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 没事找事系列： 钱作祟 秋日蟋蟀成全时斗士（转帖）——献给野猫 |
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安普若
[博客]
[个人文集]
头衔: 海归元勋
声望: 大师
性别: 
加入时间: 2004/02/21
文章: 26038
来自: 中国美国的飞机上
海归分: 4196257
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作者：安普若 在 海归茶馆 发贴, 来自【海归网】 http://www.haiguinet.com
钱作祟 秋日蟋蟀成全时斗士
2009年 12月 11日 09:03
看视频：https://cn.wsj.com/gb/20091210/VID154246.asp
就像美国的棒球赛季一样，中国的斗蟋蟀季节也越来越长。主张保护斗蟋蟀纯娱乐性的人担心，这种休闲活动正受到金钱文化的威胁。
徐墨笑试图颠覆这项数千年来的中国传统。按惯例斗蟋蟀只在秋季进行，而他决心将这一时段延长。他认为一年四季都能斗蟋蟀对于虫迷来说是好事，对于靠这项运动赚钱的人来说也是好事。
“我所做的就是努力把好事做大，”徐墨笑说。
长久以来，斗蟋蟀都是遵循自然规律进行的。夏末时分，人们从田间地头捉来这种一英寸来长的黑褐色昆虫，当作廉价的消遣玩意儿出售。看客们聚在一起，围观两只蟋蟀的激烈角斗，直到其中一只掉转尾巴、逃之夭夭，才算分出胜负。
在上海这样的大城市，每到秋天，宠物市场上都会挤满虫迷。他们簇拥在从乡下来的虫商周围，一边掀开汤罐头大小的圆筒的盖子检视每只蟋蟀的腿脚和大颚，一边讨价还价。来自山东省（中国东北部省份）的蟋蟀最值钱，尤其是迷卡斗蟋(Velarifictorus micado)。有时刚一成交，买主们就忙不迭地到外面斗起蟋蟀来了。
到了寒冷的冬月，遵循传统的虫迷会收起陶制蟋蟀罐。“‘秋兴’是从古时沿袭下来的习俗”，经杭州市政府批准的传统式斗蟋蟀比赛的组织者之一，李金华（音）说。“就三个月。这三个月的金秋时节是玩蟋蟀的最好时间。”
但是，如果全年都能斗蟋蟀，那么蟋蟀养殖户就能靠培育出的新品种大赚一笔。赌蟋蟀是非法的，但在中国却非常普遍，而且赌注也在不断升高。过去，赌胜者可以得到一块月饼或对手的蟋蟀。而如今的赌注规模从最厉害的蟋蟀的价签上可见一斑，这种蟋蟀也叫“将军”，可以卖到几百美元甚至几千美元。
随着赌注的升高，赌徒们也在想方设法求胜。于是便有了“白虫”，这是一种靠激素和强化肌肉的方法人工养殖的蟋蟀。
徐墨笑出生于20世纪80年代，在上海长大，儿时那些花几分钱买来的蟋蟀是他至今难以忘怀的美好回忆。他希望他两岁大的儿子能延续自己从父亲那里继承下来的这个爱好。
今年，这位有法律专业背景的28岁青年辞掉了销售卫浴设备的工作，转行养起了蟋蟀。在位于上海北部的一排经过改建的养殖场中，徐墨笑的几万只蟋蟀正在泡沫塑料箱中交配和蜕皮。蟋蟀的繁殖周期为15天，徐墨笑想让它们以这一速度全年不停歇地繁殖，为此他将养殖场增湿加温，使温度保持在35.6摄氏度。“没有赌博，就不会有这个行业”，他说。
如今这种愈演愈烈的势头带来的风险是，政府可能对斗蟋蟀严加管制。在香港是禁止斗蟋蟀的。而上海和杭州等城市的文化局也在着手规范这一行业。为了对抗赌博窝点，这些城市的文化局鼓励开展杜绝“白虫”和赌博的比赛。
养蟋蟀之所以是一门高风险的行当，还有一个原因：就在今年的一天之内，徐墨笑的18,000只蟋蟀死于一种神秘的疾病。为了对抗疾病的侵袭，徐墨笑买来一台冰箱般大小的机器为食盘消毒，他认为苍蝇不会感染病毒，所以就用含蛆干的饲料来喂蟋蟀。他说，他的方法可以让蟋蟀加倍强壮，而不会影响其大小或外观。
今年10月，他在上海的主要宠物市场上卖出了10,000只蟋蟀，在那里，它们的零售价只有每只1.50美元。
在一些传统的蟋蟀行家看来，徐墨笑等人养殖超级蟋蟀就是为了迎合赌徒。徐墨笑乐于承认他的方法是“完全反自然过程的”。但是他将他的“技术”与给蟋蟀喂兴奋剂或在其颚上嵌入小铁刺（这就相当于给拳击手戴上了嵌入刀片的拳击手套）等方法相区别。他说，山东等传统蟋蟀产地正在经受城市化和杀虫剂的威胁，而斗蟋蟀的季节又很短，这使蟋蟀价格涨到了年轻虫迷难以负担的水平。
他将自己的蟋蟀定价为纯正山东蟋蟀市价的十分之一，但他怀疑是否有人知道或在意其中的区别。他向人炫耀存在他手机上的一条短信，这条短信是一位欣喜若狂的客户发来的：斗12场，赢11场。
在20世纪50年代和60年代，斗蟋蟀被贴上了“旧文化”的标签，并和麻将等娱乐活动一起被宣布为非法。但是今天，中国人有着更充份的经济保障，更宽松的政府管制，在休闲娱乐方面也逐渐重拾传统。这是“一种中国文化，就像茶文化一样”，70岁的上海专家李世均说。
斗蟋的寿命仅为百日左右，这就将斗蟋蟀的季节限定在了秋季。有个形容斗蟋蟀的中文词叫“秋兴”，按大意译成英文就是“autumn enjoyment”（秋天的娱乐），而在古代汉字中，“秋”这个字正是蟋蟀的象形。
斗蟋蟀须遵循一定的仪式。事先要将蟋蟀隔离一天，以防止在开斗之前作弊。蟋蟀将按称重配对，由于斗蟋的重量不超过1克，因此操作起来很复杂。
在最近一场比赛的休息区中，张健根（音）慢慢滑开一只圆陶罐的盖子，准备用里面的一只山东蟋蟀斗上一回。张健根用竹镊轻轻夹走一粒大米──这份食物刚好够蟋蟀美餐一顿。
接下来，张健根用一根草叶小心地将蟋蟀引到一只竹筒中，然后，他用这只竹筒将蟋蟀送入塑料斗盆。
