Blogs
DECEMBER 1, 2010
POINTS DO NOT MAKE ME SMILE
Picture this... you are on an all-inclusive cruise liner. Beautiful international women of all races bounce across the deck pool topless with cocktails in hand as music thumps your ears. Beers cocktails and smiles flow worry free while you freely taken the scenic pictures of sun, breasts, and tan lines. Close friends, sun kissed skin abound. Now picture the ship has sank, much like the Titanic. Tragically you are stuck in the middle of predator infested waters but last you heard from the Captain before the ship submerged, the Coast Guard assured the crew they would be in rout in 10-15 min.
Now I'm not a betting man; no, I have never ever been stuck in the ocean with beautiful topless international women (my fingers are crossed though). My point is... I bet the majority of people that heard the message from Captain would find it in themselves to make it the 15 minutes had they been assured that's all they had to do. The flip side of the coin is you don't know when help is coming at all. There is just you, and your will to survive. Along with drunken topless women, who breast bob in the ocean like buoys. If you knew you had to survive and that was all. In your most primal instinct to survive, how long could you really stay out there for?
What’s the difference in knowing help is coming in 15 minutes and help probably isn't coming? For me I would say mindset and ability to handle the stress that comes with the fear of the unknown SPOOKY - I know. If you know that you only have to hangout for 15 min then things will go back to normal and get comfortable again. Almost anyone could do it. This is the difference in point grapplers and finish grapplers in my worthless view of how the world makes sense to me ; )
Everyone in the combat sports jiu-jitsu/MMA realm remembers the Gracie family’s feelings on the use of time limits and rules. They hate em long story short (watch Sakuraba vs Royce Gracies one hour and 30 minute match in PRIDE where Gracie rules were implemented). These rules which at first just appeared to me as a laundry list of excuses like when you get the "traditional" Karate or Kung Fu guy that says, "yea but, if I were to use my Dim Mac knowledge the fight would have ended the minute I touch these deadly pressure points. Too bad it’s far too dangerous to do merely training or in competition."
However, now that I am much further along in my progress in the grappling world, it makes far more sense now than it did back when I heard it the first time. I now know what the Gracie clan was alluding to. The epiphany clicked much like that sound advice you vaguely remember hearing the day after you were picked up for public intox and lewdness for riding your sisters bike drunk and naked. I recently competed in The Utah Champions Challenge. The rules are simple: all submissions are legal. No time limits, no points (you are going to be in the ocean with predators, no help will be coming, it’s on you to make it.)
At the proposal of you have to finish in order to progress, you would think that marathon grappling matches are the norm, extending far beyond the six minute time limit that the normal big name grappling tourneys NAGA Grapplers Quest. After brief conversations with the tournaments promoter, Michael Pease, I found out the average match length is roughly five minutes. Now, yes there are your marathon matches. Yes I have witnessed the struggle of two evenly matched competitors who both bowed out at the hour and half long battle of grappling wits and wills. Again you have to keep in mind, "help" (clock and points) are not coming to help you.
Point fighting sucks. There I said it. I will say it again! Points suck, like a hooker after 1 a.m. on a Saturday. If i wanted to be held down sweaty against my will, I would have committed the hate crime I was planning back in high school. I have no problems wearing my ass whipping like a man. If you are better than me then, the fact is that. You took me down, controlled the position and submitted me. Good on you! I would rather be finished by submission if you are to finish me. No questions remain, the better person won and it is done. We got in a shootout and I shot you first, or i was the slow one and died with my gun in my hand. When playing with points it’s like getting in fire fights with blanks and one live bullet. Your making lots of noise and treating it as if it were real, but really nothing is gonna happen if you last those 15 minutes till your help (the clock) arrives or you get shot with the one live bullet you didn't see coming. Can you say you’re the better person if you’re good at holding people down? Well, you were better at controlling yes, you can't argue that. You are good at getting points, yes. Are you the better grappler though? Maybe, maybe not? That question is the question that rubs me the wrong way after tournaments. When it comes down to it, if you can control someone in theory you should be able to finish if the old grappling parable holds true, "position before submission" but if you only do one while kicking my ass please let it finish me. The whole wrestling killing MMA/ grappling tourneys reminds me of the friends that could always get the phone numbers, but always unable to break the seal of the chastity panties and what’s worse is everyone can see that. Your foreplay is strong however your ability to deliver the big O is weak lol
Well I'm off to go work on some wrestling and boost some of my position holding and submission foreplay now. Till next time like Scott at OTM says....
Work hard, train hard, fight hard, party hard
DaMarques
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NOVEMBER 24, 2010
THE CRUEL BUT TRUE FACTS OF FIGHTING IN THE UFC
The debate lately has been is wrestling killing the sport of mma? Nope i don’t think so... I think it’s the smart thing to do. Take a guy down and grind on him till he makes a mistake, while being on top. It’s smart, it’s effective and WINS. Fun to watch sometimes but not as much. Arguing that fact is like getting pissed at the kid who took really good notes in science class, studied and aces his test the majority of the time. Meanwhile, you were too distracted by the sexy girl in your favorite skirt to even take notes because she asked you to borrow a pen. Don’t get mad at the smart kids.The hard kids tend to be a little more charming, exciting, funny, for lack of a better term entertaining. The Hard kids usually have enough friends to help him through and study for the test and who knows sometimes the stars align and he does better than smart kids.
