Three hours of mayhem later, shirt soaked with sweat, I walked out into the tropical night, nerves still jangling. I'm not at all sure to make of the evening's events. There is something undeniably pure and very nearly beautiful about competition reduced to its essentials. Yet at the same time, the whole scene reminded me of a cock fight I witnessed in the Philippines, where local villagers howled frenzied encouragement and wagered a week's salary on competition just as pure, just as brutal.
I'm a long way from home and different rules apply. Or perhaps it's the same rules everywhere. Only here, the stakes are higher.