看客们一边研究闭路电视上的特写图像，一边品评比较两只蟋蟀的腿有多粗、须有多直、颚有多大。张健根颤动草叶，引逗着蟋蟀的触须，使它变得张牙舞爪，怒气冲冲。
为了表示它们已做好战斗准备，对战双方──通常是雄性──会磨擦翅膀，发出熟悉的唧唧声，正是这种声音让蟋蟀得名“蛐蛐”。
当分隔双方的塑料片最终被拿起时，这两只小小的角斗士开始兵刃相见。
蟋蟀们不断快速撕咬着对方的尖齿、腿脚和脑袋。有的蟋蟀被咬得缺肢断腿，被对手用职业摔跤的姿势甩过斗盆。
每轮比赛将持续一、两分钟，几轮过后，裁判判定，张健根的蟋蟀斗败了。
角斗是激烈的，但很少致命。通常会有一只蟋蟀认输并逃跑──或跳出斗盆。斗败的蟋蟀往往会被生气的主人扔到大街上。
James T. Areddy
The Autumn Game Just Isn't Cricket Anymore
Like the baseball calendar in the U.S., China's cricket-fighting season is getting longer and longer. Purists fret that the pastime is being threatened by a money culture.
Helping lead the effort to upend thousands of years of Chinese tradition is Xu Moxiao, a man determined to lengthen the customary autumn fighting season. He thinks year-round bug fights are better for fans and for the people who make money off the sport.
'What I'm doing is trying to expand the good things,' says Mr. Xu.
Cricket fighting has long followed the rhythms of nature. Around late summer, the inch-long blackish-brown insects are plucked out of farm fields and sold as cheap entertainment. Spectators gather to watch heated matches in which two crickets battle it out, gladiator style, until one turns tail and runs.
During the fall in big cities like Shanghai, pet markets are crowded with cricket enthusiasts. They huddle over suppliers from the countryside, haggling as they lift lids on soup-can-size cylinders to inspect each occupant's legs and jaws. Crickets from Shandong province in the northeast are most prized, especially those of the Velarifictorus micado species. Sometimes after the deals are done, buyers hustle outside for a pickup fight.
Traditionalists put their clay cricket pots into storage in the chilly months. 'The 'autumn pastime' is an ancient legacy,' says Li Jinhua, co-organizer of traditional-style cricket fights sanctioned by the government of the eastern city of Hangzhou. 'Just three months. There is no better time to play with crickets than the three prime autumn months.'
But for a new species of cricket breeder, there may be money to be made by staging fights year round. Betting on crickets is illegal but widespread in China. And the stakes are rising. Historically, bets were settled with a moon cake or a rival's insect. The size of today's wagers can be gleaned from price tags for the toughest crickets, known as 'generals,' which can sell for hundreds and sometimes thousands of dollars.
