depends on body style. I’m tall and lean, and I have ‘big lung’ bod dee —good stamina. They just see big lung. I can run with the top fighters, when I am young. I follow them in everything.”
He’s talking about the camp system in Thailand, a whole different universe. The fighters there are essentially chattel, property. They have no options, owned by the camp. If they want to leave and fight elsewhere, the new trainer or camp has to buy their contract. So you do what your corner says, what the boss says. It’s what happens in the third world when you’re poor—you do what you have to do to eat.
“Sometimes when they try to teach me smart things, I can’t get it. I can only do one thing, keep coming forward. They try and teach me fake here, step back.” He is laughing, short and quick, shaking his head. “I can’t do it. That’s why my trainer teach me the style of knee knee knee, come forward. I have to train very hard for that style, but I am healthy, lucky with that, fighting all the time. I come very fast, and I win first eight fights at Lumpini stadium. Then I lose one, then I win for another seven times or so, and always the same. First three rounds I get beat up, because I start slow. Techniques are not good, but I have good heart and I can take it. And now I am glad to beat them up, after they beat me first. After that punishment. So they call me ‘Wooden Man.’
“I hate the balloon head nickname, so I don’t say it when the newspaper ask,” he said gleefully. But Jongsanan turns thoughtful about what having a nickname and public identity can do for a fighter.
“For me it was the same thing as ‘Golden Boy.’” He was talking about Oscar de la Hoya, and Golden Boy Promotions.
“It was his promotion name, and he has to represent it. It is a real thing for him. He has to be the Golden Boy. Rampage is the same, Quentin Jackson. The nickname and the personality in the ring have to mesh up. Even if you are a nice guy, in the ring you have to mesh with your promotional personality. They call me that way, I have to be that way, that’s how I feel.”
It goes back to what fighting is all about: honesty and identity. You have to know who you are. There is no dissembling about your character in the ring. There is deception —fighting involves faking one thing and doing another. As Randy Couture said, “No lies get told when you’re in there.” You can’t lie about being in shape, about knowing the techniques, about being faster than him, about being stronger or tougher. The truth will out.
“You have to listen to the corner. Think of nothing, listen to my trainer and Philip. They control you to be that way, and the Thai fighter has to be like a robot. I fight you eye to eye, I see you. The cornerman, the third eye, he see everything, he see me and you. The corner change the game.”
The reason for such strict controls over fighters? Jongsanan smiles at the innocence of my question, the naivete.
“Gambling. Ninety-five percent of fans are there for betting, to make money. The fan can make you fight different way. In the U.S. the fan come to support you, to see your skill, to see a show. Over there it’s for betting, and it makes me upset. If muay Thai fighters in Thailand could get respect like here, it would be so good for the Thai boy. But in Thailand they can’t afford the ticket unless for gambling to make the money back.
“If you love muay Thai here, you can be a good fighter. Here they respect you, and nobody will beat you up if you lose. You won’t lose your home, your living, like in Thailand. Here they admire you even if you lose. Seventy-five percent of American fighters survive by themselves. They fire you if you aren’t a good corner. Totally different in Thailand. In Thailand you have to do what corner say, you can’t fight anywhere else. If somebody else wants to train you he has to buy your contract out from me.”
When you watch a muay Thai fight, you become
He’s talking about the camp system in Thailand, a whole different universe. The fighters there are essentially chattel, property. They have no options, owned by the camp. If they want to leave and fight elsewhere, the new trainer or camp has to buy their contract. So you do what your corner says, what the boss says. It’s what happens in the third world when you’re poor—you do what you have to do to eat.
“Sometimes when they try to teach me smart things, I can’t get it. I can only do one thing, keep coming forward. They try and teach me fake here, step back.” He is laughing, short and quick, shaking his head. “I can’t do it. That’s why my trainer teach me the style of knee knee knee, come forward. I have to train very hard for that style, but I am healthy, lucky with that, fighting all the time. I come very fast, and I win first eight fights at Lumpini stadium. Then I lose one, then I win for another seven times or so, and always the same. First three rounds I get beat up, because I start slow. Techniques are not good, but I have good heart and I can take it. And now I am glad to beat them up, after they beat me first. After that punishment. So they call me ‘Wooden Man.’
“I hate the balloon head nickname, so I don’t say it when the newspaper ask,” he said gleefully. But Jongsanan turns thoughtful about what having a nickname and public identity can do for a fighter.
“For me it was the same thing as ‘Golden Boy.’” He was talking about Oscar de la Hoya, and Golden Boy Promotions.
“It was his promotion name, and he has to represent it. It is a real thing for him. He has to be the Golden Boy. Rampage is the same, Quentin Jackson. The nickname and the personality in the ring have to mesh up. Even if you are a nice guy, in the ring you have to mesh with your promotional personality. They call me that way, I have to be that way, that’s how I feel.”
It goes back to what fighting is all about: honesty and identity. You have to know who you are. There is no dissembling about your character in the ring. There is deception —fighting involves faking one thing and doing another. As Randy Couture said, “No lies get told when you’re in there.” You can’t lie about being in shape, about knowing the techniques, about being faster than him, about being stronger or tougher. The truth will out.
“You have to listen to the corner. Think of nothing, listen to my trainer and Philip. They control you to be that way, and the Thai fighter has to be like a robot. I fight you eye to eye, I see you. The cornerman, the third eye, he see everything, he see me and you. The corner change the game.”
The reason for such strict controls over fighters? Jongsanan smiles at the innocence of my question, the naivete.
“Gambling. Ninety-five percent of fans are there for betting, to make money. The fan can make you fight different way. In the U.S. the fan come to support you, to see your skill, to see a show. Over there it’s for betting, and it makes me upset. If muay Thai fighters in Thailand could get respect like here, it would be so good for the Thai boy. But in Thailand they can’t afford the ticket unless for gambling to make the money back.
“If you love muay Thai here, you can be a good fighter. Here they respect you, and nobody will beat you up if you lose. You won’t lose your home, your living, like in Thailand. Here they admire you even if you lose. Seventy-five percent of American fighters survive by themselves. They fire you if you aren’t a good corner. Totally different in Thailand. In Thailand you have to do what corner say, you can’t fight anywhere else. If somebody else wants to train you he has to buy your contract out from me.”
When you watch a muay Thai fight, you become
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