So where to focus - winning or being exciting? Well it’s no secret I’m more of the hard kid that i was in the military but guess who’s trying to take notes. I’m not an All-American wrestler, world Ji- Jitsu scholar, Golden Glove boxer or muy thai guy. I’m just a kid that attended the University of Hardknocks with an Associate’s in Pugilist Modification and a Bachelor’s in Intergrappling theory. After all this is a just a fist fight so I’m sure i will be fine, but guess who’s got a note book full of notes and studying now? In the realm of being exciting I feel I can check that box. As far as winning goes, well Matt Riddle demonstrated and gave me some notes to take. So now it’s time for me to put it all together and take this next test after studying some notes I have taken
Sorry it took a minute to write something, been consumed with other things and haven’t been able to sit down at a computer with my thoughts lately. I will be better about it keep checking back in and thanks for the love guys and gals.....
Darkness out!
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OCTOBER 5, 2010
FIGHTING MAKES ME SMILE
Do you remember what it is that truly makes you happy in life? That thing that makes you smile that uncontrollable smile that is impossible to contain? The thing that consumes your thoughts to obsession like levels. The feeling of improving and sharpening the performance of whatever it may be, only fuels your drive to make it that much sharper. Mechanics build the gasoline devouring, rubber melting, horsepower kings. Hours spent tinkering in the garage, all to achieve that smile of satisfaction. Just as doctors spend their hours researching and learning in the hopes of being able to apply the knowledge they have retained to the patient that challenges the doctor’s skill, knowledge, and application. I bet that doctor or mechanic knows the same feeling like I do. They just haven’t been broadcast on T.V. or wear a shirt that boldly states, "surgery makes me smile" or "horsepower makes my spirit happy."
It’s all mental
I can’t believe how many times I have heard this but I guess since everyone says, it’s gotta be true right? I remember the fight I felt the mental click. I remember watching Spencer Fisher vs. Sam Stout 2 and wondering how can you be so happy to knowing there is a possibility you may get wrecked... and my rationalization was it was Spencer just didn’t give a shit. You are either prepared or you’re not. If you are, then it’s like that smart kid that sat in front of class. He already knows the answers to all the questions he is just waiting on the test to start.
So after watching that fight five or six times I left for my fight of my own. I don’t remember how I convinced myself to just not give a shit. I remembered watching Spencer’s stroll to the cage he was all smiles, not a care in world, he was tritely having a double rainbow moment. So what did I do? I faked it. I smiled a happy kid smile, walked a confident walk and holy shit it worked... I don’t have to be the angry guy making up ficticous scenes in my head to fight anyone in fact I’m more scary and confident the more I smile. Once the mental burden had been lifted it was easy, in turn making easier to smile and enjoy myself.
I bruise but don’t break.
It’s hard to explain but it is really a pure and happy smile. In the middle of Edgar Garcia fight, after he tried to wrap my jaw all the way around my neck, we slap hands then go back to rearranging one another’s faces, pure happiness. Should you ever find yourself doing what you believe you were put here to do I bet you’ll smile too.
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SEPTEMBER 28, 2010
DAMAGED BODY PARTS, A SLIGHT CASE OF DEPRESSION AND A CRACKED EGO?!?!?
Oh Oh Oh, can I try, can I try, can I try? Sign me up for that please! I can't wait!!!
Have you ever put 110 perecent of yourself into a relationship, maybe exceeded your own expectations but still sadly the relationship was not meant to be? No matter the love you felt for her/him, attention you paid to the person, time you invested in the relationship, it did not go your way. How about this? Do you recall the first legit heartbreak of your life? Remember the tears that you couldn't restrain no matter how hard you tried? The days, weeks, maybe months you spent dwelling on different things you could have done to save it? I know I do. Some pains you never forget. Ever done things to avoid that kind of pain from ever entering your life ever again? Maybe you ran away because you wanted to keep the vulnerability protected. Given a half-hearted effort the next go refusing to expose those feelings. Ever shut things down prematurely before you find yourself too invested in the situation? Circumventing any possibility of that feeling. The breathless feeling and ache that mirrors having been kicked in the stomach. Haunted by obsessing thoughts in your head that won't allow you to focus anywhere but the source of that pain. How about one of my favorites building those invisible walls, that keep you protected? Truth is, they can only cut off what you're willing to put out there, right?
If you have ever been willing to let it all hang out and came up short you know what I'm talking about. It taste like a strange cocktail of embarrassment, anger, sadness, sometimes regret, heartbreak made complete with smooth blend self-doubt and loss of confidence aftertaste. Sounds yummy right? The good news, this is only the stuff that is going on inside of you. You have a little more control over you and what you choose to think about eventually. The bad news, you have to put up with countless questions, cosmetic sympathy and shit talk those critics or those who may know the situation. Which wouldn't be as bad had you not only had to personally witness the excitement and relief in his or her eyes once you have partaken of this event.What could be said to you to make you feel better at that moment? What words could be said to blunt the searing pain inside your chest at that very moment? Short answer - nothing. Nothing will take that feeling away except time. Time and strangely another relationship where you are willing to let all hangout.
Yea. This is what it feels like to come in second place in a fist fight, on T.V. no less. All those emotions, coupled with a banged up body and the humbling effects of it all happening in front of thousands of people maybe even millions is a bitter pill to swallow. With time the burn of the heartache fades to knowledgeable scar you can reference. The tears dry, the embarrassment fades and the physical things have healed up. Now, once the time has passed and you're ready, you jump back in the game, you will jump into that realm of the unknown again. The question isn't how much to hold back, (these is where people fuck it up I think). I'm not Dr. Drew or a relationship expert. I plan on letting it all hang out all over again! I don't fear the heart break. I can't let the fear of landing on my face prevent me from going all out, if I don't put it all of out there it seems like permeated failure. As a matter a fact the next time I go, I'm planning on going twice as hard. Push myself to get further than I did the last time I was given the opportunity. I can't wait.
