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.
domingo, 13 de julho de 2008
The mousy girl screams "Violence, violence!"
In many ways, the following photo is the culmination of every bit of fightyness in my entire life up until now. In other ways, it's as clear an indication you could want that I've gone completely mental. It's also one of the things I'll want deleted if I ever get accused of anything 'wrong' and am hounded by the Daily Mail.
But it's mainly a photo of the day I went to the Bristol BJJ open wearing a t-shirt with the Street Fighter logo on the front, then choked a man out to take third place in the tournament. It can't be coincidence that, in the five minutes before I had to fight, I was visaulising the incredible moment in Street Fighter 2: The Animated Movie, where Ryu gets set to Hadoken a furious Sagat in the chest at full power, while the music swells and the wind blows the grass nearly horizontal. And if it was, then ask yourself this: how come I lost the second match, when I wasn't thinking about Ryu?
But it's mainly a photo of the day I went to the Bristol BJJ open wearing a t-shirt with the Street Fighter logo on the front, then choked a man out to take third place in the tournament. It can't be coincidence that, in the five minutes before I had to fight, I was visaulising the incredible moment in Street Fighter 2: The Animated Movie, where Ryu gets set to Hadoken a furious Sagat in the chest at full power, while the music swells and the wind blows the grass nearly horizontal. And if it was, then ask yourself this: how come I lost the second match, when I wasn't thinking about Ryu?
domingo, 6 de julho de 2008
Togetherness
Three miniature stories:
1. Several years ago, at the start of my freelance career and for reasons to do with me wanting to impress potential employers, I ask a large professional wrestler to smack me in the head with a STOP sign. After some coercing, he obliges, I get a photo of it and I go on to have a glittering freelance career which leads me, several years later, to Tokyo. I go to the Tokyo Dome area because that's where the arcades are, and on a whim, go in the official New Japan Pro Wrestling shop. The stairwell's covered in signatures of wrestlers who've stopped by, scrawls and kanji and unrecognisable signatures - but the one that I notice at eye-level as I leave, is Mad Man Pondo. The STOP sign guy. I smile, and it's probably only my imagination that my head twinges slightly.
2. Several weeks ago, in Las Vegas for the launch of the UFC game, I'm pounding Caipirinhas at the bar mid-afternoon when a Japanese girl asks if I'm English. I am, but I'm also dehydrated and drunk enough to immediately start rambling on about fighting and how much I love it. She, of course, turns out to be an ex-international judo tournament competitor, and we spend ten minutes talking about ko-uchi-garis and seoi-nages before I have to take drinks back to my friends. I walk away with a renewed determination to take up judo.
3. Yesterday, I'm training for an upcoming tournament in a near-deserted dojo when a little fat guy with no front teeth turns up, carrying a drum and looking for the owner. 'I do guided meditation with him,' he says, 'I'm a medium, and a spiritual healer.' I don't laugh because my mum raised me right, but then he starts talking about how he boxed in the army. He gave it up after he got a kicking from a lance corporal: 'There were three hits - him hitting me, me hitting the floor, and the ambulance hitting 90.' We have a Right Old Laugh.
The point? I don't know. Maybe - again - that fighting brings people together, because the things you know everyone in it has put up with convinces you of their worth as a person. Maybe just that I mostly enjoy the way my life's turned out, and that it's a good life if you don't weaken.
Next week: less bullshit, more CHOKING PEOPLE OUT. Promise.
1. Several years ago, at the start of my freelance career and for reasons to do with me wanting to impress potential employers, I ask a large professional wrestler to smack me in the head with a STOP sign. After some coercing, he obliges, I get a photo of it and I go on to have a glittering freelance career which leads me, several years later, to Tokyo. I go to the Tokyo Dome area because that's where the arcades are, and on a whim, go in the official New Japan Pro Wrestling shop. The stairwell's covered in signatures of wrestlers who've stopped by, scrawls and kanji and unrecognisable signatures - but the one that I notice at eye-level as I leave, is Mad Man Pondo. The STOP sign guy. I smile, and it's probably only my imagination that my head twinges slightly.
