Thursday, August 8, 2013

BOUDREAUX' ELI Vintage Match Report

Sixth Match:
Males at 38 pounds.
Cajun Rules, Howard Tee, Referee
Pete Sparks, Timekeeper

Jack is using a red dog called Bozo said to have been bought by Sonny Sykes from Jerome Hernandez. Floyd is using a black which he calls Eli. The black gets the first hold as Bozo gets skin hold in throat. Black is getting into the throat of Bozo as Bozo works the ear trying for a shoulder. 50 to 25 bets being made. Bozo the favorite. Black is showing good and working for Bozo's throat. All the dog fighting in the previous match is being wrapped up in a ten-minute space of time in this fight. Black gets in Bozo's throat at 14, then Bozo throws one leg over the black's shoulder, gets an ear and throws the black dog. Bozo gets a shoulder and shakes and the black dog gets a mouth hold and gets him off. Black up at 15 and into the throat. The black comes up and the bets shift to even money as both dogs are working the shoulders and front legs. Bozo gets the nose and shakes at 21. Changes to a hind leg, gets stifle and shakes. Bozo is working front leg. Back to mouth fighting at 25-minute mark. Bets getting hard to get at even money as first one then the other gets on top and gets nose and mouth. The black acts as though he has shot his wad. Bozo has opened up the black's front leg and the black is weakening. Story is that the black has heartworms. 38 and a pick up, Bozo to scratch. Made determined scratch, gets a front leg and the black goes into Bozo's neck. 40 a pick up, black scratches hard. Bozo gets nape of neck and the black goes down. 54 a pick up, Bozo to scratch. Made determined scratch. 57 pick up with black to scratch. Trotted over and took hold, gets an ear and Bozo goes down. Bozo makes a good scratch at the one-hour mark. One minute later the black makes a good scratch and Smith gives up the fight. Black makes a good courtesy scratch. Eli is the winner in one hour and one minute.

Pete Sparks

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Dead Game by Andrew Vachss

I'm no good until I get hit the first time.
Tony says I'm a slow starter.
But once I get going, nothing can stop me.
I never quit. Never.
I looked across the ring. I'm fighting a black guy tonight. Bosco, I think his name is.
It doesn't matter what his name is.
This is the first time I saw him. They don't let me face the other guy at the weigh-ins anymore. Sometimes, I go after them right there. I have to save it for the fight.
He's a little bigger than me, but he's still inside the weight limit.
He's younger than me, too.
But I've been around a lot longer. You can see it on my face. And all over my body. Experience counts for a lot in these fights. You can't tell if a fighter's any good until he gets nailed the first time, that's what Tony says. Then you find out about his heart.
They say it's in my blood, fighting.
But I really only do it for Tony.
I love him.
He's been with me since I was real little. He gives me everything.
I train the old way. Special food. No sex before a fight.
They say that's why we started fighting. For sex. To have our pick of the bitches.
But I could have sex even if I didn't fight. I fight for Tony.
I work out all the time. Tony even built a special treadmill for me, to build up my endurance.
If you get tired in these fights, you lose.
I never get tired.
I watched the black guy across from me, waiting for the signal to start. I watched his eyes. He wasn't afraid.
They never are.
Down here, the purse is nothing . . . all the money comes from betting.
Tony always bets on me.
I'd never let him down.
I'd die first.
I'm not afraid of dying. It's just sleep. And you don't wake up.
I faced the black guy. Tony rubbed the back of my neck, getting it loose.
The crowd screamed.
We bumped once and the black guy came at me.
He was quicker than me. I took his first shot right in the chest. The fire exploded in me and I tried to tear his head off.
He went down, but he got right back up.
The referee separated us a couple of times when we locked together, but they never stop these fights.
It was a long time before I took him out.
Tony carried me out of the ring.
I couldn't see Tony, my eyes were torn.
The other guy hurt me real deep.
I was going to sleep.
I heard Tony crying.
I felt his hand on my head.
Patting my bloody fur for the last time.

Andrew Vachss is an american author, attorney, dangerous dog fancier and advocate for children and animals

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Ode to pit dogs

I am a bulldog
I fight because I love it
I live for the box

Good Pit Dog

He is a pit bull, brindle and white
A fast head dog with an even bite.
He can take his punishment and not mind it a bit
For he’ll always scratch and stay in the pit
It takes him no time to finish the rat
He stays with a badger, has not mercy for cats.
He’s one of my best and he’s game to the core
He’ll toe the scratch, I can ask for no more.
He has no fear for whatever he faces
Disposition is good and his looks they are aces.
He’s one of those dogs that money can’t buy
I’ll keep him a lifetime, until he does die.
But before then he’ll fight for me many a time
Make me proud of his winnings, bring me many a dime.
He’ll uphold the name of our pet dog, all right
For he’s not a show dog, but one that’ll fight.
And that’s what we all want, dogs that are game
Wherever you take them, they’ll bring you no shame.
They need not be handsome, nor good for the show
But just good pit dogs, rarin’ to go


Now the past is gone you see
And the pit is in our care,
The future should concern thee
of the game we're all to share.