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SEPTEMBER 23, 2010
SOME DEMONS LIVE IN THE SAUNA
I absolutely love watching people overcome things. Obstacles, habits, seemingly unwinnable circumstances…crossing lines that seemed out of reach. I love that shit. Maybe it’s because I grew up on the Rocky movies, (and yea ROCKY III is best I don’t care how much you swear that Rocky VI is better). I don’t know what it is that intrigues me about seeing someone grappling with their own psyche. Maybe it’s because it’s something that is somewhat of a universal truth. As long as you legitimately decide to do something nothing is really as hard to obtain as we make it out to be in our heads; a goal is never so far out of reach that we can’t do it. Big goals, little goals are all obtainable, if you’re willing to fight for it. Nobody can stop you, but most importantly, you need to be willing to fight. Willing to fight yourself and sometimes the ones you care about. Not all fights are physical either. The physical fights are generally the easy fights. Are you willing to ignore people? Maybe even close people that really do love you? Can you ignore the self-doubt? The inner voice that says it’s okay to quit. It’s okay to be average. It’s okay, you can get away with it. Sometimes when you watch sports (fights especially) you can see the inner battle going on as well as the demons, fear, and self-doubt all being exorcised; all while going through the struggle of whatever that sport requires. You don’t always win but you always learn from seeking and fighting these types of fights.
For wrestlers and fighters those demons live in the sauna. It is an incredibly hot (usually 200 degrees-ish), uncomfortable experience you go into not feeling 100 percent to begin with. Your body is physically at its limit from the previous day’s lack of food and water. Limiting what it is willing to do. This place is where you go to get rid of the last little bit of water in your body before weigh- ins. Welcome to the sauna. Wood benches with a stagnant sent of wood, faint aroma of sweat and sometimes spit.
So here you cook, as you sit. You sit with other fighters. Sometimes your opponent is right beside you. You sit with yourself physically. You sit beside yourself mentally. As the water seeps out of your skin in the disguise of sweat you can do nothing but think. Attempting to steer your thoughts in positive directions as the 200 degree air infiltrates your lungs, eventually causing your heart to accelerate to levels as if you were running the 40 yard dash. This is where your paycheck is earned.
Watching friends and brothers suffer through the process is harder than going through it yourself (for me anyway.) With that said when you come short on the end of this metal fight it is spirit crushing if you’re the one fighting. However if you fail at the first official weigh in you are given two hours to complete this fight. Yes Ii have failed to make weight twice in my career. Once when I took a local fight on a week’s notice and cut 24 pounds and missed it by three pounds (not a smart thing to say you can do, but eh I learned), and this last UFC in San Diego where i missed it by one pound. Not only is it unprofessional, its embarrassing as shit to get up on a scale naked in front of thousands of people only to fail to follow through on what you committed to doing for the opponent and fans when you signed the contract. It also cost a chunk of money, 20% or the fight all together. That one stubborn pound ended up costing me an extra $2,000 dollars. Sometimes the body shuts down before the mind like in San Diego due to poor timing of the cut or bad preparation. Those with me in San Diego witnessed it. However, sometimes the mind gives while the body is still ready to go.
This is where the strength of the team, coach, family and friends come in. Most who train will tell that their team is their family. It’s important you as the competitor have those people to in place to pull you through that dark, dark place in your mind when you wilt and cower to the heat and pressure. I have seen girlfriends motivate their man to go to a very lonely, hot and angry place. This will generally spark an anger in whoever is forcing themselves through this type of masochistic self-punishment, pushing him to cross that line that he thought was un achievable. When it’s all done and the numbers on the scale don’t lie, the demons will be silenced. The doubt, stress, and embarrassment are burdens that come with not making weight which have all been lifted due to the strong surrounding of people that believe in you. This is the real fight, the fight in the ring easy after fighting the demons of self.
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SEPTEMBER 22. 2010
TOUCH AND GO LANDING
After the torture Puzzle sessions concluded at the masochistic P3, Antwan Richardson (Jeff Glover) deported himself to Panama to pursue some kind of jiu-jitsu wizardry program and a week’s worth of his own adventures. My EPIC time with the Super Best Friends of the Glover Dome came to an end.
It was time for some of the much needed comforts that only home can provide. Things like my condo, Longstroke, Duno, the serious friend and my gym. After being gone for two weeks a new appreciation is always found for friends, family and your own gym. Time spent between family and the Lady Friend is a delicate balancing act but yes I manage. Sadly I was only home long enough to make the hugs kisses and jokes last for about four days, then it was back on the road for the week for Horn’s throw down in Bellator against Brian Baker.
The time away is that intangible challenge that comes with any profession that you never really take into consideration. I wouldnt trade my career for any other profession dont get me wrong, but when you ask yourself the famous questions that Dana White put so eloquently,. "Do you want to be a fighter? It’s not all signing autographs and bangin’ broads. It’s not. It’s no fuckin fun. It’s fuckin hard work. It’s a job. Just like any other job." Yes, Dana I want to be a fighter and I’m doing my best. So with this speech fresh in my mind I will drink a cup of shut the hell up and ride the bull.
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SEPTEMBER 17, 2010
TIME TO COME HOME
Coming of age, rites of passage, paying dues, or hazing. A rite of passage is a ritual event that marks a person's progress from one status to another.