2. Several weeks ago, in Las Vegas for the launch of the UFC game, I'm pounding Caipirinhas at the bar mid-afternoon when a Japanese girl asks if I'm English. I am, but I'm also dehydrated and drunk enough to immediately start rambling on about fighting and how much I love it. She, of course, turns out to be an ex-international judo tournament competitor, and we spend ten minutes talking about ko-uchi-garis and seoi-nages before I have to take drinks back to my friends. I walk away with a renewed determination to take up judo.
3. Yesterday, I'm training for an upcoming tournament in a near-deserted dojo when a little fat guy with no front teeth turns up, carrying a drum and looking for the owner. 'I do guided meditation with him,' he says, 'I'm a medium, and a spiritual healer.' I don't laugh because my mum raised me right, but then he starts talking about how he boxed in the army. He gave it up after he got a kicking from a lance corporal: 'There were three hits - him hitting me, me hitting the floor, and the ambulance hitting 90.' We have a Right Old Laugh.
The point? I don't know. Maybe - again - that fighting brings people together, because the things you know everyone in it has put up with convinces you of their worth as a person. Maybe just that I mostly enjoy the way my life's turned out, and that it's a good life if you don't weaken.
Next week: less bullshit, more CHOKING PEOPLE OUT. Promise.
domingo, 15 de junho de 2008
Better Than The Undertaker
So that last post was a bit sombre, but I thought I'd lighten the tone by saying that I pulled off my first gogoplata in sparring yesterday. I've never even practised it before! I just saw the Undertaker do it on telly, and he doesn't even do it for real.
Yeah, I'd fucking mash him.
Yeah, I'd fucking mash him.
On Not Knife Fighting
So I was in Japan the other day, and I got to Akihabara about half an hour after a knife-wielding maniac stabbed and killed seven people. And inevitably, when I got back, one of my friends asked what I'd have done if I'd been there at the time. As if I hadn't asked myself already.
For the record, I don't think it's that clear cut. From what I hear, lots of people thought there was a traffic incident and that the maniac, unrelatedly, was just pushing through the crowd, so nobody realised that anybody was getting stabbed until it was much too late. But assuming I'd been there, and seen a guy stabbing people like a character from Final Fight, would I have charged in to the rescue?
Honestly, probably not. Best-case scenario, I might have thrown something at him.
Here's the thing: before I got into Brazilian jujitsu (not good for 'knife defence'), I did about two years of Japanese jujitsu, which involved a lot of 'knife defence.' It involved a variety of more or less stylised counters to the six 'main' knife attacks (straight stab, forehand and backhand slashes, lunge to the kidneys, stab to the groin, downward Norman Bates classic), and we sometimes practised with real knives.
It was completely useless.
The reason I'm putting 'knife defence' in brackets is that there's almost no such thing. After jujitsu I did a couple of months' kickboxing with Bob Spour, a very nice man who used to be in the SAS and has probably been in more fights than the entire jujitsu faculty. On the subject of knife defence, he simply waved a knife around – like you, I, or anyone else might if we were seriously trying to murder someone – and said 'How're you gonna defend against that?'
If anyone's still unconvinced, here's a little game you can play: give a friend a marker pen. Wear some old clothes, maybe some glasses if you're feeling safety conscious. Now, the rules are simple: you have to get the pen off your friend. He has to draw on you with it.
If, by the time you get the pen away, you've got scribbled around your chest, you're probably dead. On the inside of your arms? You're dead? On the outside? You're injured, maybe badly enough that you'll bleed to death? On the face? You're almost certainly dead.
For an idea of how damaging and stupid most self-defence classes are, imagine somebody who teaches you to play football by making you dribble around cones and do keepy-ups over and over again but never actually lets you play against anybody else. And when you can do the cones without hitting any and 100 keepy ups in a row he gives you a black belt in football, and tells you can beat anybody at football. And then you enter a football match for the first time, except that the rules are if you lose, you die.
For the record, I don't think it's that clear cut. From what I hear, lots of people thought there was a traffic incident and that the maniac, unrelatedly, was just pushing through the crowd, so nobody realised that anybody was getting stabbed until it was much too late. But assuming I'd been there, and seen a guy stabbing people like a character from Final Fight, would I have charged in to the rescue?
Honestly, probably not. Best-case scenario, I might have thrown something at him.
