The white rooster, in this case actually speckled brown, is old but good. He's lived four years to the blue rooster's two. Weighing the experience and bloodlines of the older bird against the stamina of the younger, Lucas is not willing to wager on either one. The odds are too tight. The other players think that the white is old and tired and so they bet accordingly, arms and hands flying as they seek partners.
Men jump up and wave their arms, holding up fingers to show the odds.
The betting is cacophony, but the players are eloquent in this language. They zero in on a likely partner, make eye contact, flash the bet through shouts and gestures. At the end of the game, they pay promptly. As the match progresses, the odds keep dropping, from seventy to fifty, against the white. But it keeps fighting, on and on, the clock ticking five, ten, fifteen minutes.