I don't know what it is about accomplishing something or finally being prepared to advance to the next level that makes people think we have to do something to this guy as a sign of respect amongst peers. In a silly way it makes me chuckle to myself, because I have been a participant in some of these ceremonies. Blood wings in the military. This is where you have made your final exit out of an aircraft in Airborne School, military jumping out of airplanes. You receive the coveted jump "wings" which are placed on the uniform. Once they are placed on your uniform without the backs on the pin portion, they are then punched into your chest symbolizing the bloodshed of the paratroopers before you.
Well my latest rite of passage ceremony that I participated in was at Paragon Jiu-Jitsu. It's crazy how this type of abuse tends to bring people together LOL. A special "Belt Promotion" practice is held. Yes, there is about the upper end of 30 to 40-ish people invited to this practice held by the senior black belt of the school, Ricardo “Franjinha” Miller. After some announcements, everybody lines up facing each other forming what would become a gauntlet of pain and admiration. The student getting promoted takes off his gi belt then his gi top. Standing at the two rows of students, with the black belts at the opposite end he bites down on his gi belt and places his hands above his head. While he was disrobing the rest of the class was removing the gi belts anxiously awaiting him. Yes he is going to make the walk between the two rows of peers as he gets whipped once by each person. Now when I say he gets whipped I'm not exaggerating in the slightest. This guy got lashings that would make the slaves in the 1700s shutter. Upon reaching Franjinha he is greeted with a hand shake and a hug given his new belt that he will now bite down, and then sent back on the same path that got him there receiving the same merciless strappings down to the white belts then back to black belts. Being that I just got my birthday beating at my own gym, I think I will keep my white belt. Besides I have seen how they did Toby in "Roots"
With the clock slowly expiring on my time in Santa Barbara, one last gathering of the alter egos was had. Antwan, Lavander and Dan, Jeff's roommate who would become known as
"Montgomery." This night was the night that reminded me most of home. Just a small gathering of friends. A few new faces, but all quality people. Now my basketball skills far exceed that of my beer pong skills and yea we get smashed in the first game. Next thing I know Lavander and Antwan are doing "Jerk" and the "Dougie" yup the west side's finest getting it in, off of Tecate awesomeness. Lots of shit talk somewhere along the line, my S&M mask complete with ear muffs gets busted out.
"Montgomery." This night was the night that reminded me most of home. Just a small gathering of friends. A few new faces, but all quality people. Now my basketball skills far exceed that of my beer pong skills and yea we get smashed in the first game. Next thing I know Lavander and Antwan are doing "Jerk" and the "Dougie" yup the west side's finest getting it in, off of Tecate awesomeness. Lots of shit talk somewhere along the line, my S&M mask complete with ear muffs gets busted out.
What is it that makes a person okay with them hitting you and you not hitting them back? Should you ever be graced with Lavander's presence remember this, do not play these kind of games with Lavander. He means no harm and things are done in fun but he will put his hands on you. Somewhere along the way one of the female friends and training partners of the fellas starts talking about training and what not. Things are a little hazy how they got to this point. But she says, "I wanna punch you." My response being, "you can hit me long as I can hit you back." so I put on my mask and she thumps with an elbow right after she says "I was hoping it would fit through the hole." She thumped me pretty good. "Okay my turn," she puts on the mask. CRRRAAAAKKKK!!! One elbow server cold, targeted to the forehead portion of the mask. Now I didn't hit her as hard as I could, just solid. "HOLY SHIT DUDE!" as the apartment erupts in laughter. "I didn;'t think you were gonna do it." As she is standing there between the sobering fact that she just ate an elbow, she asks, "why did you do that?" Typical Lavander. 'Why did you let me?'
The force of the elbow left a friction burn from the straps of the headgear right on the forehead. The following morning, I wake up and go to the bathroom to find my gimp mask hung from the mirror in the bathroom with a face drawn on the mirror. The note reads, "OUCH MY HEAD you !@#$" After viewing my present on the bathroom mirror Dan emerges from his room." Dude, I think that girl was diggin you, till you fuckin clubbed her in the forehead." I chuckle, "Yea she didn't say much to me after that."
Another epic gathering and awesome night at the Glover Dome.
Fuckin Lavander stikes again.
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SEPTEMBER 16, 2010
DAY EIGHT – WHATEVER THE MIND WILL HANDLE, THE BODY WILL ADJUST TO
The torturous aches of lactic acid build up, muscle spasms along with walking funny are all second nature now. I don’t remember what not being sore feels like. On the upside of things, life in the roach motel has come to an end. No more drunk bum conversations outside my barred windows or train station alarm clock. No more being confined to a room that is as wide as my wing span or people above me practicing for the damn midget toss. Now it’s off to the Glover Dome.
The Glover Dome is an apartment on the west side of Santa Barbara where Jeff and his roommate Dan reside. We have all had those post high school friends whose doors are always open and you are always welcome. The quaint two bedroom apartment know as The Glover Dome is a revolving door of friends neighbors and Paragon Ju-Jitsu students. I have never been to college but it’s what I imagine a frat house to be like. The front room is outfitted with grey and red zebra mats capable of having two matches going on at the same time. The kitchen is that of any bachelor, housing dishes and minimal cooking stuff plus a fridge full of condiments and beers. Two amazingly comfortable couches with barstools as a the dining table. Assorted TapouT, NOGI and random stickers litter the mirrors, fridge and cupboards throughout the place. And best of all, no shared bathroom. So with that, not to mention it’s free, I will consider it home for the next couple of days. One thing I have noticed throughout the stay here in Santa Barbara and even more so now that I have entered the Glover Dome. The vast differences in personalities is what I have found the most entertaining common denominator in a bite size melting pot of Santa Barbara, California. I’m willing to bet that gyms across the world all have these types of personas but I wanted to share this anyway.