Here's the thing: before I got into Brazilian jujitsu (not good for 'knife defence'), I did about two years of Japanese jujitsu, which involved a lot of 'knife defence.' It involved a variety of more or less stylised counters to the six 'main' knife attacks (straight stab, forehand and backhand slashes, lunge to the kidneys, stab to the groin, downward Norman Bates classic), and we sometimes practised with real knives.
It was completely useless.
The reason I'm putting 'knife defence' in brackets is that there's almost no such thing. After jujitsu I did a couple of months' kickboxing with Bob Spour, a very nice man who used to be in the SAS and has probably been in more fights than the entire jujitsu faculty. On the subject of knife defence, he simply waved a knife around – like you, I, or anyone else might if we were seriously trying to murder someone – and said 'How're you gonna defend against that?'
If anyone's still unconvinced, here's a little game you can play: give a friend a marker pen. Wear some old clothes, maybe some glasses if you're feeling safety conscious. Now, the rules are simple: you have to get the pen off your friend. He has to draw on you with it.
If, by the time you get the pen away, you've got scribbled around your chest, you're probably dead. On the inside of your arms? You're dead? On the outside? You're injured, maybe badly enough that you'll bleed to death? On the face? You're almost certainly dead.
For an idea of how damaging and stupid most self-defence classes are, imagine somebody who teaches you to play football by making you dribble around cones and do keepy-ups over and over again but never actually lets you play against anybody else. And when you can do the cones without hitting any and 100 keepy ups in a row he gives you a black belt in football, and tells you can beat anybody at football. And then you enter a football match for the first time, except that the rules are if you lose, you die.
sexta-feira, 30 de maio de 2008
F.X. Toole is my new hero
He's the man who wrote Million Dollar Baby, as part of a boxing stories collection called Rope Burns, and re-reading the intro last night (yeah, drunk, what) I came across this little beauty:
'About the only thing I haven't done in boxing is make money. But that hasn't stopped me any more than not making money in writing has. Both are something you just do, and you feel grateful for being able to do them, even if both keep you broke, drive you crazy and make you sick. Rational people don't think like that. But they don't have in their lives what I have in mine.'
Oh yeah and I got my blue belt in BJJ today. WAR ME.
'About the only thing I haven't done in boxing is make money. But that hasn't stopped me any more than not making money in writing has. Both are something you just do, and you feel grateful for being able to do them, even if both keep you broke, drive you crazy and make you sick. Rational people don't think like that. But they don't have in their lives what I have in mine.'
Oh yeah and I got my blue belt in BJJ today. WAR ME.
segunda-feira, 24 de março de 2008
Vega Is A Fucking Cheat
Something I seem to have been talking to people about recently is that Vega is a fucking cheat. It’s easy to confuse this with other arguments, so let’s be clear: I’m not arguing that Vega is a massive ponce (he is) or an annoying character to play against (also true) or that I don’t like him (I don’t, but only in the same way I don’t like pantomime villains, ie I am aware that they need to exist). No. My problem with Vega is something else.
He’s allowed a fucking claw?
Seriously, how is that okay? Everybody else in the Street Fighter tournament is fighting with their hands and feet, and Vega not only wears a mask (to protect his beautiful face) but has a big, sharpened metal claw, like Mr Han from Enter The Dragon. Even Chun Li (who tends to fight Vega in the official adaptations, partly as a juxtaposition of her strong femininity against his perceived effeminacy, partly because he’s practically a rapist) takes issue with this in the comic version:
‘Your claw attacks are cheap and cowardly’.
And Vega responds:
‘How dare you? You’re in a world where desire and honour are the same, where the strong eat the weak.’
Which is all very well, Vega, except that using a claw sort of suggests that you’re the weak. And anyway, you’ll be pleased to hear that it’s at this point she learns the ki-ko-ken and fireballs him in his fucking face. A more sensible defence of Vega’s behaviour - used by everyone I talk to - is:
The other characters can do fireballs or make themselves electric. Vega can’t, so he needs something to even the odds up.
Which is clearly bullshit, and the reason I’m so upset. See, a claw isn’t too bad, but with this sort of evening-things-up morality you’ve got the thin end of a philosophical wedge that later allows sticks (Eagle), Chains (Birdie) and Sai (Sodom). Then, finally, you’ve got Rolento, who carries a baton and a knife, throws grenades and keeps a posse of guerillas above the playing area with a hook and a piano wire garotte. He's basically everything that's wrong about fighting games, and it's all Vega's fault.
