, but one of the blades had obviously scored a hit, because within a few seconds he keeled over and a few moments later was meeting the great rooster in the sky, going to rooster Valhalla where snow-white chickens pour him chicken feed and sing his praises.

After that there was more shouting and a LOT of money changed hands; I couldn’t help but notice that the rooster that I had bet on against my friend Forest had won, and I had won fifty thousand Rupiah off of him. Don’t get your hopes up; That’s about five dollars US.

The second pair was brought forward and pretty much the same thing happened as before; the frenetic shouting, the aversion therapy, the channeling of the inner rooster, the three minutes of hate, the fight itself that was too fast to follow, this fight ending with one of the roosters trying to escape under the stands and losing a lot of money for those who had backed that obvious loser, another fifty thou for me, and a break in the action as men crowded onto the floor to inspect the next batch of death commandos and exchange information on the respective strengths of each feathered fighter.

It was at this moment that the only women allowed in the sacred precincts were to make an appearance, selling manly refreshments such as cigarettes and Coca-Cola; having made their sales, they quickly retreated from this bastion of virile ecstasy, and the whole process began again. At that point I couldn’t help but notice that about four hundred more men had crowded into the ‘stadium’, which by that time was overflowing with male energy.

We sat through the next card, remarkable because in one fight, the first jump ended with one rooster’s blade stuck deep in the heart of the other, about three seconds after the start of the conflict; death must have been instantaneous.

At the end of the second card of three fights we Americans had gotten the message, and we left our seats, which were immediately taken by eager men behind us. I was given to understand that the whole process would continue for some hours, or until the Gods were satisfied, whichever came first; but knowing the nature of Gods I was sure that they would run out of roosters well before the Gods’ appetite for blood was satisfied.

Mick · 6th August 2005, 11:08 PM

Just remember people, nothing goes to waste. If the loser is not dead at the end of the fight (the most common result) his neck is immediatly wrung and he is in a pot that night.

Rick · 6th August 2005, 11:57 PM

Well written Montino !
I am amazed that Cocks can swing blades of this apparent size with killing force .

Tim Simmons · 7th August 2005, 12:03 AM

Yes I know the feeling, one of my dogs likes to fight even from breaking the fights up I am really pumped up but I still feel humans deliberatly setting animals against each other is a bit off . Tim

Tim Simmons · 7th August 2005, 12:38 AM

Hi Fearn,
Hunting is now becoming the only way to keep some animals with us. Which is a little sad . Tim

fearn · 7th August 2005, 12:52 AM

You're quite right, Tim. That's precisely why I'm pro-hunting.

Admittedly, I'm not fond of some forms of hunting (especially trophy hunting, or those that risk the dogs more than they risk the hunter). And I don't consider drunken idiots with guns to be hunters, no matter where they are in the woods. All this just to keep my street cred with my liberal friends

.

Fearn

Tim Simmons · 7th August 2005, 12:56 AM

Yes real hunting is skill and respect. Tim

Andrew · 7th August 2005, 01:34 AM

Great discussion, guys.

Just an observation: this, like bullfighting, is a topic that can quickly become contentious and bitter. Let's please continue to keep this thread civil. Thanks.

ariel · 7th August 2005, 02:16 AM

Andrew, I hear you.
Nevertheless, with all due respect to our Iberian colleagues, bullfighting is an exact equivalent of cock fighting and dog fighting only a less fair one: at least the former is a "dog against a dog". Pitting a man against a bull ? The fairness of it can be measured in the proportion of dead bulls vs. dead matadors: the creature's chance would be better if it had metastatic cancer. I've absolutely refused to accept an invitation to a bull fight when I was in Spain. Call it squeamishness, but I just cannot stand the idea.
In Portugal, interestingly, they have bullfights without killing the bull. That is truly sporting: only the willing human takes a chance, but the bull is safe.
I am not a vocal opponent of any animal fights, fox hunting or just hunting; having done my share of hunting in the distant past, I have decided that if I wanted a steak, I could get it in the supermarket instead of being a volunteer butcher. And if I am not going to eat the creature, I have no business killing it.

