They fought to a draw.
While everyone was disappointed, the result was not entirely unexpected — after all, how could anyone expect a pro-level fight when the two were clearly amateurs, whose fighting experience was limited to bar brawls and sucker punches, and who only had a few weeks of (assumedly) irregular training?
Baron Geisler was decidedly the cockier between the two, despite Kiko Matos’ taunts and pee — later clarified to be beer only — spraying gimmicks. He got out into the ring at the fighters’ introduction on fight night obviously confident, glorying in the support of the crowd, most of whom were largely on his side. Matos was more subdued for some reason, probably expecting the resounding boos after ironically deciding to play the bad guy.
Their fight, a significant part of the proceeds going to charity, was the final act in URCC’s Fight Night on June 25, with eight other bouts coming in before. By the time the second-to-the-last match came up — URCC light heavyweight champ Chris Hofmann against Arvin Chan — Valkyrie Pool Club was packed. Like MRT at rush hour packed. The crowd was testing the bouncers, with some of the excitement fueling the tempers of a few — a girl screamed at the guy in front of her, “Wala akong pakialam sa Facebook-Facebook mo! Umalis ka sa harapan ko!” The poor guy lowered his phone sheepishly, scratched his head, sighed, and moved away.
Silence died in the venue for several minutes as the crowd screamed in anticipation of the fight they paid to see, hooting their disapproval of Matos when he stepped into the ring, and cheering “Baron, Baron, Baron!” when the literal bad boy of Philippine showbiz made his appearance, hair tussled, sporting giant sunglasses.
After the customary pre-fight preludes, it was on. Stamina still intact, Matos took the upper hand in the first round, managing to secure a dominant position atop Geisler, dishing out a striking favorite: ground and pound. Baron was clearly hurt, but clung on to life by covering his face with his arms. The ref, ever-vigilant, saw that both could still continue, and kept the fight going. Matos eventually lost steam, his punches slowly losing power and speed, and at one point was simple sitting on Geisler, doing nothing. His opponent took that same time to recover. And before everyone knew it, round one was over.
Geisler still had some fire in him when the second round began despite being visibly tired, seemingly discarding his reported taekwondo knowledge in lieu of grappling, scoring a great takedown and pinning Matos to the side of the cage. He was, for a good number of minutes, in a good position to deliver some knees which could have gotten him the KO, but it seemed it took all he had just to keep his position and keep his opponent from escaping. Having kept quiet most of the night, just shooting, I had to join the folks from Geisler’s corner who were right beside me scream, “Knee! Knee!” as he held Matos down, but Baron’s expression was blank, a testament to just how spent he was.
And then round two ended. After a few minutes and an announcement that there needed to be a third round — Geisler had already communicated to his corner that he could not continue (I also heard whispers around me that Matos had similar sentiments about his own ability to go to a round three) — the match ended. Alvin Aguilar, URCC owner, took to the stage, and after the announcer broke the news that the match was a draw — much to the chagrin of all in attendance, had the two shake hands, hug and declare that their feud was now over. Baron would later say in the press conference that all the heat of their drawn-out quarrel was quenched, and Kiko Matos admitted that he was just trying to hype up the fight and get under Geisler’s skin.
All in all, it wasn’t a complete disappointment, at least for me. I’ve witnessed some (and been in a few) fist fights myself, and they are not pretty things. There is no arbiter or mediator, and most folks don’t care enough to break you up unless you’re dangerously close to killing each other. Better they fought to exhaustion in a ring, with a referee, with triple-padded gloves, and both for charity and profit. One could even argue that it was a win-win, at least for the parties directly involved. Some folks have come out claiming that the whole thing was staged — I don’t think they were there that night, and even if they were, they don’t know what they’re talking about. The bottom line is that neither were professional fighters, and anyone who’s even just dabbled in martial arts will tell you just how much effort it takes even just to spar. I know that too, having spent a semester trying to throw people — but mostly getting thrown — in judo. All it takes is a split second to have the wind knocked out of you.
And I’ve probably rambled on too long and knocked out the wind out of this thing, so until next time. To Geisler and Matos, respect — although I do hope they both make better life choices next time around. Not every bar fight will be as rewarding.