Prick.
He’s allowed a fucking claw?
Seriously, how is that okay? Everybody else in the Street Fighter tournament is fighting with their hands and feet, and Vega not only wears a mask (to protect his beautiful face) but has a big, sharpened metal claw, like Mr Han from Enter The Dragon. Even Chun Li (who tends to fight Vega in the official adaptations, partly as a juxtaposition of her strong femininity against his perceived effeminacy, partly because he’s practically a rapist) takes issue with this in the comic version:
‘Your claw attacks are cheap and cowardly’.
And Vega responds:
‘How dare you? You’re in a world where desire and honour are the same, where the strong eat the weak.’
Which is all very well, Vega, except that using a claw sort of suggests that you’re the weak. And anyway, you’ll be pleased to hear that it’s at this point she learns the ki-ko-ken and fireballs him in his fucking face. A more sensible defence of Vega’s behaviour - used by everyone I talk to - is:
The other characters can do fireballs or make themselves electric. Vega can’t, so he needs something to even the odds up.
Which is clearly bullshit, and the reason I’m so upset. See, a claw isn’t too bad, but with this sort of evening-things-up morality you’ve got the thin end of a philosophical wedge that later allows sticks (Eagle), Chains (Birdie) and Sai (Sodom). Then, finally, you’ve got Rolento, who carries a baton and a knife, throws grenades and keeps a posse of guerillas above the playing area with a hook and a piano wire garotte. He's basically everything that's wrong about fighting games, and it's all Vega's fault.
Prick.
sábado, 22 de março de 2008
Sometimes
...I think that if I devoted as much time to cooking, or learning a musical instrument, or becoming a successful public speaker as I do to fighting, I would be brilliant at all of those things. Or at least, a more well rounded human being.
But then I remember that I don't care - don't really, actually care - about those things.
There's probably a whole nest of pathologies and rationalisations related to my affection for fighting, but that almost doesn't matter. Because like all good determinists know, seeing the strings doesn't make a difference.
Tonight, watching a dreadful display of windmilling between two D-rate kickboxers, a friend of mine, standing next to me but hypnotised by the action, whispered:
'I fucking love fighting, Joel.'
And all I could say was, 'Me too.'
But then I remember that I don't care - don't really, actually care - about those things.
There's probably a whole nest of pathologies and rationalisations related to my affection for fighting, but that almost doesn't matter. Because like all good determinists know, seeing the strings doesn't make a difference.
Tonight, watching a dreadful display of windmilling between two D-rate kickboxers, a friend of mine, standing next to me but hypnotised by the action, whispered:
'I fucking love fighting, Joel.'
And all I could say was, 'Me too.'
domingo, 9 de março de 2008
Getting Hit In The Face: redux
I know I've talked about this before, but I got properly hit in the face twice this week, both times by someone I'm trying to get ready for a semi-pro bout. The first one was a flawless spinning backfist - I didn't see it coming, and it caught me on the chin hard enough to make me wonder what the hell was happening. The second one was an unintentional forearm in the face hard enough to make my eyes water, and kind of a new experience. I've been cracked before, but usually the feeling's dizzyness, and you know how to deal with that - shake off the fuzz, stay out of trouble, circlecirclecircle and don't let them see you're hurt. Taking a shot in the nose is different - there's no fuzz, but it hurts so much that you go through a whole range of emotions in about two seconds. The need for revenge; the injustice of a world where such things can happen; the sheer unbelievability of the fact that someone's just smashed you in the face.
These, obviously, are unfortunate philosophical avenues to go dawdling down when the person who's just hit you is about to try to do it several more times, until (and maybe after) you fall over. Bad enough if there's a ref there to stop them doing it - potentially disastrous if you get in a street fight.
Once again, kids: stay out of trouble.
These, obviously, are unfortunate philosophical avenues to go dawdling down when the person who's just hit you is about to try to do it several more times, until (and maybe after) you fall over. Bad enough if there's a ref there to stop them doing it - potentially disastrous if you get in a street fight.
