Two roosters and their owners face off in the ring at an abandoned warehouse in souther Kabul on Friday. Some Afghans are bothered by the sport's popularity.

Enlarge By Alan Gomez, USA TODAY Mohammad Aman, right, admits it is hard on the animals and hard to watch. KABUL  As the sun rises over Shar-e Naw Park, hundreds of men walk onto the dirt-covered grounds with elaborately decorated cages carrying chukar partridges they have raised. The men gather in circles, exchange money and one by one open the cages. With winter yielding to spring, it is one of the first days of bird-fighting season, and the men are excited. "Last year, it beat seven birds," Haji Sher Alam, who runs a private high school, said, pointing to his prized bird. It looks something like a tall, fat pigeon. Just like some people in the United States, some Afghans pit dogs and roosters in bloody, violent matches while betting big money. In Afghanistan, where it is legal, they also fight birds, horses, rams and, in some parts of the north, camels. Haji Faiz Mohammad, 76, who came to watch Friday's bird fights, said animal-fighting has become part of the Afghan culture after decades of nearly non-stop war. He said people have grown to appreciate the art and nature of fighting. "I've grown up in war," Mohammad said. "So anything that involves a fight, I love." Alam sees it the same way. "Since the people of Afghanistan have always been fighting," he says, "what else can we love except fighting?" Even when families gather on windy hilltops to fly their ubiquitous kites, they do it to fight them. Despite a strong thunderstorm Friday, hundreds showed up at a hill in central Afghanistan to battle. "It's boring if you're not fighting," said Mohammad Akmal, snapping his line to try to take down a competitor's kite. Kite fighting is a source of national pride, popularized by the 2003 novel The Kite Runner. Some Afghans, though, don't like the idea of having their identity characterized by vicious animal fighting. Fazel Ahmad Manawi, a member of the government's council of religious scholars, said the fighting and betting involved in animal fights are against Islamic law. Such fights were banned under the Taliban rule of the 1990s, and he is upset that the government in power since then has ignored the issue. "We will propose (a ban) to the government again," he said. "Only one fighting is legitimate and that is to defend ourselves and our homeland." Habiburahman Saleh, a spokesman for the Ministry of Religious Affairs, said his office has received no complaints, but he has encouraged mullahs to preach against the practice. Proud tradition of competition Hundreds of men gather weekly in an abandoned Soviet factory in southern Kabul for a full day of cockfighting. They pay an entrance fee, about 50 cents, and break only to pray, eat lunch, refill their cups of tea and negotiate wagers. Owners explained how they spent the winter preparing. Mohammad Aman said owners take meticulous care of their roosters, walking them for at least an hour each morning to build up their strength. Several times a week, they wrap the birds in cold, wet fabric followed by hot fabric. "This hardens their muscles," Aman said. Sheerim Agha, a fruit seller, was looking to buy a new fighting rooster, which he said can cost the equivalent of $2,000 for a respected pedigree. "As Afghans are brave and courageous, our roosters are brave and courageous too," he said. Ajmal Rasuly has three birds that he bought from a dealer across the Pakistani border in Quetta. One of his birds lost Friday morning, but the others should do well this year, he said. One is named John Cena, after the U.S. professional wrestler. "My daughter named that one," he laughed. A question of animal rights Aman said he recognizes the cruelty involved in the fights. He said it's difficult watching his birds torn apart. He shows off the spurs, sharpened to a fine point, growing on the back of the bird's legs. Aman, an elderly man who doesn't remember exactly how old he is, threw his hands in the air when asked why he still participates. "I know it's bad," he said. "But it's my passion. How can I stop?" At a nearby field, several men said they hoped dog-fighting season had not come to an end. They don't fight the dogs when it gets too hot because it takes too long for them to recover from injuries. Mohammad Aref said he understands that the fights can be dangerous, and not just for the animals. He said some owners are considering building a fence to keep spectators from getting too close. " It's hard to control the crowd," he said. "Sometimes, the kids get too close and get bitten." Under the midday sun, Aref realized nobody else was showing up to fight his huge mutt, Gomzy. "A few friends have told me to stop. They say there's a lot of sin in the fighting," said Aref, 48, a tailor. "How can we stop one of our loves?" Aref recalls as a boy his uncle taking him to the national stadium to watch government-sponsored animal fights. Looking around the barren field, he hopes the sport can regain that prominence. "If it was in the Olympics or some good organized dog-fighting league, that would be best." Contributing: Ali Safi Guidelines: You share in the USA TODAY community, so please keep your comments smart and civil. Don't attack other readers personally, and keep your language decent. Use the "Report Abuse" button to make a difference. You share in the USA TODAY community, so please keep your comments smart and civil. Don't attack other readers personally, and keep your language decent. Use the "Report Abuse" button to make a difference. Read more