not so chirpy

The mind of the male hobbyist lends itself to obsessive collection， categorization， and competition the world over. Breeding and fighting crickets is no different.

The ego of a cricket can be a fragile thing， and China’s best fighting crickets are pampered and adored. Paralleling the treatment afforded the gladiators of Rome， to the victors are given all the spoils of their grateful owners. The strong are rewarded with favor， food， and women； one Beijing collector puts his favourite cricket in with two concubines because， in his own words：“every little king needs his Diana and Camilla.”Pampered and confident， their chitinous carapaces a sparkling brown， they are the stars of the cricket fighting world. Particularly prized crickets remain honored even into the next world， their grieving owners from time to time buying them ornate miniature coffins.

A defeated cricket， however， may only lose two or three games. With an apparent emotional depth belying their reputation， losing crickets collapse into depression. Sometimes a trainer may revive their spirits by tossing them in the air， but there are those for whom the weight of loss is too devastating. Emasculated by defeat， they are either freed by their owners or merely crushed in frustration for cricket fights can be a lucrative affair.

Despite being outside the law， these cricket battles are a major gambling event， with bets regularly topping over 10，000 yuan （US$1，650） at the bigger competitions， held underground and in discreet locations in big cities like Beijing， Shanghai， and Hong Kong. For all that， cricket fighting in China is a tradition reaching back nearly 1，000 years. Originally kept by imperial courtesans attracted by their singing， their gilded cages emblematic of their mistresses’ own condition， they were kept near the beds that the courtesans might hear them in the night. The indignities suffered by today’s crickets pale in significance compared with those inflicted upon their ancestors； one ancient chronicle attests that their wings were treated with brass powder and resin， the better to refine their song.

The birth of the cricket fighting tradition may be most notably exemplified in the career of the late Song Dynasty minister Jia Shi Dao， so legendarily obsessed with the sport he was accused of neglecting his duties. Ancient incompetence notwithstanding， the sport became the play of Emperors， with the Xuanzong Emperor of the Ming Dynasty a notable fan. Banned during the Cultural Revolution and associated now primarily with older， nostalgic men， the custom has nevertheless been staging a comeback.

Beijing has a number of cricket associations. Recommended by a friend， we found one of these on an October day in the conference room of a hotel at Xizhimen in Beijing. 20 men stood huddled over a table， flashlights strapped to their heads and cigarettes hanging from their mouths. Iced tea， miniature nets， dozens of small ceramic pots， and two proud trophies were placed before them， the legacy of previous club triumphs.

The mind of the male hobbyist lends itself to obsessive collection， categorization， and competition the world over. Breeding and fighting crickets is no different. A thick ledger， filled with the nicknames of club members and their insects， was filled with records of previous bouts. Placed carefully on a miniature scale， the crickets were classified into weight-based categories and put waiting back in storage， their containers carefully labelled with their name， owner， and weight. Club officials then began matching the competitors.

A 40-something stockbroker by day and proud trainer of a middle weight， energetically chirruping cricket named Cloud was paired up with the owner of Red， a fat and garrulous man with the vocal gargling of the authentic Beijinger. His cricket cautiously examined the illuminated， hard environment into which it so suddenly it had been thrust.

With delicate straws the two men irritated the antennae of the beasts below， infuriating and entangling them. Before combat， the fighters spend time in the company of female crickets， thus stoking themselves to a height of sexuality abruptly frustrated by daylight， prodding from above， and the presence of another cricket， jaws threateningly parted， across the glass cage. By such means the collectors strive to provoke their charges， goading them into combative rage. As with larger animals， sex and violence are often inextricable.

Filled with testosterone， the two insects now sensed each other’s presence. Stock still， they expanded their wings and hissed， threatening each other closer then they inched， long antennae waving in the air. They stood expanding their mandibles， silent， menacing.

Suddenly they leapt together and locked in desperate embrace. Their fierce jaws gnashed upon one another， their front legs beat the air as all around us came the excited shouts and encouragement of the club. Mere seconds after it began it was over， the victor left holding the field， the defeated insect cowering in the corner. I could only hope he would be joining his cousins in the fields， freed from the cycle of battle not his peers who could be seen， lifeless and dismembered， amidst the butts in the ashtrays.