Back in the 1980s, choreographing a fight scene was simple: Jean-Claude Van Damme would simply block all of his opponent's attacks with his face until he was inspired by a motivational chant/his friends' lack of faith in him/a child's laughter, and then retaliate with a series of spinning kicks that no real life non-blind person would be hit by. This was maybe based on the idea that Western audiences would be unable to understand anything more complex than a horribly telegraphed roundhouse, and worked just fine until somebody had the brilliant idea of hiring Yuen Wo-Ping to work with people who didn't have horribly off-putting Chinese names. Ten minutes after the Matrix was released, JCVD's back catalogue immediately went from 'amazing' to 'holy shit, we thought that was what fights were like?'
That's progress. The problem is, until recently scientists had no idea how to apply this logic to MMA, simply because things happen in the UFC every fucking night that are ten times more awesome and unbelievable than anything you could come up with for a film. Also, there's no dramatic tension, because it isn't a real fight, so anytime people circle each other while not hitting, things are incredibly boring. And finally, in Never Back Down, the best move anyone does is a slow, horribly telegraphed triangle choke. In Fighting, it's a slam from a horribly telegraphed triangle choke. In Red Belt, it's a backflip off a fucking wall.
I'll admit that I had no idea how to rectify this problem: but fortunately, Donnie Yen did, and now it seems blindingly obvious. The solution is threefold:
1. Chain between submissions at speed that is literally impossible in real life.
2. Have a man counter a triangle choke by bouncing his opponent's head off a METAL FUCKING RAIL.
3. When someone locks on a heelhook, let them snap the other man's leg like a breadstick.
Your move, Hollywood:
Bonus round: if you watch the whole thing, there's a really basic BJJ mistake somewhere in there. First commenter to spot it gets an ice cream.
sexta-feira, 25 de setembro de 2009
sexta-feira, 17 de julho de 2009
Another Level
This is how I play Street Fighter:
I'm completely average at it. I can do the special moves, I can do combos like Ken's four fierce or whatever, and I even have a pretty decent idea of which moves are high 'percentage' and what to do against most characters. But I play sloppily. I leave gaps. I jump into a lot of moves 'hoping' they'll work, and when other players make mistakes I don't always capitalise. This is a fine way of playing Street Fighter with friends, and that base level of competence is enough to beat dabblers most of the time - but it was never good enough to beat the elite cadre of kids that played at my local arcade.
This is how I do most things. This is how you probably do most things. K. Anders Ericsson of Florida State University points out (in an essay about chess, not Street Fighter, but whatever) that:
'It is possible for enthusiasts to spend tens of thousands of hours playing chess or golf or a musical instrument without ever advancing beyond the amateur level and why a properly trained student can overtake them in a relatively short time.
Even the novice engages in effortful study at first, which is why beginners so often improve rapidly in playing golf, say, or in driving a car. But having reached an acceptable performance - for instance, keeping up with one's golf buddies or passing a driver's exam - most people relax. Their performance then becomes automatic and therefore impervious to further improvement.'
Which is fine. The trouble is, I've moved to a new, tougher, jiu jitsu academy - more on that later - and while I don't much care about getting better at Street Fighter, I would quite like to get better at jiu jitsu. And my jiu jitsu is like my Street Fighter - I know enough to beat up reasonably decent people, but I leave openings. I don't punish mistakes. I throw up moves, but I'm relying on the other person falling for them, rather than forcing them to work.
The internet's come a long way since I was playing Street Fighter, and now you can watch tournament champions play Street Fighter. And they don't leave gaps. They create their own openings. They force mistakes, and then they punish them.
I'm starting to realise that this is how top-level jiu jitsu players fight, too. And if I want to get my black belt - instead of trundling along happily at an amateur level - I'm going to have to do the same. I couldn't do it with Street Fighter - I haven't done it with pool, or dancing, or boxing, or any of the other things I vaguely like. Can I do it? Could you?
Effortful study, baby. It's on.
I'm completely average at it. I can do the special moves, I can do combos like Ken's four fierce or whatever, and I even have a pretty decent idea of which moves are high 'percentage' and what to do against most characters. But I play sloppily. I leave gaps. I jump into a lot of moves 'hoping' they'll work, and when other players make mistakes I don't always capitalise. This is a fine way of playing Street Fighter with friends, and that base level of competence is enough to beat dabblers most of the time - but it was never good enough to beat the elite cadre of kids that played at my local arcade.
This is how I do most things. This is how you probably do most things. K. Anders Ericsson of Florida State University points out (in an essay about chess, not Street Fighter, but whatever) that:
'It is possible for enthusiasts to spend tens of thousands of hours playing chess or golf or a musical instrument without ever advancing beyond the amateur level and why a properly trained student can overtake them in a relatively short time.