Once again, kids: stay out of trouble.
quinta-feira, 31 de janeiro de 2008
On Handwraps
So I was talking to someone who I really don't want to see breaking their hands the other day, and getting lyrical about the dangers of punching someone in the face/stomach/ribs/shoulder without adequate padding. And then, inevitably, I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about handwraps.
I've been spending a lot of time in fight gyms again recently. And something that happens when you're in fight gyms a lot is that you lose that crazy enthusiasm for getting in, killing yourself the entire time you're there and getting out. You need to stretch properly, warm up properly, warm down. Otherwise you'll get injured. And so what if it eats into your training time? You train enough.
Anyway. Part of this preparation is putting on handwraps. You do it after your skipping, sometimes after your shadowboxing, but before you put on the gloves and get ready to hit gloves/pads/faces. Doing it properly, getting it tight, supporting your wrist and protecting your knuckles takes practice. And although some people talk while they're doing it, some retreat into themselves, thinking about the things they have to practice, the things they have to remember, the people that are about to try hitting them in the head. It's the time when things in the gym go quiet, before the shouting and the whappings start.
I've tried meditation before. I've even done it with Shaolin monks. But there's something about putting on handwraps that centres me like nothing else.
I've been spending a lot of time in fight gyms again recently. And something that happens when you're in fight gyms a lot is that you lose that crazy enthusiasm for getting in, killing yourself the entire time you're there and getting out. You need to stretch properly, warm up properly, warm down. Otherwise you'll get injured. And so what if it eats into your training time? You train enough.
Anyway. Part of this preparation is putting on handwraps. You do it after your skipping, sometimes after your shadowboxing, but before you put on the gloves and get ready to hit gloves/pads/faces. Doing it properly, getting it tight, supporting your wrist and protecting your knuckles takes practice. And although some people talk while they're doing it, some retreat into themselves, thinking about the things they have to practice, the things they have to remember, the people that are about to try hitting them in the head. It's the time when things in the gym go quiet, before the shouting and the whappings start.
I've tried meditation before. I've even done it with Shaolin monks. But there's something about putting on handwraps that centres me like nothing else.
sábado, 19 de janeiro de 2008
The Mystery Of Chessboxin'
What does tapping someone out feel like? It feels like chess.
When you’re first learning to do jujitsu, you might know how a couple of basic submissions and a sweep, and you’ve got a vague idea of what the best position to be in is, but that’s about it. As strategy goes, it’s about as advanced as knowing that castles go sideways and the horsey pieces can jump over things. Sparring between beginners is a clumsy exchange of positions and the winner’s usually the person who makes the least incredibly stupid mistakes. Maybe a couple of months later, you can spot a glaring error – somebody stretching their arms up in the air while they’re mounted, say – and capitalise on it. While you’re a beginner, this is like seeing someone’s queen undefended or spotting a Fool’s mate – there’s a sudden, dizzying, ‘How could they be so stupid?’ moment, following by a quick, euphoric tap. At this level, you still want to punch the air after every win – aware that on some level it was a fluke – but you don’t, because there’s decorum to observe.
As you get better, though, things change. Tapping out beginners who leave themselves open to an easy kimura is too simple, like playing chess against a stupid ten-year old. You need to find better opponents, ones who know that you never leave one arm inside someone’s guard or lean too far forward in the mount. Against these opponents, you need to find ways to force errors, to make smaller mistakes into bigger ones. Like forking in chess – your knight poised to take two different pieces, your opponent only able to choose which one – you might half-go for an armbar an opponent knowing they’ll yank their elbow free, leaving themselves open to a triangle or an omoplata. It’s at this stage that you start to develop a ‘game.’ Unfortunately, there are people who are much, much better at this game than you, and when you’re playing against them even a tiny, almost unnoticeable mistake means you’re going to lose. Against these Kasparovs of strangulation, even putting one hand on the mat for a second is practically an unrecoverable error.
It's when you realise that other people worry about you this way that you really start to love jiujitsu.
