The Real Victims of Bird Flu

05/25/2011 11:45 am ET

If you've been reading all the recent reports on the bird flu "pandemic," you'd think the only victims THAT MATTER in the coming health disaster are human.

Not so: the forgotten victims in all of this are cocks.

Meaning, the heroic roosters who fight in tournaments, usually wearing shiny, steel blades. These birds endure all sorts of injuries, many times often dying. Still, they fight. Because they love it. But because of recent bird flu human deaths -- including an 18-year old man who raised fighting cocks -- politicians are pushing for bills to outlaw the sport in the few remaining southern states where it is still legal, as well as punishing people with jailtime if they ship fighting birds across statelines.

This is a fact, and you can google it if you like (Google is a search engine that is really helpful when doing research).

Depriving roosters of their only opportunity for competitive sport, ONLY because it might spread disease in people, strikes me as very HUMANCENTRIC. How dare we legislate the lives of birds simply because it might help protect ours?


Imagine if there were a similar type of scourge that affected young athletic females -- would we then try to ban field hockey?

Do cocks have any choice in this matter?
Did anyone bother to grab a cock? And ask it?

It's time for all of us to stand up and say, "hey Bush, get your hands off my cock."

As the glowing heat of this controversy intensifies under a bubbling saucepan of moral outrage, I cannot help but think of a song:

You leave in the morning
With everything you own
In a little black case
Alone on a platform
The wind and the rain
On a sad and lonely face

Mother will never understand
Why you had to leave
But the answers you seek
Will never be found at home
The love that you need
Will never be found at home

Run away, turn away, run away, turn away, run away.
Run away, turn away, run away, turn away, run away.

Pushed around and kicked around
Always a lonely boy
You were the one
That they'd talk about around town
As they put you down

And as hard as they would try
They'd hurt to make you cry
But you never cried to them
Just to your soul
No you never cried to them
Just to your soul

Run away, turn away, run away, turn away, run away.
Run away, turn away, run away, turn away, run away.

Cry , boy, cry...


I find that whenever i get anxious or unhappy, whispering Small Town Boy by the BRONSKI BEAT always helps to ease the pain. Do you have a favorite Bronski Beat song? If so, I would like to hear from you! (Regents Park, 1:30 am, southside by the bird fountain)

Yours truly and kind regards,