/* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} The monsoon downpour ends just before we hop out of the cab. We pay our 85 baht, thank the driver and step onto a blackened cement sidewalk where the air is heavy, almost suffocating in its heat and humidity. We can already smell the stench of stale sweat and struggle, before we even reach the stadium. We walk past some dingy diseased dogs, food vendors, and Tuk Tuk drivers where we're stopped by the ticket touts near the entrance.

We try to walk past because I want to buy the cheap tickets for the back of the stadium, where the energy is a blaze and the betting a fever. That is where I'll make my fortune. The touts try and convince you that the inexpensive seats are sold out and then you have to fork over the high-end Baht for ringside seats, and the chance of winning your cash back with some good old-fashioned gambling goes down the drain.

"1500 Baht, Ringside." They say as we scramble through the crowd of street dogs and noodle stalls.

"Nope, 500 Baht, standing, with the old men betting in the back," I respond.

They try again so I say the same thing and they shrug and let us pass to the ticket booth. There's three signs. The first one is the worst, it reads: 2,000 Baht- Ringside. The next: 1,500 Baht- Standing. And the kicker: 200 Baht- Thai Only.

Wait a second. What about the 500 Baht deal I was told about? With the gamblers? In the back? standing? A fortune...No?

"No". They confirm at the counter. We turn around and there's the tout with a big happy grin on his face, a stack of tickets in hand. Dammit.

1500 Baht later and we're sitting two rows back, the reedy Muay Thai music singing out its trance-nerve screech song on the other side of the ring while two fighters batter each other with their fists inside the ropes.

Lumpini stadium is grit and sweat. Mixed with blood. Most of it old and dried on the canvas but with fresh sprinkles from tonight's fights. It's a mass of hardened stained cement, cigarette smoke, Chang beer, a piercingly loud audience, and of course, some brutal fights.

The bell rings and the first fight ends in an unanimous decision; The guy with a crimson flood flowing from the cut above his eye looses. The crowd is wild.

I can't believe we're finally here and I look over to see the same excitement on Brittany's face, except it isn't quite there, she looks sleepy, her eyes blink closed slowly.

The music begins again and two new fighters visit all corners of the ring and start their Ram Muay. The first rounds in a Muay Thai fight are generally slow, each fighter sizing up the other before firing off their canons. Britt's eyes droop a bit. Some more blinks. A yawn.

The later rounds set ablaze the entire stadium. Become more and more energized and furious as they throw knees and kicks, fire off straight rights, hooks and clench.

The crowd responds in kind.

I have never heard an audience so loud. With each knee, elbow, kick, and punch they respond with a chorus of "Hoo!" "Zyah!" and "Oh-Way!" Growing in volume as the fights intensify.

The fighter in blue push-kicks his opponent in red in the face. "Zyah!" they all respond, then he gets popped with a left hook and a round kick. Zyah! Oh-Way! Everyone's screaming.

Britt's head sags and then she shakes the sleep away and her eyes open for a second. Another yawn.

Red controls the clench and is landing knees, one after another to Blue's ribs. A Knee. Hoo! Another Knee. Hoo!. Knee. Hoo! Knee. Hoo! Oh-Way! And the fighter in blue drops to the canvas. Here come Britt's eyes, opening briefly.

After an eight count the fighters are back at it and Britt's head slumps forward, eyes sealed shut. Red comes in to take advantage, he clenches, throws more knees again and again and his opponent can't stop them. He gets thrown back hard and smashed in the chin by an elbow. This time he hits the floor even harder. And it's done. He's knocked out cold and carelessly thrown onto a rickety wooden backboard where his arms dangle over the sides limply. The crowd is berserk. They rush the fighter out of the stadium while the other's arms are raised high in victory. My palms are wet with adrenaline. We all have fire in our eyes. And Britt's asleep on my shoulder...

It's a good thing I didn't get my cheap tickets with the old men betting in the back. For the fortune I sought to gain would have become a cash drought, Thai Baht evaporating from my pockets like dew drops in a parched desert. I kept a mental log throughout the night of who I would have put my money on and I would have kissed my cash goodbye every time.

I left the stadium that night with a new-found appreciation for the Thai national sport, and an energy in my bones that I've not felt in years.