When you’re first learning to do jujitsu, you might know how a couple of basic submissions and a sweep, and you’ve got a vague idea of what the best position to be in is, but that’s about it. As strategy goes, it’s about as advanced as knowing that castles go sideways and the horsey pieces can jump over things. Sparring between beginners is a clumsy exchange of positions and the winner’s usually the person who makes the least incredibly stupid mistakes. Maybe a couple of months later, you can spot a glaring error – somebody stretching their arms up in the air while they’re mounted, say – and capitalise on it. While you’re a beginner, this is like seeing someone’s queen undefended or spotting a Fool’s mate – there’s a sudden, dizzying, ‘How could they be so stupid?’ moment, following by a quick, euphoric tap. At this level, you still want to punch the air after every win – aware that on some level it was a fluke – but you don’t, because there’s decorum to observe.
As you get better, though, things change. Tapping out beginners who leave themselves open to an easy kimura is too simple, like playing chess against a stupid ten-year old. You need to find better opponents, ones who know that you never leave one arm inside someone’s guard or lean too far forward in the mount. Against these opponents, you need to find ways to force errors, to make smaller mistakes into bigger ones. Like forking in chess – your knight poised to take two different pieces, your opponent only able to choose which one – you might half-go for an armbar an opponent knowing they’ll yank their elbow free, leaving themselves open to a triangle or an omoplata. It’s at this stage that you start to develop a ‘game.’ Unfortunately, there are people who are much, much better at this game than you, and when you’re playing against them even a tiny, almost unnoticeable mistake means you’re going to lose. Against these Kasparovs of strangulation, even putting one hand on the mat for a second is practically an unrecoverable error.
It's when you realise that other people worry about you this way that you really start to love jiujitsu.
quarta-feira, 2 de janeiro de 2008
FIGHT MONTH
I know, I know. I've been a bit slack about the old ultraviolence recently. There's a reason for that, and that's simply that when I'm not worrying about getting pummeled in the kidneys in front of a crowd of dozens, I just don't train that hard. So I've decided to entire the Combat Sports Open - which is in a month - AND WIN. How? Well, my plan is many-fold. Wait, manifold? I should probably look this up.
1. KICK REALLY HARD
You can't hit in the face in the Combat Sports Open, so the best way to hurt people is giving them a vicious dead-legging. The best way to do that - probably - is to embark on a rigorous programme of plyometric squatting and smashing my shins into a heavy bag as often as possible. Or at least I hope it is, because that's what I'll be doing.
2. GET BETTER AT JIUJITSU
Obvious? Yes. But the last time I entered a competition, I could barely do an armbar. You only get four minutes in the CSO - after that it's a draw - so I need to get better at forcing people to tap out. The best way to do this seems to be going to jiujitsu loads, and fine-tuning the submissions I can already do.
3. SLAM PEOPLE
Obviously the easiest way to set up a submission is by slamming someone into the mat so hard they lose their breath, and that's where part two of my genius plan comes in. My wrestling shot's much improved since the last time I competed, and the plyo/squatting out to make Ultimate Warrior-style powerbombs a mere formality.
4. LOSE HALF A STONE
Yikes. Yeah, to weigh in on the day, I'll need to be about 6 kilos lighter than I am right now. How the hell am I going to manage that? By not drinking beer, dumbass.
And there you go! Updates on my progress as and when.
1. KICK REALLY HARD
You can't hit in the face in the Combat Sports Open, so the best way to hurt people is giving them a vicious dead-legging. The best way to do that - probably - is to embark on a rigorous programme of plyometric squatting and smashing my shins into a heavy bag as often as possible. Or at least I hope it is, because that's what I'll be doing.
2. GET BETTER AT JIUJITSU
Obvious? Yes. But the last time I entered a competition, I could barely do an armbar. You only get four minutes in the CSO - after that it's a draw - so I need to get better at forcing people to tap out. The best way to do this seems to be going to jiujitsu loads, and fine-tuning the submissions I can already do.
3. SLAM PEOPLE
Obviously the easiest way to set up a submission is by slamming someone into the mat so hard they lose their breath, and that's where part two of my genius plan comes in. My wrestling shot's much improved since the last time I competed, and the plyo/squatting out to make Ultimate Warrior-style powerbombs a mere formality.
4. LOSE HALF A STONE
Yikes. Yeah, to weigh in on the day, I'll need to be about 6 kilos lighter than I am right now. How the hell am I going to manage that? By not drinking beer, dumbass.