As stakes rise, gamblers are demanding an edge. Enter the bai chong, or 'white bug,' that is raised in captivity on hormones and muscle-building regimens.
Mr. Xu, who grew up in Shanghai in the 1980s, has fond memories of the crickets he bought for the equivalent of a few pennies. He hopes his 2-year-old son will adopt the hobby he took up from his own father.
This year, the 28-year-old trained lawyer walked away from a career selling bathroom fixtures to raise crickets. In a modified strip of offices in northern Shanghai, tens of thousands of Mr. Xu's bugs are mating and molting in plastic-foam boxes. In his attempts to replicate the 15-day breeding cycle all year long, Mr. Xu keeps the humidified offices heated to 96 degrees Fahrenheit. 'Without gambling, there wouldn't be this industry,' he says.
The danger of pushing the limits today is a government backlash. Cricket fighting is banned in Hong Kong. And cultural bureaus in cities like Shanghai and Hangzhou are moving to regulate it. To challenge the gambling dens, the bureaus are encouraging matches where bai chong and betting are unwelcome.
Cricket breeding is a risky business for another reason: In just a day this year, a mystery ailment killed a generation of 18,000 of Mr. Xu's crickets. To combat disease, Mr. Xu bought a refrigerator-size machine to sterilize food bowls, and he put his crickets on a diet that includes dried maggots, in the belief that flies don't get viruses. He says his methods can double a bug's strength without affecting its size or appearance.
In October, he made a 10,000-bug sale into Shanghai's main market, where they sell retail for as little as $1.50 each.
To some traditional cricket masters, Mr. Xu and others breed super-bugs just to cater to gamblers. Mr. Xu readily agrees his methods are 'completely counter to the natural process.' But he draws a distinction between his 'technology' and methods like drugging bugs or inserting tiny metal spears into their jaws -- the insect equivalent of a razor blade in a boxing glove. He says traditional cricket habitats like Shandong are under threat from urbanization and pesticides, while the short fighting season drives cricket prices up to levels unaffordable to young fans.
Pricing his bugs at about a tenth of the going rate for true Shandong crickets, he doubts anyone knows the difference, or cares. He shows off a text message stored on his cellphone from an ecstatic customer: wins in 11 of 12 matches.
In the 1950s and 1960s, cricket fighting was branded 'old culture' and outlawed along with amusements like mahjong. But today, Chinese enjoy more economic security and less government control, and are increasingly reaching into the past for leisure pursuits. It is 'a culture of China, like the tea culture,' says Li Shijun, a 70-year-old Shanghai expert.
Fighting crickets don't live much longer than 100 days, which has limited the season to fall. A Chinese term for cricket fighting, qiu xing, roughly translates as 'autumn enjoyment,' and the ancient Chinese character for autumn is a pictogram of a cricket.
Ritual guides cricket fights. Bugs are sequestered for a day to avoid prefight tampering. The fighters are paired at a weigh-in, complicated by the fact that contenders never tip the scales at more than a gram.
In the blue corner in one recent match, Zhang Jiangen slowly slid the top off a round clay canister to ready a Shandong cricket for his bout. Pinching bamboo tweezers, Mr. Zhang gently removed a dish just large enough for the cricket's lightly nibbled meal: a single grain of rice.
Next, Mr. Zhang used a piece of hay to delicately guide the cricket into a bamboo tube, which he then employed to lift it into the plastic arena.
Studying close-ups on closed-circuit television, spectators sized the bug up against the thick legs, straight antennae and large jaws of its opponent. By flicking its antennae with a bristle of hay, Mr. Zhang sent his cricket into a jabbing, biting fury.
To signal their readiness to fight, the adversaries -- always males -- grind wings to produce the familiar chirp, a sound that gives the cricket its Chinese name, 'qu qu,' which is pronounced choo-choo.
When a piece of plastic separating the opponents is finally lifted, the miniature gladiators clash.
Fangs rapidly and repeatedly clench fangs, legs and heads. Crickets lose limbs and get tossed, professional-wrestling style, across the arena.
After several rounds, each lasting a minute or two, Mr. Zhang's bug was defeated, as ruled by the referee's decision.
The fights are vicious but rarely deadly. One cricket usually gives up and runs away -- or vaults out of the arena. The loser often gets flung into the street by his displeased owner.
James T. Areddy
作者：安普若 在 海归茶馆 发贴, 来自【海归网】 http://www.haiguinet.com
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 没事找事系列： 钱作祟 秋日蟋蟀成全时斗士（转帖）——献给野猫 -- 安普若 - (9369 Byte) 2009-12-31 周四, 13:16 (1845 reads)
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