The All-American
This is the guy who appears to have it all; generally a good looking metro-sexual pretty boy type. You can tell that he pays close attention to the outfits he puts together solely to come to the gym. They are generally a former college athlete of sorts (picture football, baseball and wrestler types) who graduated with a need to conquer other brag-able endeavors. Technically skilled type A personalities driven to be the best, with the slightest hint of vanity. He rocks the nicer gear whatever it maybe be, the latest pair of TapouT fight shorts, the Hayabusa golves or the emasculate white gi with patches sewn perfectly causing his it to resemble that of a NASCAR. The All-American is generally a nice guy and competes like a beast. Guys will make fun of his meticulate well put together outfits causing him to smash them in practices. Gay men and women love him for his sense of style good personality, and ruggedly handsome appearance. Then there are the haters who can’t stand him, generally a small case of envy for the good looks, attention, or inherent confidence that a person like this radiates.
The Professionals
These are those successful and educated people. Almost the overly successful types that make you question why they would participate in rough, rowdy sports like submission wrestling, boxing, or MMA. ‘I would be out spending money if I were you.’ is generally what i was thinking as I talk these people. They are the the doctors, the lawyers, engineers and architects. The value of education and responsibility to follow through allow them to progress quickly through the ranks that they chose. You know the professions that make the type of money that if you and I made I wouldn’t leave the house. However the responsibilities and pressures of the career path leave a void that can only be filled by physical conflict. This is where you tend to find the guys that have all the technical skills, responsibility in training and physical attributes to be a at the apex of their chosen hobby. Whether it’s the top weekend warriors of local tourneys or even the national tourneys, I have always admired the responsibility of these guys in regular life and commitment to their craft. However with the good comes the bad. Another loosely common theme with these type of folks are that they usually hate their job/careers and would rather be training full-time which just serves as further evidence that money can’t buy real happiness.
The Scientist
Science and Mathamatics. Both areas of these academic courses focus solely on "HOW" you get to an end result, a process which is rarely if ever deviated from. The guy who is more worried about the counter before fully understanding the attack he should be drilling. With the application of a formula to solve problems, these guys I find are the types who have very set patterns in their grappling, boxing or MMA training. The formula would read something like, Takedown A, to get to Position B to isolate opponent’s X with counters D and E ready to go. I know those who have ever trained at more than one gym know exactly what I’m talking about. Trying to convey information in the simplest terms pains the scientist. Instructor says, "put this here because that’s where it is best and safest place for this situation.” The Scientist, "well what if he does this, I saw the counter in my 10th Planet book.” Instructor, "that’s not what we are drilling." "But if I where to counter you with this? What you do to recounter?" says The Scientist. This is where I usually glaze over in agreement and let smart guy learn half of each technique then smash on him with what we were drilling in the first place. Yes you can be very smart and still be dumb at the same time. No question is a dumb question but instead of waiting for your turn to talk, just drill the fucking move. ; )
The Artist
The Artist is the guy usually chilling on the mat and stretching for hours to grapple his 10 minute session (yup better limber up). He could be a previous practitioner of some discipline like Jeet Kune Do black belt or Tae Kwon Do, some of the sorts. Deeply involved in the other physically challenging as well as the spiritual aspects of the art (this tends to couple nicely with yuppie stoner types). Things like yoga, meditation and inner meaning absorbs this guy. This tends to lend itself to hippies, tree huggers and humanitarians of the realm of combat sports, This guy wont be able to explain how he does what he does but rather just feels what’s happening and simply applies. Sometimes the persecuted poet full of angst, looking to lash out in a controlled enviorment. This is a rather eccentric type of personality, straddling the borderline of crazy also mimicking shades of genius. His method of problem solving used by The Artist is the polar opposite of The Scientist often leaving you asking yourself "why didn’t i think of that?" Where the scientist is concerned with "the formula" and rules associated to get you to the end result, The Artist’s objective is to "flow" until the end result presents itself to him. He doesn’t really know how he got to the end result. He just knows he got there.
He is the guy that if you ask him to break down how he did a technique, he would look at you blankly and kind of stumble his way through an explanation when you know, he didn’t really think that in depth about it at the time. How he got to this technique he couldn’t explain how he did it to save his life. But, if you were to watch him you would swear to God he had been practicing these moves for years. Generally the guys who can be gone for extended amounts of time and reappear, seamlessly pulling off advanced techniques without missing a beat.
The Ironman
Every gym loves but hates this guy. This guy’s whose cardio closely resembles that of a fine tuned performance motor for the 24 hour GP races. Grappling sessions with him will be kept at redline levels for either one five minute round or a single two hour round. His genetics you would swear, God himself created on a Monday when he had an idea he wanted to try something out after watching the Terminator. Unlike you, who God saw it fit to throw together some random leftover pieces late on a Saturday night. Competing against this guy makes you question yourself and how you are so fat, disgusting and out of shape. Matches usually end with a forfeit of pride and yielding to the cowardness that only fatigue can bring on. The guy who unintentionally mocks your ego as you struggled through three rounds of conditioning after wrestling. There he is after practice, after conditioning no less doing gi pull ups. When you hear his complaints of how he got "tired", this normally causing you to internal freakout levels that would make postal workers proud your lungs had not burned and muscles not pumped battery acid. So I put my hands in my pocket, shrug and say, "not my fault God built me at 11:50 p.m. on a Saturday night."