And there you go! Updates on my progress as and when.
sábado, 3 de novembro de 2007
On Ryu And Ken
Something I've been thinking about again recently - partly because Street Fighter IV's just been announced - is how much I love Ryu. More specifically, how much I love him in comparison to Ken. I know I've talked before about how Ken's a showoff while Ryu's fundamentally the best videogame character in history, but I thought of another thing. So.
Look at Ken's catchphrase:
I know the designers probably didn't put much thought into it, but that's typically bolshy and American, as well as completely stupid - she's already attacked you Ken, that's why she's bruised and crying. Now look at Ryu's:
How helpful is that? He wants you to understand that you need to counter his Dragon Punch. He doesn't just want to assert his superiority over you - he wants you to get better, so it'll force him to get better. In an earlier version of the game, he actually tells you that you need more training to beat him. And he's right! This is the sort of thing that makes Ryu so brilliant.
The depressing thing is, Ryu's just about exactly as good as Ken - or if you talk to Street Fighter experts, who know about delays and buffering and things I barely comprehend, actually slightly worse - even though Ryu practices all the time while Ken regularly trots off to drive posh sports cars or impregnate his wife Jane. Later editions of the game - along with comic and anime film tie-ins - compensate for this sort of stuff by insisting that Ryu's got the mental fortitude that Ken lacks, and that whenever he loses - to Ken in Alpha 1, for instance - it's simply because his mind isn't on the fight for whatever reason. They also suggest that he's really got the most potential out of all the fighters because Akuma's scared of him, and that the only reason he isn't the hardest man in the world, ever, is that he refuses to embrace his evil side. Which is lovely, but sort of misses the point, which is: Ken's probably just supernaturally talented at hitting people. Ryu isn't, and although he tries his best, he can't ever get better than Ken.
...I don't really know what the life-lesson is there, but I'm sure I took it on board as a child.
domingo, 16 de setembro de 2007
domingo, 26 de agosto de 2007
War, Baby
I'm reading it at the moment - it's an account of the famous Benn/McLellan fight that ended with one man blinded and in a coma. Tragic, readable stuff, but more than anything else I like this line:
'When they win, when they experience the joy of physical dominance, they are more alive than anyone they have ever known - when they lose, when they are knocked out or marginalised by boxing's powerbrokers, they experience desolation that, thankfully, few of us will ever experience.'
Yeah.
'When they win, when they experience the joy of physical dominance, they are more alive than anyone they have ever known - when they lose, when they are knocked out or marginalised by boxing's powerbrokers, they experience desolation that, thankfully, few of us will ever experience.'
Yeah.
sábado, 25 de agosto de 2007
Fight Week Is Over
...but, of course, you don't know what Fight Week was. Allow me to explain.
Fight Week was my first week of training full-time with a professional fight team, going to all of their practices and seeing if I could handle the pace. How did I do? Let's take stock:
Injuries
Miscellany
Fight Week was my first week of training full-time with a professional fight team, going to all of their practices and seeing if I could handle the pace. How did I do? Let's take stock:
Injuries
- Minor Head Wound: probably from sliding along a wrestling mat on my forehead after a takedown, then aggravating the resulting burn by getting punched on it. Serious? Not really. Annoying to explain to everyone? Yes.
- Dodgy Neck: from being neck-cranked - twice! - by someone who probably outweighed me by four stone and didn't know any other moves. I really should be able to counter that by now, though.
- Minor Scuff On Left Knuckle: from doing the same left body-hook on a punchbag about a thousand times, probably aggravated by not wrapping my hands properly.
- Vague Discomfort In Right Forearm: I imagine this was from getting punched on it.
Miscellany
- I am not fit enough. I get hopelessly knackered in two minute rounds of sparring - to the point where I can barely throw a combination - and although this is probably partly to do with me adrenaline-dumping because I'm so scared of everyone I spar with, it's also probably a lot to do with the fact that I haven't been running in nearly three months.
- Nearly everyone is better than me at jujitsu. Seriously. Even the people I thought were bruisers have a level of jujitsu that's genuinely frightening.
- I need to get better at wrestling.
- Having a Proper Fight is still a long way off.
segunda-feira, 20 de agosto de 2007
Getting compliments
I am, as you've no doubt noticed, both funny and excellent at writing. I like it when my friends/peers laugh at something I've written, and like it even more when they drop me pithy little emails to say that they laughed at something when I wasn't around.