Many a dogmen have come
And meny dogmen are here,
With very few pits being born
Of gameness we all hold dear.

We must always watch our guard
To test and prove pits game,
By scrathing and rolling hard
All pit dogs earn their name.

Game pit dogs never quit
while dog men cry and laugh,
For the pit would'nt be a pit
the pit would be a staff.

Pits should remain in sport
To this dog men all agree,
for proven game hard fought
Is what the pit is suppose to be.

No title, author unknown
written in the 1800's about a Bulldog and a Terrier

Oh me name it is Michael McCarthy
And I come from a place of renown,
I had a bet with old Timothy O'Flaherty
That me bulldog would wallop the town.
Now he told me of one Terrance Murphy
Who lived away out in the bog
That kept an old black and tan terrier
That would murder me twenty pound dog.
Champion he was a dandy
Till Murphy, the dirty old hog
Came along with his black and tan terrier
And murdered me twenty pound dog.
Now I led out me bold twenty pound hound
He looked just as good as a king
How he eyed that black and tan terrier
As they both dashed right around the ring.
Now they fought for an hour and a quarter
It was away out in the bog
The terrier took all the laurels
And a corpse lay me twenty pound dog.
Now I swore I'd have satisfaction
I off with me coat and me hat
I made a race for the whole Murphy faction
From big Terrance to little Pat.
Then I made a race for the terrier
And I kicked him right into the bog,
And all the way home I swore vengeance
Sweet vengeance for me twenty pound dog.


Today in the pit i did meet my match,
but my legs are broken and i can't make the scratch.
Please pick me up now so i can fight another day,
but money and pride has got in the way.

You know I can't win as I let out a battle cry,
looks like this pit is where I will die.
Look into my eyes did I not give my best?
But you knew that already when you did the game test.
This is for all the game pitbulls that never gave up,
your masters betrayed you for fear of losing a buck.

No Title, author unknown

Big blue comes in growling, he’s thrashin round wild;
not bred of Grand Champions, just taunted till riled.

Ol Blackie sits there patient, tail wagging with glee,
cause he’d done some rollin and knows how it’ll be.

Washed down and toweled; the time, it drew near.

Big Blue’s lookin vicious, he has fifteen pounds
but that black dog just sat there, staring him down.

When the moment came, both exploded out their corners
and met in the middle, but an inch towards Blue’s owner.

Blackie was quicker, but Blue had a bite
that black dog took a beatin, near an inch of his life.

Fifteen minutes went by, most thought it was done;
but a few in the crowd saw the table had spun.

Big Blue got winded and the black one, he knew;
caught Blue by the shoulder, his vigor renewed.

Blue quickly turned, cold fear in his eyes
so back to their corners to give scratchin a try.

Blue came in charging and easy to read
when black saw him comin his tail doubled speed.

Black took what he’d learned and held to it that night,
by twenty-three minutes it was no longer a fight.

Ol Blackie went home, one under his belt;
Big Blue, well he went with the cards he was dealt.

That black dog proved game, the blue not so much;
like all of his kind, just over grown mutts.

The Pit Bulldog by Howard "B"

There's a mighty creature on the prowl,
They don't bark much and seldom growl,
Can crush a bone with the slam of it's mouth,
You can find them East, West, North and South,
When you face them off and let them go,
The fight will last till one can go no more,
Unless you have a cur, and there's alot around
A good Dogman will put these in the ground,
No other dog can stand the pain,
But a good pit bull has his claim to fame,
Some stay in the corner and won't cross that line,
'Cause the mighty pit bull is one of a kind,
we must stand by our dogs united as we all should know,
'Cause the future holds more matches and we all love a good show,
I'm a new comer and this is true,
But I'm into the dogs deep, just like the rest of you,
If we meet in the pit, lets all remain friends,
'Cause we're all pit bull lovers, till the very damn end.

Sacs And Sticks

Burlap sacs and sticks
Were leading the pack,
They brought in the picks
Big bets on a black.

Black showing great mite
Still buckskin was quiet,
Both conditioned right
Fed the right diet.

All night they were matching
Both showing strong rolls,
Still buckskin was scratching
When black quit his hold.

The keep was now mending
They blew out the wic's,
Now came the tending,
Burlap sacs and sticks.

An Ode to the American Pit Bull Terrier by Solitaire

From Ireland and England, into America they came;
Brought by fanciers and families intrigued by the game.
As combatants, warriors and gladiators of the sport;
Valued for gameness, ability, mouth, and the sort.
With feirceness and courage beyond compare,
They face their rivals with a peircing glare.
The sound of percussion made all throughout,
Seems the only emitted with each clout.
They were bred to win, whatever it takes;
Never to quit, despite the stakes.
Eager, relentless, wholehearted they'll go;
Revealing bliss by tail wagging to and fro.
The desire to trimph, even when circumstance is poor,
Separates this breed from others; a quality to adore.
In contrast to their character as portrayed above,
The American Pit Bull Terrier can exude love.
They are gentle, sweet-tempered, humble and meek;
Can be lively, vivacious, delightful and sleek.
Effusive and charming, total characters they are;
Intelligent and sly, and can get away with far.
Living to gratify and please their masters,
They will forsake life to protect from disaster.
The most misunderstood of their kind;
Due to ignorance; so we pay no mind.
They are noble, heroic and bad to the bone,
Formidable, muscular, and eager to be shown.
Epitomizing what a dog should be,
They reign supreme, you would have to agree.

