Muay Thai, pronounced “moo-ey, Thai” in Thailand, is a martial art that evolved from Muay Boran, an ancient Thai fighting style dating back to the 13th–15th century. Originally practiced by both soldiers and civilians, Muay Boran served as both a self-defense system and a form of combat training. The modern sport of Muay Thai began to take shape in the 1920s–1930s, incorporating rules, gloves, and timed rounds. Rajadamnern Stadium, established in 1945, became one of the key venues for its development and remains one of the most prestigious places for martial artists to showcase their skills.
The fighters who compete in the Rajadamnern World Series (RWS) are true professionals. For them, Muay Thai isn’t a hobby—it’s a livelihood. Many begin training as early as age 6 or 7, dedicating their lives to the sport. Unlike Western combat sports, where fighters typically compete 2-6 fights a year, Muay Thai athletes in the RWS regularly battle 12-20 times annually– some stepping into the ring every other week. As a result, it is common for athletes in their 20’s can have 100+ fights under their belt, while a Western fighter might only have accumulated a few dozen across their entire career. Only the most disciplined and skilled fighters make it to the RWS, and those who do are widely regarded as some of the best Muay Thai practitioners in the world.
On March 16th, we scored front-row tickets to one of the daily fight nights—a four-hour event featuring seven different bouts. Each fight lasted up to five rounds, ending by knockout or technical knockout when a fighter could no longer continue. This was the kind of stage where young fighters come to make a name for themselves. The youngest fighter we saw that night was just 15, and the oldest was 28. Seats like these in the West would cost tens of thousands of dollars or more—so by comparison, this was an absolute steal. The only mistake we made was not realizing our seats were just feet from the fight bell. Ding, ding, ding—our ears were literally ringing every time it sounded. Even before the fights started, the front row seats were already paying off. The announcer locked eyes with me and, in front of the whole crowd, asked, “Do you want a free shirt?” Caught off guard, I could only nod before he tossed it my way.
Before each fight, the competitors performed a ceremony called Wai Khru Ram Muay (ไหว้ครูรำมวย). “Wai Khru” means “paying respect to the teacher,” and it’s done to honor one’s coaches, family, and the art of Muay Thai itself. “Ram Muay” means “boxing dance,” and this part is more personal—each fighter moves around the ring in a dance-like pattern unique to them. No two fighters perform it the same; their movements can reflect their region, training camp, or even individual style and preference. Wai Khru Ram Muay is both a spiritual and cultural ritual, meant to clear the mind and prepare for battle. It is accompanied by live traditional music such as the reed flute and drums.
Ironically, the main event—the fourth fight—was the least competitive. By the final round, both fighters were just circling each other and trading taunts, barely throwing any strikes. The crowd let them hear it, booing loudly in disappointment. In contrast, the first three fights were intense and evenly matched. The second bout was especially brutal: one fighter continued with blood smeared across his face and body, only to eventually fall to a vicious head kick that ended the fight in a dramatic knockout.
An interesting fact about Thailand is that gambling is illegal in almost all forms, with few exceptions. However, Muay Thai stadiums like Rajadamnern are one of the rare legal avenues where locals can place bets. And they do—enthusiastically. While tourists come for the spectacle, it’s mostly locals who fill the seats, shouting odds and making hand signals to place wagers mid-fight. The energy in the crowd isn’t just about supporting a favorite fighter—it’s about the thrill of risking real money, legally, in a country where that’s rarely allowed.
Attending Rajadamnern was a true cultural experience. Sitting front row—right next to the constant, ear-piercing dings of the fight bell—made it unforgettable. It’s something we’ll always remember, and without a doubt, something we’d do again.