5th August 2005, 07:37 PM	#1
Lew (deceased) Join Date: Dec 2004 Location: East Coast USA Posts: 3,191	Old Balinese Cock Fighting Knives For Comment Hi Guys I came across this set of twelve cock fighting knives from Bali. They came in a nice wooden case and they are scary sharp I always admired the skill of the Balinese smiths these knives are very well made. I Really feel sorry for those poor birds that are used in these fights now that I see how nasty these blades really are. Lew Attached Images Last edited by LOUIEBLADES; 5th August 2005 at 07:48 PM.

6th August 2005, 10:58 PM	#4
Montino Bourbon Member Join Date: Dec 2004 Location: Santa Barbara, California Posts: 301	Sacred blood; cockfighting in Bali Imagine the most intense men’s cocktail in existence; a heady mixture of testosterone, adrenalin, and blood. Mix in a liberal amount of noise, money, and sweat and you may be getting close to the experience of a Balinese cockfight. I had been to a little village cockfight, but I had to leave due to the presence of my friend, who is American (As the inhabitants of the United States somewhat erroneously call themselves) and female. Women, at least all the women I know, do not do well at cockfights. They do not understand the religious reason for a cockfight, which is that in Bali, just like everywhere else in the world, the Gods demand blood. Oh, you think Christianity is immune to this? You obviously don’t know history very well, or perhaps you simply choose to ignore it, as most Americans do. So, I was staying for a couple of days in Lovina, which is in the North of Bali, and is a beautiful beach resort. The sunsets there are some of the most spectacular in the world, the sea is peaceful, the scenery is beautiful, the people (Just like the rest of Bali) are incredibly friendly, and the hotel we like, Baruna Beach, is comfortable and incredibly affordable. (About $15 a night for a double, breakfast included), and best of all, there’s NO YELLOW ALERTS! In fact, about the only alert is “Sunset is getting close, you better hurry out or you’ll miss it!” On the second day the men of the group were offered a chance to go to a cockfight in the nearby town of Singaraja. Since it was the end of Galungan, one of the most important Balinese festivals, there was, of course, a cockfight. (religious ceremony, blood, remember?) The men piled into a minivan with our two Balinese drivers and we proceeded to Singaraja, and then into a neighborhood where Americans rarely ventured. We parked and walked to the ’arena’, which was a building of about 2000 square feet, with metal chairs in four tiers around four sides of a dirt floor marked with a square about twelve feet on a side. We were told that the front row was for ‘bosses’; since we were not ‘bosses’ except to our Balinese drivers, we took seats in the second row. I went out to have a ‘Kopi Bali’, which is the best coffee in the world, finely ground, with boiling water poured directly on it and a liberal amount of sugar (No Stevia or other health-food sissy-isms here) and which gets drunk slowly after the grounds have settled; it’s not the kind of thing that you throw down like antiseptic, sterilized, no-trace-of-grounds Starbucks designer latte, but real honest-to-goodness wakey-wakey, what they call in Italy ‘liquid nap‘, meth-don’t-hold-a-candle-to-this-hi-octane-jet-fuel. I walked, or rather buzzed back in the arena, where they were starting to bring the contestants out of the baskets where they had been meditating, or whatever roosters do when they are transported from their home to a roaring box filled with obsessed men yelling incomprehensible (to me) things to each other relating to the fighting abilities of poultry. I sat down among closely packed men, and more kept coming in until there must have been about eight hundred in a space that, in the USA would