The HoodKids
Fist fighting doesn’t impress the ones that have been submerged in lesser neighborhoods where that is how misunderstandings are handled. These kids usually come off years more mature than the actual years reflect. I have learned, ‘it’s not so much the year, sometimes it’s the mileage.’ Never strangers to confrontation, they welcome it. They embrace the opportunity to do something that comes so natural to them. Poor kids, hood kids, socially awkward rejects of sorts looking for a small slice of the world where they are comfortable. These are the kids who can’t afford their own gear right off the bat, so they borrow a pair of golves everytime they come to gym or use the broken down pairs that live at the gym. They have the hand-me-down gis because its simply all they can afford.
Going against Hood Kids in a training scenario situations can easily spiral into a real problem with very real consequences. Consequences like, you leave the gym with black eyes, a bloody nose or popped tendons. Whether it’s pride, wanting to belong or respect, if you watch him compete, it’s done as if there is a chip on his shoulder. There’s a burning desire to make it which he wears on the sleeve of his gi. No matter how bleak the situation may appear he is gonna attack it. The trick is hoping that these kids are able to stay focused on training and not becoming distracted with other aspects of neighborhood life. It doesn’t matter if it’s the neighborhood, the trailer park or just plane shitty parenting that has instilled the fearless approach of an iron will and a stomach capable of smiling at the sight of his own blood as easily as the site of yours. Don’t disrespect the "kids" the kids wont come at you. If your entrenched in battle with Hood Kids be prepared to hurt, because certainly they are ready.
The Class Clown
With all the seriousness that some invest in training and competing in bjj, boxing, or MMA the Class Clowns are the guys that take the edge off. They generally approach their sport with a child like joy. Think back to when you were 110 percent happy to be outside playing on the playground. The only rule you had to worry about, being back home before street lights came on. These are the guys always smiling, even when laboring away through inhumane levels of abuse of training or actual fights. They crack jokes and talk shit though conditioning, no matter how horrible it may be. Its doesn’t bother them. Mentally they appear to be somewhere else - a happy place with a petting zoo, ice cream, or where bikini clad women serve them tacos and beer. A place that they have to tell you about to keep you from bursting out your jugular. They’re truly just happy to be doing what they love to be doing.
These guys tend to be the heartbeat and souls of whatever gym they are apart of. Remove that person from their gym and the whole personality and dynamic of the gym as a whole changes. Though they may be loud and borderline obnoxious sometimes, he pays closer attention than you would think. He is somewhere between The Scientist and The Artist. He is smart enough to apply a formula and if it’s not working capable of creating his opportunities. All while loving every single min of smashing you while cracking jokes. The Clowns can sometimes be mistaken for being disrespectful due to his sense of humor. Don’t be so serious all time. Remember you signed up and pay to do this because it’s fun. Don’t be mad at the kid who’s having more fun than you on the same play ground.
XMEN
These guys come in all shapes forms and sizes. Whether its sharp intellect, gorilla like strength, blue skin of Beast or the jovial personality and teleporting ability of Night Crawler, just like mutants in Xmen these players have gifts. For some it’s abnormal strength, Aquaman like lung capacity making chokes useless, Playdough like flexibility, duel hinged knee joints or some other dark gift God handed out that I happened to miss out on. As you train with these guys, you keep a separate playbook just for them because the average everyday stuff can’t work when he summons his dark gift. Tread lightly, expect the unexpected and approach with an open mind. With every superpower there is an Achilles heel. It’s up to you to find it, maybe even find a mutant power of your own...
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SEPTEMBER 13, 2010
DAY SEVEN – FALLING BACK IN LOVE
Falling back in love for all the right reason let me explain:
Odds are, I am not the only person that has been slapped in the face with the cruel stick reality while fantasizing about things that could of been, or I would have done. ‘Had I only been given the chance to prove myself.’ Or, ‘if i could have only done or said this, the results would be 100 percent different.’ Or, ‘Had I put my whole self into the pursuit of ..... I wouldn’t be where I am now.’ Sounds a lot like Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite don’t it? Coulda, woulda, shoulda are the words of the regretful I choose not to use.
Not a soul on earth is exempt from the stories of "the one that got away." Whether it had been a person that entered your life for an allotted amount time, a fumbled career opportunity or just a plain bad decision making choices. Fortunately for us, The Late Great JC himself doesn’t expect you or I to be perfect and perform life flawlessly (thank you Jesus) We will be afforded plenty of opportunities to fail, fumble, hurt and most importantly learn. Learn from the missteps, fumbles, and lack of experience. Be comfortable with your mistakes is how I see it. That’s God himself sanding your soul and refining your will and mental acumen. If you are being molded into a better person how angry can you really get?
Odds are, I am not the only person that has been slapped in the face with the cruel stick reality while fantasizing about things that could of been, or I would have done. ‘Had I only been given the chance to prove myself.’ Or, ‘if i could have only done or said this, the results would be 100 percent different.’ Or, ‘Had I put my whole self into the pursuit of ..... I wouldn’t be where I am now.’ Sounds a lot like Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite don’t it? Coulda, woulda, shoulda are the words of the regretful I choose not to use.
Not a soul on earth is exempt from the stories of "the one that got away." Whether it had been a person that entered your life for an allotted amount time, a fumbled career opportunity or just a plain bad decision making choices. Fortunately for us, The Late Great JC himself doesn’t expect you or I to be perfect and perform life flawlessly (thank you Jesus) We will be afforded plenty of opportunities to fail, fumble, hurt and most importantly learn. Learn from the missteps, fumbles, and lack of experience. Be comfortable with your mistakes is how I see it. That’s God himself sanding your soul and refining your will and mental acumen. If you are being molded into a better person how angry can you really get?