Even the novice engages in effortful study at first, which is why beginners so often improve rapidly in playing golf, say, or in driving a car. But having reached an acceptable performance - for instance, keeping up with one's golf buddies or passing a driver's exam - most people relax. Their performance then becomes automatic and therefore impervious to further improvement.'
Which is fine. The trouble is, I've moved to a new, tougher, jiu jitsu academy - more on that later - and while I don't much care about getting better at Street Fighter, I would quite like to get better at jiu jitsu. And my jiu jitsu is like my Street Fighter - I know enough to beat up reasonably decent people, but I leave openings. I don't punish mistakes. I throw up moves, but I'm relying on the other person falling for them, rather than forcing them to work.
The internet's come a long way since I was playing Street Fighter, and now you can watch tournament champions play Street Fighter. And they don't leave gaps. They create their own openings. They force mistakes, and then they punish them.
I'm starting to realise that this is how top-level jiu jitsu players fight, too. And if I want to get my black belt - instead of trundling along happily at an amateur level - I'm going to have to do the same. I couldn't do it with Street Fighter - I haven't done it with pool, or dancing, or boxing, or any of the other things I vaguely like. Can I do it? Could you?
Effortful study, baby. It's on.
sexta-feira, 6 de março de 2009
100 Taps: or, Why Not To Fight A BJJ Blue Belt
Something I've been thinking about recently, partly because I've been training like fucking crazy.
First, the maths. To get your blue belt in BJJ takes, usually, at least a year. Training at least twice a week, and sparring for – roughly – three or four rounds every time you train. At the start you’ll get tapped out all the time, but eventually you’ll start to tap out other people – sometimes in one or two of your rounds, sometimes in all of them, sometimes twice in one round. Let’s say that, conservatively, that averages out at one tapout per training session, per year. Let’s also say that, somewhere along the line, you take a couple of weeks off – although not too many, because you’d never get your blue belt this quickly if you did.
50 x 2 x 1 = 100
Easy. Now, what this means:
By this stage, you’ve pretty much ‘won’ 100 fights. Not by getting more points than the other person, or hitting them in the face or pinning them on the floor, or even throwing them on the floor – although on concrete that’d be a pretty definitive win – but by doing something that would knock them unconscious or break one of their big, important joints if they didn’t politely ask you to stop. And sure, some of the people you’ve won against will be small or inexperienced or not trying their best, but plenty will be big, and aware of exactly what you’re trying to do, and trying very hard to do the same thing back.
Most boxing gyms won’t let you spar anywhere near that much, or that hard. No decent Muay Thai academy is going to let you knock out 100 people. Plenty of karate schools don’t even let you touch each other.
Yes, not every fight will end up on the floor – although you’d be surprised how often they do, especially if one person wants them there and the other isn’t a rugby player or a judoka or a wrestler. Yes, punching and biting makes things a bit trickier, although people tend to forget that the BJJ guy can do that as well. And yes, the addition of knives or mates changes a lot. But the fact remains that if you fight a BJJ blue belt – *any* BJJ blue belt – you’re fighting someone who’s fought a lot of well-trained, aggressive people. And won. 100 times. Oh yeah.
First, the maths. To get your blue belt in BJJ takes, usually, at least a year. Training at least twice a week, and sparring for – roughly – three or four rounds every time you train. At the start you’ll get tapped out all the time, but eventually you’ll start to tap out other people – sometimes in one or two of your rounds, sometimes in all of them, sometimes twice in one round. Let’s say that, conservatively, that averages out at one tapout per training session, per year. Let’s also say that, somewhere along the line, you take a couple of weeks off – although not too many, because you’d never get your blue belt this quickly if you did.
50 x 2 x 1 = 100
Easy. Now, what this means:
By this stage, you’ve pretty much ‘won’ 100 fights. Not by getting more points than the other person, or hitting them in the face or pinning them on the floor, or even throwing them on the floor – although on concrete that’d be a pretty definitive win – but by doing something that would knock them unconscious or break one of their big, important joints if they didn’t politely ask you to stop. And sure, some of the people you’ve won against will be small or inexperienced or not trying their best, but plenty will be big, and aware of exactly what you’re trying to do, and trying very hard to do the same thing back.
Most boxing gyms won’t let you spar anywhere near that much, or that hard. No decent Muay Thai academy is going to let you knock out 100 people. Plenty of karate schools don’t even let you touch each other.
Yes, not every fight will end up on the floor – although you’d be surprised how often they do, especially if one person wants them there and the other isn’t a rugby player or a judoka or a wrestler. Yes, punching and biting makes things a bit trickier, although people tend to forget that the BJJ guy can do that as well. And yes, the addition of knives or mates changes a lot. But the fact remains that if you fight a BJJ blue belt – *any* BJJ blue belt – you’re fighting someone who’s fought a lot of well-trained, aggressive people. And won. 100 times. Oh yeah.
Assinar:
Postagens (Atom)