Cockfighter - Charles Ray Willeford [82]
These were all legitimate nursing techniques, but to use them, any of them, after the first pitting was ridiculous. Over-nursing does more harm than good. Unless a gamecock is in drastic need of help, the handler can help him best by letting him rest between pittings. I laced Icky away from the Gray and let him stand quietly so he could get the maximum benefit from the rest period.
“Get ready,” Bandy said, watching his wristwatch sweephand.
“Pit!”
We dropped them on their scores. Because of rough overnursing, more than for any other reason, the Gray was slow in getting started. Icky made a forward dash with raised hackles, took off in a low, soaring flight, fanning in midair, and cut deeply into the Gray's neck with blurred gaffs. The left heel stuck, and the two cocks tumbled over, coupled.
“Handle!” Bandy said quickly.
The instant Junior removed Icky's gaff from the Gray's neck, his gamecock strangled. When a cock's long neck fills with blood, the strangling sound is unmistakable. Except for going through the motions in accordance with the rules, the fight was over. Until the Gray actually died, or refused to fight through three twenty-second counts, or unless his handler picked him up and carried him out, we still had to go through the routine pittings and counts.
Junior had heard the strangle, but he nursed the Gray furiously. He sucked blood out of the Gray's throat and rubbed its chest hard enough to dislodge the tight feathers. He held the feet, placed the cock on its chest and pressed his mouth against the back, blowing his breath noisily into the feathers to warm the Gray's circulation. The Gray was down, his neck stretched flat, and his eyes were glazed. Blood bubbled from his open beak, but he wasn't dead. And then, right before my astonished eyes, Junior inserted his right forefinger into the downed Gray's vent and massaged the cock's testicles!
I snapped my fingers in Bandy's direction, but he had witnessed the foul as soon as I had.
“Foul!” Bandy yelled. “The Blue wins in the second pitting!”
I picked Icky up and held him tail first toward Bandy so he could cut the tie strings away from the heels with his penknife. None of the spectators complained about the ruling. The Gray had obviously lost before the foul was called anyway. With his sunburned face redder than it had been before, Junior pushed between us.
“What do you mean, foul!” he shouted at Bandy.
“Mr. Mansfield and I both saw you put your finger in the vent, son,” Bandy said quietly. “And so did everybody else, if they had any eyes.”
Omar joined me in the pit and I handed Icky over to him.
“That's no foul.” Junior protested. “Nursing's allowed, ain't it?”
“Legitimate nursing, yes. Not that kind!”
“I was told if you rubbed the balls with your finger you could put new life in your chicken—” Junior argued futilely.
“Who told you that, son?” Bandy cut him off.
“My dad told me,” Junior replied. We were all three staring at him now, and he looked at us worriedly. “Is that considered a foul?”
“Your daddy told you wrong, Junior,” Bandy said quietly. “You rub a cock's balls and you take every speck of fight right out of him. It's a deliberate way of throwing a fight.”
“Well, I didn't know it,” Junior said. “I want to apologize, Mr. Mansfield,” he said, with evident sincerity.
“Too late for that now,” Bandy told him. “You're through. I got to send in a report on this to the Southern Conference. As of now, you're blacklisted at every cockpit in the S.C. I reckon that's what your daddy wanted or he wouldn't have told you no lie. But you've pitted your last gamecock at this game club, Junior.”
Junior's sun-reddened face was reduced to a pink glow. “How long's the blacklist last, Mr. Taylor?” he asked.
“Forever. Whether