PHUKET: Cockfighting still thrives on and around Phuket if you know where to go, fans tell us.

We stumbled across one stadium just off Phuket this week by chance, joining the crowd of perhaps 350 or more people who were taking seats inside the tiered ampitheatre.

Men pay 200 baht, women are admitted for free. The gatekeeper is friendly and lets us pass. Inside, we find the crowd gathering.

Most fighting cocks are specially bred and raised from eggs and nurtured with care and affection by their owners . . . until the fights begin at the age of around 10 months. ''Teenage'' roosters are then pitted against each other.

We watched as pairs of men prepared each cock for the ring. Metal hooks are attached to each bird's leg.

A degree of eye-contact seems to take place, too, between the man holding the rooster and his prized bird, while the weapons are being plastered on.

The seats are all taken now. Some patrons are left to stand. A ringmaster holds a pair of birds, a breast in each hand, and shows them to the fans as he squats in the ring, turning full circle.

Then it's bets on. With finger and hand gestures, audience members will let each other know how much they are betting and on which bird.

A water drip measures the time each fight takes, and the roosters will often eye each other before striking. Usually fights are over in a quick flurry of wings, feathers and flying feet.

The bird that manages to reach greater height and delivers and lands cockspur blows to the back of its rival usually wins.

Bets can be quite large, up to 10,000 baht or 20,000 baht, we are told. People come from all over on a particular day of the week to this stadium.

Out back, there's a caged rest room where birds that go the full distance can be taken by their handlers and prepared for the next round.

While we watch, one owner rushes into the ring and grabs his rooster, clearly concerned. Other owners behind the ring are preening and checking each feather row of their birds, looking for telltale signs of blood.

In another spot, an owner is suturing a wound with fishing line.

We watch a couple of fights.

They end quickly and, from our distance, at the top of the ring, we see no blood. The hooks, though, are long and plainly able to cut deep.

This reminds me of another time up close at a ring long ago when boxers club each other and sweat and blood spray with a heavy blow to the mouth.

We decide not to stay long. I do a final tour around the back. There, tossed in a corner, lies the body of one dead cock.