THE BRINDLE DOG by J.R. LeManquais

There once lived an overgrown kid near our lot,
Who owned a large mongrel whose name I forgot.
The boy was a bully, his dog was the same,
And they both used their size to play a mean game.

All the kids in the neighborhood feared this tough nut,
As the house dogs for blocks feared this over sized mutt.
Toy Poodles, or Collies, or Terriers small,
Made no difference, the big cur could handle them all.

The pair soon were famous, their game they played well,
For they had every dog near the tracks cut to hell.
One day a new family took a house down the street,
they owned a trim brindle dog with white blaze and white feet.

His eyes were quite small, his muzzle looked strong,
His low carried tail was fine pointed, not long.
He carried himself with a confident air,
On the street he'd pass dogs as if they weren't there.

A few telltale scars on his shoulders and head,
told a mute story better than if it was read.
Fifty pounds of spring steel, he was quick as a cat,
And he'd fight if he had to at the drop of a hat.

Then one day in spring down by the kids hut,
The big bully came, and behind him his mutt.
The two dogs stood rigid and to my surprise,
The yellow cur was twice the brindle dogs size.

The big dog moved in, but his jaws snapped on air,
The thing he had lunged at, well it just wasn't there,
A clever side step had avoided his jump,
Something clamped on his throat, he went down with a thump.

He tried to break loose, he was fighting in fear,
His head it was pounding, couldn't see, couldn't hear.
His wind was cut off, he was beaten and through,
and the big kid astonished, he had enough too.

When they got :Brindle" off, "Yellow" got to his feet,
and with tail between his legs weakly went down the street.
now I wonder if anyone reading this creed,
could tell me what was this brindle dogs breed?

Who The Rebel by Nick the Greek
(ode to a snitch)

He was a friend, a good friend of mine
I trusted him to a 'T'
I never thought the day would come
That he would be telling on me.
When it first went down, the rumors were out
That he started to sing
I could not believe it, I argued with many
Because to me he was the King
But time would tell and prove me wrong
That he was no friend indeed
He ratted me out, with a list of others
Who thought he would be a bad seed
Families he ruined, lives are shot
Nothing but anguish and pain
I believe you keep your mouth shut
Especially when living the fast lane
But sometimes you learn in the game of life
Who your friends really are
Often times too late, no turning back
A Valuable lesson by far
So here I sit after telling the feds
I had nothing to do with him
A son of a bitch, a low life mother
He made the light in the game go dim
So let us recover, get stronger by this
Whatever the price may be.
He does not represent the South, Nor the Game
He is just shit to me!

Saturday, August 3, 2013

The Blood of a Champion - Floyd Boudreaux

The Blood of a Champion
-Floyd Boudreaux

He may be a large dog, Maybe small,
He will fight one dog or he will fight them all,

He will give you all he has to give,
It's the only way he likes to live,
He has earned the respect of poor men & kings,
He has fought in the open, in the pits and in the ring, He has fought the wolves, the bull and the bear, For his own life he has not a care,

He will not cower, he will not cry,
For to be called a curr, he would rather die, A cur and a fighter are not the same, for a cur is a quitter, and a fighter is game,

We don't force him to fight, he can quit at anytime, But its not a bulldog that stands the line, When we speak of bulldogs the words that fit, are those like courage, stamina and grit,

In the pit he is powerful, fierce and wild, But at home will sleep with the smallest of child, He knows not the meaning of the word quit, he likes it on the chain, but longs for the pit,

The blood of a champion flows in his veins, He can stand the heat, He can stand the pain, If it comes to the scratch, he'll make the run, when he hears his master's cry "go get'em son!".

Friday, August 2, 2013

Grand Champion Little Jack by Tom Ratliff

Grand Champion Little Jack by Tom Ratliff

Here is a story about a champ I know
In his younger years he was ready to go
His teeth were strong his body firm and tight
With swiftness and alertness he was ready to fight
His nickname was Judo Jack because of his style
He would wrestle his opponents down
And their owners would throw in the towel
The history of Little Jack is one that's intriguing
For now he has two offspring to see this is believing
His son is a champion with a grip like steel
He made all his opponents bow down at his will
His daughter is unique in her own way
A two time winner what more can I say?
Her ability and swiftness and blinding speed
Would make all other contenders stand up and take heed
To give you a rundown is easy enough
Because Jack is a Grand Champion that's showed his stuff
Opponents he's fought had well reputations
But to get into the pit with Jack was pure annihilation
He is one of a kind who was raised with care
An EIGHT time winner he had style and a very hard bite
When he arrived at the site
All his opponents no matter what size weight or height
Little Jack was ready to give them all a fight
When the dust cleared the inevitable was done
From the cheers of the crowd you knew who had won.