As long as a lesson is taken away from each failed attempt and more importantly growth occurs from the lesson endured. Good things will happen in due time. That’s what I’m slowly coming to realize. I don’t posses the ability to make the things that I want to happen if they aren’t in the cards that were dealt. Maybe, it just wasn’t your time, no matter what you were feeling. Could it be something was lacking in your preparation or simply that you are struggling to make something happen that was not meant to? Some of the tribulations will be a simple test. Others though maybe viewed as finals.With focus, timing, and preparation being new key factors in my own life that I have chosen to pay closer attention to, I end up asking myself if all three things factors are aligned correctly. ‘If you love something let it go. If it comes back to you it’s yours. If it doesn’t it never was.’ If this is truly is the case, then I am in love. It’s all mine.
Today I put on a gi (martial arts uniform that looks like pajamas) for the first time in what seems like decades. It’s been about seven to eight years to be exact. Among the shuffle of regular life and my attention being diverted to other facets of life, we had lost touch. Over the years things with the relationship had lost priority. I used to be completely consumed with her; at times she would keep me up at nights thinking of all the possibilities of her and me. I had lists of things I was going to do with her, places we would go and sites we were going to visit. Now, it’s almost as if I had outgrown the relationship. A lot like a person’s first big kid relationship that usually takes place in high school. The plant had simply outgrown the pot and needed room to grow. Eventually forfeiting the goals I set for myself and us, focusing on other endeavors. I replaced the time I thought about her with thoughts of others. Eventually so little time had been spent with one another it feels the relationship had died all together. It’s a case of your first love that is so real to you but just not your time, eventually becoming consumed with other girlfriends and relationships. I would see her around time to time over the years but the distance between the two of us persisted. I would always think about her though. I would check in time to just to make sure we were on good terms. Never burn a bridge you may end up crossing again.
Then, BAM out of nowhere like a form of divine intervention - our paths come together almost 10 years later, both of us being shells of what we used to know previous. The new excitement is shared between us and burns as hot as it did when we first met. The comfort and ease of things between the two of us comes effortlessly. Running into you like this is refreshing to say the least. "Let’s not let this be the last time we spend with one another," just like the spark to kindle the fire starts slow and now it will be coached to a fire that I will always maintain. That spark restarted a fire that now I am prepared to keep burning. The time we spend now times seems to fly by and I am consumed with thoughts of you once again. With the lessons learned from the time we have spent apart, I am far better equipped to receive what you have to offer. I loved you and left you alone. Now here we are and it is you who found me. I’m comfortable in saying this is meant to be.
I can still hear the words of my late grandma echoing. "A reason, a season or a lifetime." Some things happen for a reason, others only for a season and a handful - for a lifetime. Our job is to handle them accordingly. I feel lucky to say that I knew I loved it the first time we met, and you will be with me for a life time. ; )
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Day SIX - ANTWAN MEET LAVANDER
Antwan Richardson (Jeff) and Lavender Eastwood (me) do Santa Barbara. How many times have you woken up the day after a night of collegiate levels of drinking and heard, "You will never guess what you did last night." This, followed by stories of how a pack or rabid bigger girls was rubbing all over AND you loved it! Or, “I can't believe you tried to talk to that cop into using his taser on you? What the hell is wrong with you? (all true stories by the way). That person consuming large amounts of alcohol with lowered inhibitions would be your alter ego making horrible decisions for you. The inner fun loving brash demon that says, ‘it's ok go ahead take that shot, it's all in fun.’ The decisions made by this form of your alter ego leaves nothing but questions to be answered by you guessed it - normal little ole you. Let’s meet Lavander.
NOTE TO SELF: Any time a night starts with you double fisting Heinekens, followed up 10 minutes later by the question, "tequila or whiskey? You have to pick one dude." Just know you’re in for a long night. Upon receiving my ultimatum, the decision had EPIC FAIL written all over it. Picture Frank the Tank from Old School, "it just feels good once it hits you lips, let’s go, fill it up again!" I will take the Jamison. Now, Lavander Eastwood was born on the show and branded by "The Meat Missile" Mark Miller under very similar circumstances.
Lavander came to be, while hanging out with long lost cousin Dennis Clifton (Mark) after winning the first fight for the U.S. team on the show. Mark and I begin to flirt with the idea or drinks in the house. "There’s no harm in one drink? Besides, I'm a grown fuckin man. If I wanna a drink I can have damn drink," was my way of rationalizing. One drink turned to 3/4 a gallon of vodka before you know it, Dennis and Lavender are running amuck and hilarity ensues. Ending with me answering questions the next morning like, "Dude, do you remember Mark rocking zoombas and you standing there in just your Thai cup, rash guard, and black Tapout socks?" Fuckin’ Lavander.
As I was explaining the origins of Lavander to Jeff while he proudly rocked his extremely metro sexual pinstriped Alicia Keys hat among the rockabilly crowd, he stops me dead in my tracks. "Bro what’s my name?" I paused, looked him over, while he is standing there in his Tapout hoodie, plucking his pool stick as if it were a bass guitar (so he's gotta be black right?) ; ) "Dude you are now Antwan Richardson." This is the Bong hitting, beer drinkin, skate boarding, jiu-jitsu funny guy who now has someone to blame things on. Remember that guy that got choked out by his petite loving girlfriend right in front of the cops? Yup that’s Antwan.
I wish i could say I remember more of went on this night, but somewhere between switching from Jamison, to Crown, a tequila, and beers I had forgot to take a note or two, other than I have to be to P3 at 9 a.m. but the good news is I still have my phone, and didn’t get beat up.
Fuckin’ Lavander.
SEPTEMBER 11, 2010
DAY FIVE AT P3 - DWILL AND C.J.
