Year 166.666
It is known that in the dense green Sierra of the Pacifico in Mexico, there are rituals that involve jaguar-man in combat. The soil has been tilled for the new siembra (sowing), it is time for celebration, a new cycle begins. A loud crowd gathers in the middle of the plain, Jaguar-men are waiting around the circle, they are warriors, they wear boxing gloves sometimes, but others just bandages wrapped around their knuckles. The jaguar-head has a wide-open mouth, two eyeballs glowing in the dark. This ritual is ancient, it has been passed down through generations, it has survived colonial times. The first two jaguars step inside the circle, and the combat begins with some weak, loose moves, but slowly, the adrenaline takes over, and the soil claims the need for blood to have a good harvest. A single punch cracks the jaw of one fighter’s opponent, their bodies twist, the muscles shocked, tremble, and finally, sweat and blood spill out into the ground.
Knockouts
On another stage close to the border in Laredo, on the side of Mexico, a thirteen-year-old boy without resources started boxing as an amateur. Yes, one of the greatest glories of Mexican Boxing, el señor Luis Villanueva Paramo, the eternal, the immeasurable, and only champion: Kid Azteca! Tepito, the toughest barrio of Mexico City, saw the birth of Kid Azteca. This place is considered a cultural vortex, the heart of Teotihuacan. He migrated with his mom and brother to Nuevo Laredo in search of a better life; there, he discovered boxing as a ritual. Kid Chino his first nickname morphed into Kid Aztec, for his first combat in the USA when and where he emerged as an Aztec warrior. He survived two hundred combats and achieved one hundred and fourteen knockouts. One hundred and fourteen destroyed jaws. Pain, blood, and sweat stained the ring. He was known for his deadly hook to the liver. The ritual was organized into a spectacle that generates money, the ritual is now a sport mainly for men’s entertainment. The desire to beat, to watch, to rage, to laugh, and to suffer through pain is collective. We need idols, we need warriors.
Release the jaguar
What does the fighting life mean? Who needs to enter a battle and who watches? There are stages at home, where a sole dusty black punch bag hangs somewhere on the patio. The intimacy of rage, of releasing anger, of trying to break something or someone, there is no direct opponent. Who is your opponent? Is it an entity beyond the human, is it an oppressive system, is it life itself? Being bañado en sudor, being wet with your own sweat, being a wetback, sweat, and labor are connected, the hands bleed, the body keeps fighting beyond its own capabilities, and there is an energy that rises from the warrior’s ancestors, that keeps the beaten body moving despite extreme exposure to the sun, the hands are working the field. Maybe this is another form of ritual, maybe it is just another way of fighting back and release the jaguar.