have been labeled “Maximum occupancy 65, NO roosters, no smoking, no wagering, and no yelling” and then the first card was presented. Four roosters were held, each by one man ,while another man tied a knife blade the size of the biggest blade on a Swiss army knife very securely on the left leg of the rooster where the big backwards-facing spur usually is. The blades were double edged and very pointed and sharp. Then the first two roosters were brought to make each other’s acquaintance in the middle of the ring. They were teased, fluffed, allowed to peck each other in the head, their handlers being very careful to protect the eyes, and generally maltreated into thinking that the other rooster was doing the pecking; then the noise, already loud, jumped up about three notches as men started calling out bets and odds to each other. When that phase had continued for about five minutes and the roosters had had anger therapy two more times, (I’m talking about the kind of anger therapy that INCREASES anger, rather than learning to transform it) they were released at opposite sides of the ring, to the accompaniment of a roar that would put the sound of an airliner taking off to shame, and immediately raced towards each other. Meeting in the middle of the ring, they jumped up in the air and flailed at each other. The action was so fast that it was impossible to see what really happened, but whenever one of them passed above the other, the roar got louder. The third time that happened, one of the roosters came out of the clinch staggering and bleeding. I hadn’t seen what actually happened because it happened too fast, but one of the blades had obviously scored a hit, because within a few seconds he keeled over and a few moments later was meeting the great rooster in the sky, going to rooster Valhalla where snow-white chickens pour him chicken feed and sing his praises. After that there was more shouting and a LOT of money changed hands; I couldn’t help but notice that the rooster that I had bet on against my friend Forest had won, and I had won fifty thousand Rupiah off of him. Don’t get your hopes up; That’s about five dollars US. The second pair was brought forward and pretty much the same thing happened as before; the frenetic shouting, the aversion therapy, the channeling of the inner rooster, the three minutes of hate, the fight itself that was too fast to follow, this fight ending with one of the roosters trying to escape under the stands and losing a lot of money for those who had backed that obvious loser, another fifty thou for me, and a break in the action as men crowded onto the floor to inspect the next batch of death commandos and exchange information on the respective strengths of each feathered fighter. It was at this moment that the only women allowed in the sacred precincts were to make an appearance, selling manly refreshments such as cigarettes and Coca-Cola; having made their sales, they quickly retreated from this bastion of virile ecstasy, and the whole process began again. At that point I couldn’t help but notice that about four hundred more men had crowded into the ‘stadium’, which by that time was overflowing with male energy. We sat through the next card, remarkable because in one fight, the first jump ended with one rooster’s blade stuck deep in the heart of the other, about three seconds after the start of the conflict; death must have been instantaneous. At the end of the second card of three fights we Americans had gotten the message, and we left our seats, which were immediately taken by eager men behind us. I was given to understand that the whole process would continue for some hours, or until the Gods were satisfied, whichever came first; but knowing the nature of Gods I was sure that they would run out of roosters well before the Gods’ appetite for blood was satisfied.

