...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.'
sábado, 22 de março de 2008
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
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