The Walk of the Cock
PIACENZA, EMILIA-ROMAGNA, ITALY
Listening to: Warren Zevon, The Wind

ometimes Hoffmaster disappears. I'm told people have freaked out about it on occasion, especially when he first started doing it, but by now it's old hat. It's primarily caused by his prediliction for local bars in exotic locales, I think, and his tendency to act on impulse is as scary as it is exciting to those around him. Usually he keeps it under control, but every once in a while he decides that Okinawa should be independent or that he should really own a controlling interest in the Beatles' catalog and it never ends well.

But please understand that this doesn't happen very often.

So, in Piacenza, Italy, they've just opened a college of hotel operation, sort of like a culinary institute but for the hospitality industry. Hoffmaster -- who still gets his hair cut at the barber school -- thought this was brilliant. Not just by itself, but as a spark for tourism. Piacenza is not exactly a hot-spot in Fodor's Italy. It's about an hour from Milan and a little further from Genoa, landlocked and seemingly unspectacular.

While it does attract its share of Italy's visitors -- other Europeans, mainly -- looking for a quiet getaway in the northern provinces, the majority of tourists, who just want to know what an Italian McDonald's is like, have never heard of it. Now it looks like it's getting some chatter among travel agents, and that's how it got to Hoffmaster.

He's envisioning putting this type of thing in Olympia, WA, or Ottawa, or any place that's overshadowed by larger city nearby. Tucson, I'm looking in your direction. So we got the plane fueled up and headed out over the Atlantic. I should say that the stories I'm telling in this column kind of jump around the course of my working for Hoffmaster, but this one is fresh off the vine. We could see Hurricane Isabel once we reached cruising altitude, which is pretty cool when you're flying out of Boston.

The hotel school was surprisingly impressive. I wasn't expecting much, but, having stayed in a lot of nice hotels in the last few years, I found the place a treat, even though it was kind of strange to see class groups walking around all over the place. Hoffmaster and I met with the founder and his people, including a translator who gave me a slightly sinister vibe, and things went well. It looks like we'll be bringing the partnership to the new world sometime next year.

After we got some papers signed is when Hoffmaster went on his walkabout. That's generally how it happens. He feels like, having struck a deal with a local, he must go and learn of the local culture through beer. Occasionally, somebody (me) has to go find him, but usually he just shows up right when it's time to leave. And it seems like he's always got a good story to go with the hole in his pocket. This time he spent roughtly $10,000 on cock fighting.

The way the story went, according to Hoffmaster, is that he went to a bar called La Stamberga where he met a guy named Marcello Vangi. There was a UEFA league soccer match on the TV, which seemed to have the attention of most of the patrons. Hoffmaster said he was about to leave when Vangi approached him. In a thick sort of accent, though not necessarily an Italian sort of accent, he said something like, "Football's not your favorite, eh?" He had just been glancing around the bar, clearly disinterested in the kicking, blocking and whatever (I don't like soccer either).

Hoffmaster said it was not and turned to the stranger. He said Vangi's eyes perked up a little when he heard Hoffmaster's American accent. Hoffmaster was just glad to have finally gotten a conversation going in Piacenza. He's really proud to consider himself a man of the world, and talking to random people about random things is part of that. Vangi went on, "I wish this was not the passion of Italy. We tell the world that we are fiery, we even send you Roberto Benigni and make ourselves look like fools to tell you this. But I think sometimes we love only football."

"I know what you mean," Hoffmaster replied, "Have you ever seen a baseball game?" Hoffmaster's a lifelong baseball nut but he also can't resist a straight line. He introduced himself to his new friend in not liking soccer and Vangi asked what had brought him in Piacenza. "The hotel school, I'm putting some money into it, taking the idea over to the States."

Now Vangi was hyper-perky. "Oh, you are in business, then?" Keep in mind, I'm reporting this to you second-hand, so he might not have been so in awe of Hoffmaster as I was told. "Listen, my friend, I have some business to tell you." And he leaned in close for this, because this business to tell was too important to let slip in a pub full of soccer fans.

"I have been to Spain, you know. Two years I am in Spain and what I see is bull fighting. In Spain, this is very good, very good. When I return to Italy, everything is soccer again. Soccer, soccer, soccer. But then I see in a film something else." And then he came even closer, almost whispering, "This is chickens. It is called cock fighting." Vangi seemed to have the idea that this movie, which he had granted the secretive cachet of a snuff film, was the only place one would ever had heard of cock fighting and that very few people had seen the movie to begin with.

Hoffmaster just nodded. He was getting drunk on brandy old fashioneds.

"This cock fighting, it can be number one in Italy. It can make the people think about northern Italy instead of Rome and Sicily all the time. But, you know, how can it happen? This is where I need to be, I think. My brother and I will create a professional cock fighting network, just like bull fighters. It will be an amazing thing. Amazing!"

"Did you just say you want to start a pro cock fighting league?" I think it was at this point that Hoffmaster was reeled in. Some dude with a crazy idea and a brother who wants to change the world? Bingo!

"Yes, yes, that's right. But, of course, we need to find the money in some way. We are not wealthy but we can do this, I think. It will be good, yes. But then, the money."

When he goes out, Hoffmaster always carries a loaded briefcase. Inside he's got some checks, one of those tiny laptops, a portable printer, some basic legal documents -- sort of an emergency business kit. He pulled it up to the bar and gave Vangi a check and a contract on the spot. When we found him in his room the next morning, even he was a little weirded out that he'd invested in a legitimate cock fighting circuit. Then he noticed some soccer highlights on the morning news and began to feel good about himself again.