Filipino culture is by nature, colorful. From small gatherings and occasions like local barangay fiestas to the full-on, humongous, and production-value festivals the many of our provinces hold, there is the undeniable and irrefutable stamp of Filipino creativity and ingenuity.
But when you think about it, many of our local festivals that have been part of our culture for decades stem from our Catholic heritage and our Spanish colonization that lasted for more than 300 years.
This is where the Imbayah Festival in Banaue, Ifugao sets itself apart.
Imbayah is a festival that celebrates local Ifugao cultural traditions, such as the thanksgiving for a bountiful harvest. It’s also interesting to note that the name of the festival itself is derived from the Ifugao word for rice wine, bayah. Perhaps our penchant for calling out “Inuman na!” during special occasions has far deeper cultural roots than we realize.
Traditionally though, Imbayah was about the rising of status in the community and the more affluent members of society hosted the celebrations in their respective homes. In recent years though, it has been more of a celebration and means to remember Ifugao culture in general — while it has still a lot of ways to go in terms of tourist spectators, especially compared to the larger celebrations in other provinces, more and more people have braved the twisting mountain roads to catch a glimpse of this truly unique festival. In fact, Imbayah used to be held only once every three years, but has become very successful that it is now a yearly occurrence.
Contingents from Banaue’s 18 different villages converge in the town proper, terraces, bringing with them their own tribal symbols. They dance, they compete in ethnic games, not so much as performances or shows for visitors — although visitors are most welcome — but as more of a remembrance of where they came from and what makes them unique as a people. In fact, a number of the competitive sports played in the ethnic games were used to settle disputes between tribes.
Another popular event of the festival is the wooden scooter race, where participants zip down the mountain roads from of one of the highest viewpoints of the rice terraces down to the Banaue town proper. These scooters have no motors whatsoever, with the racers relying on their deft maneuvering and the craftsmanship of their bikes to get ahead.
There are also several opportunities to further appreciate mountain culture — there are organized treks through the famed rice terraces themselves that visitors can take, or for the more adventurous, a trek to the village of Batad where even more majestic rice terraces await, and below them, the raging but beautiful Tappiya waterfalls.
It may lack the pomp and splendor of other festivals, but there is something profound about the Imbayah; it’s more than the top-load traveling, or the unique food (ants and kamote, anyone?), the strapping fellows in tribal g-strings, or even the ingenuity and persistence behind the beautiful rice terraces. It’s something pure, something largely untouched by our colonial history, something inherently and uniquely Filipino.
Getting there: You may opt for a side trip to Baguio City first and then catch a bus to Banaue, or take a bus straight from Manila to Banaue. This year’s festival is on April 18-22.
*This post was originally published in the April 2016 issue of the Filipino-Japanese Journal.
Like I always say, life has a way of always getting in the way.
“And at times the fact of (his) absence will hit you like a blow to the chest, and you will weep. But this will happen less and less as time goes on. (He) is dead. You are alive. So live.” – Morpheus to Orpheus, Brief Lives
Thanks for everything, Papa.
I’m back, once again after a long hiatus – like I always say, life gets in the way.
Right now, as I write, with the rain pounding down, she’s sleeping peacefully behind me, my daughter, Amy, making cooing noises and waving her arms around from time to time.I’m a bit a loss for words this time around — I keep telling people the feeling of being a parent, the sudden burst of love I felt for my daughter as she emerged from her mother’s womb, is incredibly profound. I just cannot seem to find the words for it.
All I know is that I hang on her every smile, every turn of her head, every facial expression she makes. She makes baby sounds and my heart melts. She cries and all I can think about is how to make her feel better.I think there’s some sort of secret club parents suddenly find themselves a part of once their firstborn comes out into the world — the sleepless nights, the worrying over our little ones, the immense joy our children give us and all the small things in-between create a sort of unspoken bond, with our shared experiences things that other non-parents can never really relate to.
I look behind me and I want to kiss her chubby little cheeks, but I don’t want to wake her. My wife sleeps beside her, and I am thankful for the gift of love and life the Lord has given me through these two marvelous girls.