5th August 2005, 07:57 PM	#2
Tim Simmons Member Join Date: Dec 2004 Location: What is still UK Posts: 5,806	Hi Lew. The beautiful feather form of those blades is most admirable it is just a shame they are used for such a mindless activity. Tim

6th August 2005, 08:42 PM	#3
VANDOO (deceased) Join Date: Dec 2004 Location: OKLAHOMA, USA Posts: 3,138	THESE KNIVES COME IN QUITE A FEW SHAPES AND TYPES, SINGLE EDGED, DOUBBLE EDGED, CURVED OR STRAIGHT SHARP ON INSIDE OR OUTSIDE OR BOTH SIDES. LEAF SHAPED, SABER SHAPED OR SOME ONLY HAVE A POINT LIKE A NEEDLE. THEY ARE ALL DANGEROUSLY SHARP AS OFTEN A MAN WILL BET EVERYTHING HE HAS ON THE FIGHT. IT IS A MAJOR PASTIME IN MANY PARTS OF THE WORLD MOSTLY AMONG PEOPLE WHO DON'T HAVE MUCH AND THEY TAKE A LOT OF PRIDE IN HAVING A CHAMPION IN THE FAMILY EVEN IF IT IS A ROOSTER. I AM NEITHER FOR OR AGAINST COCK FIGHTING BUT WILL SAY THAT ON THE FEW OCCASIONS I HAVE SEEN IT THE BIRDS WANT TO FIGHT AND USUALLY DON'T SUFFER AS THEY ARE TOO MAD TO FIGHT TO NOTICE THAY HAVE BEEN KILLED AND USUALLY DIE VERY QUICKLY. SOMEWHAT BARBARIC PERHAPS BUT AT LEAST THEY ARE DOING SOMETHING THEY LIKE AND HAVE A CHANCE OF SURVIVING, THOSE THAT FALL INTO THE GRASP OF TYSON OR COURNEL SAUNDERS HAVE NO CHANCE AT ALL AND PROBABLY SUFFER AS MUCH AS THOSE IN THE RING.

6th August 2005, 11:08 PM	#5
Mick Member Join Date: Dec 2004 Location: Orlando Posts: 104	Just remember people, nothing goes to waste. If the loser is not dead at the end of the fight (the most common result) his neck is immediatly wrung and he is in a pot that night.

6th August 2005, 11:57 PM	#6
Rick Vikingsword Staff Join Date: Nov 2004 Posts: 6,290	Well written Montino ! I am amazed that Cocks can swing blades of this apparent size with killing force .

7th August 2005, 12:03 AM	#7
Tim Simmons Member Join Date: Dec 2004 Location: What is still UK Posts: 5,806	Yes I know the feeling, one of my dogs likes to fight even from breaking the fights up I am really pumped up but I still feel humans deliberatly setting animals against each other is a bit off . Tim

7th August 2005, 12:38 AM	#8
Tim Simmons Member Join Date: Dec 2004 Location: What is still UK Posts: 5,806	Hi Fearn, Hunting is now becoming the only way to keep some animals with us. Which is a little sad . Tim

7th August 2005, 12:52 AM	#9
fearn Member Join Date: Dec 2004 Posts: 1,247	You're quite right, Tim. That's precisely why I'm pro-hunting. Admittedly, I'm not fond of some forms of hunting (especially trophy hunting, or those that risk the dogs more than they risk the hunter). And I don't consider drunken idiots with guns to be hunters, no matter where they are in the woods. All this just to keep my street cred with my liberal friends . Fearn

7th August 2005, 12:56 AM	#10
Tim Simmons Member Join Date: Dec 2004 Location: What is still UK Posts: 5,806	Yes real hunting is skill and respect. Tim

7th August 2005, 01:34 AM	#11
Andrew Member Join Date: Nov 2004 Location: USA Posts: 1,725	Great discussion, guys. Just an observation: this, like bullfighting, is a topic that can quickly become contentious and bitter. Let's please continue to keep this thread civil. Thanks.

7th August 2005, 02:16 AM	#12
ariel Member Join Date: Dec 2004 Location: Ann Arbor, MI Posts: 5,503	Andrew, I hear you. Nevertheless, with all due respect to our Iberian colleagues, bullfighting is an exact equivalent of cock fighting and dog fighting only a less fair one: at least the former is a "dog against a dog". Pitting a man against a bull ? The fairness of it can be measured in the proportion of dead bulls vs. dead matadors: the creature's chance would be better if it had metastatic cancer. I've absolutely refused to accept an invitation to a bull fight when I was in Spain. Call it squeamishness, but I just cannot stand the idea. In Portugal, interestingly, they have bullfights without killing the bull. That is truly sporting: only the willing human takes a chance, but the bull is safe. I am not a vocal opponent of any animal fights, fox hunting or just hunting; having done my share of hunting in the distant past, I have decided that if I wanted a steak, I could get it in the supermarket instead of being a volunteer butcher. And if I am not going to eat the creature, I have no business killing it.