But somehow, that all pales into insignificance beside the two compliments I got today:
1. 'That shot's coming along nicely.' from Olympic-standard wrestler and top bloke Saeed, after I tackled someone to the floor with what's known as 'good penetration.' I'd make a joke about that, but I'm sure you're clever enough to come up with your own. And more importantly...
2. 'You've got the heart for this game. I can't train that.' from boxing coach and top bloke Andy, after I spent three rounds of sparring getting punched in the face so hard that my jaw's definitely going to hurt all week. My little heart nearly burst with pride.
But somehow, that all pales into insignificance beside the two compliments I got today:
1. 'That shot's coming along nicely.' from Olympic-standard wrestler and top bloke Saeed, after I tackled someone to the floor with what's known as 'good penetration.' I'd make a joke about that, but I'm sure you're clever enough to come up with your own. And more importantly...
2. 'You've got the heart for this game. I can't train that.' from boxing coach and top bloke Andy, after I spent three rounds of sparring getting punched in the face so hard that my jaw's definitely going to hurt all week. My little heart nearly burst with pride.
terça-feira, 17 de julho de 2007
Another Thing I've Been Thinking About...
...is that Street Fighter 2 is a bit like boxing, and every good 3D beat-em-up is a bit like Brazilian Jujitsu.
To explain: in Street Fighter 2, there are six buttons for hitting people. You can press them while you're standing still, ducking, jumping straight up in the air or jumping forwards and backwards. Then you've got two or three special moves, but they're fairly easy to learn. After one glance at the move list, you can literally do any of your character's moves any time you like.
By contrast, Tekken and Virtua Fighter take ages to learn. Every character has about fifty very specific combos, along with twenty special moves that usually aren't at all memorable. It'll take you a good few hours just to learn them all, and then you'll probably forget half of them the first time you need them.
If you're not acquainted with boxing or (more likely) jujitsu, here's how they work. In boxing, you've got about six punches - jab, straight, left and right hooks, left and right uppercuts. You can do them while you're ducking and moving and stuff, but that's about it. Throw in some rolls to the side - which I'm not very good at - and some blocks, and you know how to box. What you don't know, obviously, is the infinite number of ways you can combine all of those things to make combos and flow from one move to another and distract the other person from what you're really trying to do and set up the thing you actually want to hit them with.
In BJJ, by contrast, there are fucking loads of moves. Even if you discount the stupid ones that nobody ever does in a really serious fight, you need to learn to do about twenty things really well before you'll stand even a vague chance in a BJJ match against, say, a blue belt. Then chances are he'll still pull something out of the bag and armbar you anyway.
I don't know why I bring this up. I just think it's interesting.
Look here's a picture of Guile:
I BLOODY LOVE YOU, JANE.
To explain: in Street Fighter 2, there are six buttons for hitting people. You can press them while you're standing still, ducking, jumping straight up in the air or jumping forwards and backwards. Then you've got two or three special moves, but they're fairly easy to learn. After one glance at the move list, you can literally do any of your character's moves any time you like.
By contrast, Tekken and Virtua Fighter take ages to learn. Every character has about fifty very specific combos, along with twenty special moves that usually aren't at all memorable. It'll take you a good few hours just to learn them all, and then you'll probably forget half of them the first time you need them.
If you're not acquainted with boxing or (more likely) jujitsu, here's how they work. In boxing, you've got about six punches - jab, straight, left and right hooks, left and right uppercuts. You can do them while you're ducking and moving and stuff, but that's about it. Throw in some rolls to the side - which I'm not very good at - and some blocks, and you know how to box. What you don't know, obviously, is the infinite number of ways you can combine all of those things to make combos and flow from one move to another and distract the other person from what you're really trying to do and set up the thing you actually want to hit them with.
In BJJ, by contrast, there are fucking loads of moves. Even if you discount the stupid ones that nobody ever does in a really serious fight, you need to learn to do about twenty things really well before you'll stand even a vague chance in a BJJ match against, say, a blue belt. Then chances are he'll still pull something out of the bag and armbar you anyway.
I don't know why I bring this up. I just think it's interesting.
Look here's a picture of Guile:
I BLOODY LOVE YOU, JANE.
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