"Mortal Combat"

By Daryl Gale - May 25, 2000

Published: Sep 28, 2006

Good journalism offers readers a glimpse of worlds they've never seen, or understood, before. Great journalism makes a reader feel as if he's knee-deep in the action. When former City Paper senior writer Daryl Gale infiltrated the world of Philadelphia dog-fighting rings, his work landed directly in the latter category. Gale not only told a story that few had publicly told before, but he did it in a way that left readers feeling as if they'd been ringside as these trained-to-maim canines launched into one another, brawling for the right to survive.

 

Pork Chops is in the corner of a darkened basement in West Philly, positioned in a half crouch with Rufus pinned between his legs. He bends over and speaks softly in Rufus' ear, scratching the dog's head affectionately.

 

The basement floor is littered with dog kibble. The owner of the house, a dogman himself, agrees to allow a short snatch in his basement as long as nobody else is coming. Then the door opens and down the steps comes Wayne, a teenage neighbor, with his pit bull Sheba. Sheba is brown with black spots, about the same size as Rufus, and just as powerfully built. But Sheba has been a fighting dog since before Rufus was born.


With very little talk or preliminary setup, soon Wayne is in a similar crouched position with Sheba on the other side of the basement.

"Just a quick snatch," Pork Chops says, and after a nod of affirmation from Wayne, says, "Let go."

Wayne and Pork Chops let go, and Sheba and Rufus launch themselves at each other as if they've been shot out of cannons. They meet in the middle of the floor in a flurry of snapping jaws and writhing bodies, but eerily, neither animal utters a sound. No growling or snarling, just the intensity of combat. They each seek the top position, standing on hind legs while trying to wrestle the other to the floor, but neither gains a clear advantage. Short, quick bites are exchanged, an ear here, a leg there.

Suddenly, Rufus gets Sheba by the neck and throws himself to the floor, taking Sheba with him. She wriggles free, but Rufus quickly gains another bite and does it again.

"OK, that's it," Pork Chops says, and then, just as suddenly as it began, the violence is over.

Both handlers grab their dogs by the hind legs and lift the backs of the animals into the air, causing them to break their holds. The entire snatch lasted less than five minutes, but apparently, that was long enough for Rufus to prove his mettle. Neither dog was seriously injured, save a single drop of blood on Sheba's ear. The owners shake hands and thank each other for the snatch, and Wayne attaches Sheba's leash to her collar and leaves without another word.

Rufus is then taken to Pork Chops' back yard and washed with warm water and soap, then wrapped in a blanket and allowed to rest before feeding. Pork Chops never feeds or gives water to a dog immediately before or immediately after a match; he says it's bad for them, although he can't explain exactly why.

For months after Gale took Philadelphians into the underground world of dog fighting, his story subject, Pork Chops, was on the outs with his peers. Though they were angry that he'd gone public, it didn't take long for the dogman to get his charges back into the ring. And when they continued winning, it cemented Pork Chops' status as a top trainer. In the years since, the city has had little success cracking down on dog fights (if, that is, they've even tried) or preventing the associated theft of pets for training purposes — a phenomenon that's recently been on the uptick.

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