In the game of cockfighting, an activity deeply woven into Filipino culture, there exists a fascinating mystery in the manner bets are fielded inside the cockpit arena. Veterans of the sabungan instinctively understand the language of risk and reward. There is the liamado, the crowd favorite, and the dejado, the underdog whose odds are stacked against him.
Yet, despite the unfavorable odds, many dejadista still place their bets on the underdog because of the attractive returns. The arithmetic of risk is seductive. In ‘lo-dies betting, for example, a wager of ₱8 may return ₱10 if the dejado wins. Thus, an ₱800,000 bet may yield ₱1 million. There are many forms of betting in the cockpit: tatlo-apat, walo-siyam, and countless others—but all revolve around one thing: assessing the probability of victory.
What particularly captures the attention of cockpit aficionados is the provenance or bloodline of the fighting cock. A cock descended from a celebrated breed, known champions, or winning parentage is immediately viewed as llamado. Reputation matters. Pedigree matters.
This is where the role of the Kristo becomes crucial. The Kristo, the man entrusted with fielding and signaling bets during the tupada, often develops a reputation for possessing insider knowledge. He knows the fighting history, conditioning, temperament, and bloodline of the competing cocks. Bettors rely on his instincts much like horse-racing enthusiasts once relied on tipsters and racing programs to identify promising contenders.
The same psychology seems to operate in Philippine elections.
Political dynasties function as the llamado in the political cockpit. Families that have fielded candidates for decades, some for more than forty years, become familiar names in their political territories. Their surnames are brands. Their machinery is entrenched. Their victories, repeated through generations, cultivate an aura of inevitability.
To many voters, elections unconsciously resemble a form of political cockfighting. The voter studies the contenders and asks: Who is the llamado? Who is the dejado? A candidate carrying a surname that has rarely tasted defeat is often perceived as the safer bet. Familiarity breeds confidence, and confidence translates into votes.
Meanwhile, independent candidates or political outsiders, no matter how qualified, are treated as the dejado, worthy perhaps of sympathy, but burdened by the perception that victory is improbable.
Thus, democracy risks becoming less a contest of ideas and more a betting arena where pedigree, name recall, and inherited reputation outweigh merit. In the end, many voters do not necessarily choose the best candidate; they wager on the candidate they believe is most likely to win—the political llamado. Kaya si Luke Espiritu, may araw ka rin….manalo kung dinisiplina na ng AFP ang mga botanteng for sale.