There is something about the presence of people who you in a way look up to that are capable of bringing new found levels out in yourself. At this morning's P3 session I found myself solving the Saw like puzzles of exercise and self abuse alongside some real life professional athletes - Deron Williams and C.J. Miles from the Utah Jazz. I don't know why the inner competitor wins out instead of rational thought. I guess one would find it easier to be pushed by others than to push one's self. The workout this morning included lots of weight lifting. Now, I workout yes, but I have never legitimately been able to say I love lifting heavy shit. Will I do it? I guess I try. But, I will bitch and moan like I did when my Mom wouldn't let me leave the table until I knew all of my spelling words for the spelling test on Friday. It is a necessary evil I assume and yea the shit canning Riddle handed me was all the motivation needed to do something as mundane as lifting weights.
I have never been one to become star struck. The way I see it, stars put pants on just like me. So rather than bother C.J. or Deron as a typical basketball fan between sets, I just focus on the task at hand. Surviving another visit with Lucifer the body Nazi is a chore in and of itself. Eventually I was officially introduced to Deron and C.J. both of whom I have met several times between working at the local club they have been in and C.J. and I get our haircut by the same barber. Professional athletes in the past whom I have met have always seemed to have this air of entitlement to themselves which is generally why I just leave them alone. Realistically they are no different than me, other than they have some nicer things and arein a higher tax bracket so why get stupid over em?
This air of 'I'm special because I make a lot of money.' was never apparent to me with these guys. They were cool down to earth dudes. I asked C.J. if he had got to the fun part of his workout yet as he replied "it's all fun, just don't make me run." It's funny how all athletes find some portion of their workout that is legitimately work. More so in that it's usually more mentally hard than physically hard. Deron told me how he likes to train (grappling, wrestling, etc.) every now and then. Probably to quiet his inner wrestler. Some may not know this but Deron actually wrestled for nine years, and makes time to go wrestle around some of the local gyms back in SLC. I'm definitely a fan of these guys, not so much cause they are good at a game, more so because they are cool people.
I'm also learning plenty about the theories of Jeff Glover's grappling game. Sharpening the finer points of my own game. Today was actually a pretty mellow day. Between conditioning and grappling today things were actually on the mellow side.
SEPTEMBER 9, 2010
DAY 4 - HOME SICK
Home sick slowly coming on and I can feel it. Did you know that raccoons climb down trees head first? Probably not. How about that raccoons wash their food every time before they eat it? Maybe, maybe not? Raccoons are closer to being related to bears than anything feline like I had originally thought. How about the killer raccoon in Washington that killed 10 cats and a dog - but those were the "urban" Raccoons probably getting territorial on the west side of Olympia. I’m not sure why I found these facts so interesting or even why it happened to be a raccoon of all animals, which some may consider cute, is still commonly referred to as a pest.
Maybe it’s a form of escapism from the reality that slowly sets in on every trip. Let me explain... In the time that I have spent away from friends and family over the last 10 years I have learned to be okay with extended amounts of time spent among strangers, new friends, new countries, new cultures and new environments all together. This experience is what helped me stay focused during the taping of the show. Every man has a breaking point. For some it’s days, some months. Yes there are those who would appear so gangster not to need anyone. Those are ones I still try to figure out and aspire to be like. More so because nothing appears to get to them (much like the look on Fedor’s face). Things though lately have begun to change over the last few years. Particularly with my son being born, I now have a reason to be home for the first time in my life and makes trips away for weeks at a time hard to take. With my time in the army, everything about friends and family felt so far away. With a single phone call I could be caught up on gossip with friends and what’s going on with the family. However, I have never felt like I legitimately missed out on other than a few weddings until now.
My phone rings as I happen to be on break. Caller ID reads “baby’s mamma” (crude but true ID). As I answer the phone, "hello?" an enthused but small voice exclaims into the speaker of the phone. "DAD!!! GUESS WHAT!?!!! I GOT A LOOSE TOOF." Upon hearing his little joyful voice, an instant smile resonates across my sweaty face. Attempting to match the excitement of a five-year-old’s first loose tooth and the future financial gain is a challenge directly following a physical output that had you questioning yourself as a man. Beaming with a smile I forget about the burning in my shoulders or discomfort of my pumped forearms. "OH YEA BUDDY? THATS GREAT BUDDY,” I say. "YUP, I’M GONNA PUT IT UNDER MY PILLOW AND DEN THE TOOF FAIRY IS GONNA COME AND LEAVE SOME MONEY AND I’M GONNA SAVE IT," he rushes to get out all in one big breath. It was right at this moment, I wanted to be home. This and things like this are what I unknowingly sacrifice on trips like this. This is the backpack full of emotional and mental stones that will cloud thoughts and divert attention, forcing you to want to leave early. Worrying about what is going on at home eats at you like a cancer that you have to be cautious in how it’s dealt with. Becoming overly consumed with what is going on at home instead of the present seems to handcuff a person mentally. Whether it’s your wife, your girlfriend, kids, friends or family, it becomes a burden that swells and fells so very heavy in your heart once you dwell on it. "OH MAN, THATS GREAT BUDDY." I know he doesn’t understand the full scope of what’s going on but he asks, "DAD. Are you doing good?" as in am I winning and again I cant help but smile and say "YUP." "Your good huh Dad?" As he double checks on what’s important in his world of Ironman, Spiderman, and basketball he asks "I’m gonna start wresslin soon huh?" "Yup." as the end of my break approaches. We wrap up our conversation with him quoting in only a way that is truly a father and son moment. "Dad I gotta tell you something." "Oh yea?