t experience； rather than experiment； would be my best teacher。 This poem must have been more than two hundred years old； and yet it still held a sobering truth。 The best gamecock has to be of a proven game strain。 Crossed and recrossed； until the color of the feathers resemble mud； if a cock can be traced to a legitimate game strain on both sides； he will fight when he is pitted and face when he is hurt。 This old poem contained a particularly worthwhile truth to remember； now that I possessed Icky； the most gaily plumaged cock I had ever owned。 The bettors at every pit on the circuit would be anxious to back him because of his bright blue color； and he would have to be good； because of the odds I'd be forced to give on him。
While I poured coffee into cups at the gate…legged table； Omar Baradinsky； his hairy fingers clasped behind his back； studied the poem on the wall。 He must have read it three or four times； but if he moved his lips when he read； I wouldn't have known about it。 Omar's pale face； which no amount of exposure to the Florida sun could tan； was almost pletely covered by a thick； black； unmanageable beard。 This ragged hirsute growth； wild and tangled； began immediately below his circular； heavily pouched brown eyes； and ended in tattered shreds halfway down his chest。 A thick； untrimmed moustache； intermingled with his beard； covered his mouth pletely。 When he talked； and Omar liked to talk； his mouth was only a slightly darker hole in the center of the jet…black tangle of face hair。 Out of curiosity； I had asked Omar once why he wore the beard； and his answer had been typical of his new way of life。
〃I'll tell you； Frank；〃 he had boomed。 〃Did you ever eat baked ham with a slice of glazed pineapple decorating the platter？〃
When I admitted that I had； he had pulled his fingers through his beard fondly and continued。 〃Well； that's what my face looked like when I went to the office every day in New York。 Like a slab of glazed； fried； reddish pineapple！ For me； shaving once a day wasn't enough。 The whiskers grew too fast。 I shaved before leaving home in the morning； again at noon； and if I went out again at night； I had to scrape my jowls again。 For as long as I can remember； my face was sore； raw in fact； and even after a fresh shave people told me I needed another。 So； I no longer have to shave and I no longer shave； and I'll never shave again！〃
To see Omar Baradinsky now； standing in my one…and…ahalf…room shack near Ocala； wearing a pair of faded blue denim bib overalls； a khaki work shirt with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders； scuffed； acid…eaten； high…topped work shoes； and that awe…inspiring growth of black hair covering his face…no one in his right mind would have taken him for a once successful advertising executive in New York City。 A closer look at his clothes； however； would reveal that Omar's bib overalls and shirt were expensive and tailored… which they were。 He ordered his clothes from Abercrombie & Fitch up in New York； and they would wash and dry without needing to be ironed。 In the beginning； I suspect that he had probably started to wear bib overalls as a kind of uniform； to fit some imaginary role he had made up in the back of his mind。 But now they had bee a part of him； and I couldn't picture Omar wearing anything else。
But Omar had been an advertising man； four years before。 Not only had he been a successful executive with a salary of thirty…five thousand dollars a year； he had also owned a twenty…unit luxury apartment house in Brooklyn。 He was now a breeder and handler of gamecocks in Florida； keeping Claret crosses and Allen Roundheads； and after four experimental years； slowly beginning to pull ahead。 The one remaining tie Omar had with New York was his wife。 She visited him annually； for one week； when she passed through central Florida on her way to Miami Beach for the winter season。 So far； she had been unable to make him change his mind and return to New York。 Omar's wife wasn't the type to bury herself on an isolated Florida chicken farm； so they were stalemated。
Unlike most American sportsmen； the cockfighting fan has an overwhelming tendency to bee an active participant。 There is no such thing as a passive interest in cockfighting。 Beginning as a casual onlooker； a man soon finds the action of two game…cocks battling to the death a fascinating spectacle。 He either likes it or he doesn't。 If he doesn't like it； he doesn't return to watch another fight。 If he does like it； he accepts； sooner or later； everything about the sport…the good with the bad。
As the fan gradually learns to tell one game strain from another； he admires the vain beauty of a game rooster。 Admiration leads to the desire to possess one of these beautiful creatures for his very own； and pride of ownership leads to the pitting of his pet against another gamecock。 Whether he wins or loses； once the fan has got as far as pitting； he is as hooked as a ghetto mainliner。
Of course； not every beginner embraces the sport like Omar Baradinsky…to the point of quitting a thirty…fivethousand dollar…a…year position； and leaving wife； family and friends to raise and fight gamecocks in Florida。 The majority of fans are content to participate on a smaller scale…as a handler； perhaps； or as an owner of one or two gamecocks； or as a lowly assistant holding a bird for a handler while he lashes on the heels。 Many spectators； unfortunately； are interested in the gambling aspects of cockfighting to the exclusion of everything else。 But even gamblers must learn a lot of information about game fowl to win consistently。 Whether he wins or loses； the gambler still has the satisfaction of knowing that a cockfight cannot be fixed； and not another sport in the United States will give him as fair a chance for his money。
Omar Baradinsky； however； had gone all the way； caught up in the sport at the dangerous age of fifty； the age when a man begins to wonder just what in the hell has he got out of his life so far； anyway？ Omar was still as bewildered by his decision to enter full…time cockfighting now as he had been when he started。
〃I can't really explain it； Frank；〃 he had told me one idle morning； after we got to know each other fairly well； right after he had first moved to Florida。 〃I had done a better than average job on one of my smaller advertising accounts； and the owner invited me to his home in Saratoga Springs for a weekend。 Smelling a little bonus money in the deal； you see； something my firm wouldn't know anything about； I accepted and drove to this fellow's place early on a Saturday morning。
〃Just as I anticipated； he presented me with a bonus check for a thousand clams。 And we sat around his swimming pool all afternoon…which was empty by the way… drinking Scotch and water and talking business。 Out of nothing； he asked me if I'd like to see a cockfight that night。
〃'Cockfight！' I said。 'They're illegal； aren't they？' 'Sure； they are！' he laughed。 'But so was sleeping with that blonde you fixed me up with in New York。 If you've never seen a cockfight； I think you might get a kick out of it。'
〃So I went to my first cockfight。 I'll never forget it； Frank。 The sight of those beautiful roosters fighting to the death； the gameness； even when mortally wounded； was an exciting； unforgettable experience。 Before the evening was over； I knew that that's what I wanted to do with my life： breed and fight game fowl。 It was infantile； crazy maybe； I don't know。 My wife thought I'd lost my mind and wouldn't even listen to my reasons。 Probably because I couldn't give her any； not valid reasons。 I wanted to do it and that was my sole reason！
〃I was fed up to the teeth with advertising； and I had saved enough money to quit。 I was only fifty； and although my future still glimmered on Madison Avenue； I didn't really need any more money than I already had。 Still； I played it pretty cagy with the firm。 I made a secret deal with one of the other vice…presidents to feed him my accounts in return for supporting my resignation on the grounds of ill health。 That way； I picked up twenty…five thousand dollars in severance pay。 I sold my apartment house and set up a trust fund for my wife to take care