In the cockpit (ruweda), the proprietors and cocks are alloted sides: MERON – for the one with the bigger pot-cash wager or supported game rooster, the sign lit-up meaning llamado or supported status, and WALA, under a dim sign, implying dejado or since quite a while ago shot. The chickens are permitted a brief timeframe and separation to stroll, for the wagering onlookers to watch position, swagger and gameness. At that point the “casador” declares the restricting wagers and when required requests sums from the ringside bettors to balance the wagers. At that point he yells Fighting cock betting
Larga na! What’s more, onlooker wagering begins. The “kristos,” wagering chiefs heretically named for their Christ-like killed position, arms loosened up enticing the observers, taking wagers, their hands and fingers wild in the gesture based communication of wagers and chances. The commotion develops to a noise of stunning decibels. As the wagering goes on, each chicken is likewise permitted to peck on the other’s head (kulitan), each to outrage the other and keep up a degree of forcefulness.
At that point the defensive sheaths or wrapping on the tari edges are evacuated and cleaned off with liquor impregnated cotton or material to expel any conceivable toxic substance. At that point the roosters are discharged. Once in a while, they wait, hover, peck on the ground, careful, pausing, and estimating their adversary. All the more frequently, they raced into one another, winging high up to a decided showdown of death. At that point, suddenly and whirlwind of beating wings, repelling moves, and the midair trades of deadly slices of cutting edge. Now and then, it continues for a moment or more.
The noise crescendos into stunning decibels. Each dangerous cut, each smooth repel inspires a cheer, groan, snort or moan. Here and there, triumph is asserted on the underlying repel and cut, the deed of killing is cultivated in a unimportant five seconds, as one cockerel lies, trembling and shaking to his demise. At that point, as abruptly, the clamor flattens into a buzz. The “sentensyador” (official) gets the cockerels. The successful chicken pecks twice on the vanquished, and when the pecks are not returned, one cockerel is raised triumphant.
Seldom, both the cockerels pass on, and a “tabla” (tie) is called. Another phenomenal event is when both are impaired by wounds, neither one ready to deliver a deadly cut, and following nine minutes, a tie or tabla is called.
To the proprietors, the misfortune is financial, apathetic – there is no holding among rooster and proprietor. These are, all things considered, unimportant conciliatory creatures, whose principle design is to win, and to win the same number of before the inescapable passing. An infrequent chicken might be spared from the possible passing, resigned as “ganador” to sire a bloodline of hereditary executioners. To the rich, passing is acknowledged with a shrug, and “on to the following battle.” To the masa, it is the very natural exercise of considering the lost wages, the “so close” and “what uncertainties,” simultaneously trusting his other gamecock will turn his fortunes around.