An Uchideshi Experience: Chapter Eight
Sports and the Religious Experience of the UFC
I was still going to high school in Canada when my friend Aaron casually mentioned that there was going to be some kind of fighting event on pay-per-view. I asked what kind of fighting would be in this competition, and he told me, “Every kind. It’s going to be karate vs. tae kwon do, judo vs. savate, jiu-jitsu vs. something. It’s going to be everything vs. everything.”
The first thing out of my mouth was, “Are they going to have aikido in there?”
“I don’t think so,” he said, “I looked, but I didn’t see anything.”
Well, somehow or another, I thought Aaron was going to record it. I remember him saying he was going to record it, but when I asked how the show was the next Monday at school, he said he didn’t know. This was not what I wanted to hear.
“What do you mean you don’t know? Weren’t you supposed to record it?”
“Yah, but I didn’t have any money.”
I was a disappointed, but it wasn’t a huge deal since I didn’t know what I was missing out on. I did hear what happened, though. Aaron and I were at the gym and one of the regulars there had seen it. He explained how it worked: it was a tournament; you had to fight twice to get to the finals, and it had been a pretty good show. I asked him who won, and he said,
“This little guy from Brazil. He did jiu-jitsu. He was really sneaky, you know. Someone would try to punch him, he’d duck and get behind and choke ‘em, or put them in some kind of joint-lock.”
That’s pretty smart, I thought to myself. “Do you remember his name?”
He thought about it for a minute, “It was, uh, God, it was something like… Man, I thought I had it there. Sorry.”
Other guys in the gym were listening to the conversation, and they piped in their opinions. “Hey, you know who I really want to see in there? Chuck Norris. Yah, either that or Steven Seagal. I’d love to see those guys kick ass.”
That was basically the consensus. They wanted to see some of the movie stars get in there and mix it up. Not to see if they could really do it, that thought didn’t even enter into the picture. These guys wanted to see the moves done in movies actually executed at full speed, with full contact. Now that’s entertainment!
Somebody’s recollection of a fight is a poor substitute to actually seeing it, so I was very pleased to see ads come up for another tournament a few months later. And this time, I wasn’t going to take any chances with Aaron being low on funds. I went through the necessary steps of going to the cable company, getting a pay-per-view box, slapping down the deposit, setting it up, and having my two buddies over for the fight. Such things should not be subject to chance.
I was really curious what it was going to be like. I’ll admit that I thought it would be a lot more like the movies. Lots of fancy spinning, jumping, flying high kicks, an occasional throw, maybe a little stuff on the ground before they scrambled back up to their feet to punch and kick again. But I wasn’t expecting what I saw.
UFC II is the most brutal of them all, but also the most illuminating to the classical martial artist. Inoki Ichihara, an incredible karate practitioner from Japan, was easily taken out of his element by Royce Gracie, that “sneaky” Brazilian, and choked into submission. Pat Smith took on Scott Morris, a ninjitsu stylist, and elbowed him into both semi-consciousness and reconstructive surgery. And Johnny Rhodes fought Fred Ettish, in an infamous bout that I remember as the epitome of a martial artist meeting a street fighter.
As I watched, my heart actually went out to Fred. Here he was, a small, wiry guy, probably pretty strong for his size, walking into a mixed martial arts competition with a traditional karate mentality. Even though he stated that he had ultimate faith in both his style and his sensei, I don’t really think he understood that this was an entirely different game, that this was not sparring as he knew it.
When he squared off against Johnny Rhodes, he assumed an orthodox karate posture, and fired a crisp front snap kick far away from his target. Basically, all it took was one good overhand right from Johnny (who had been around the block a few times, you could tell), and Fred Ettish fell to the ground, a big gash above his eye, not knowing what to do, but realizing that he was losing very, very badly. I’ve got to give him credit, his heart allowed him to hang on, and consequently, he took quite a beating.
By the end of the show, it had all been laid out in front of us. Royce Gracie (people were starting to remember his name at this point), had easily rolled through another tournament. The wind had been knocked out of the sails of the classical camp, and illusions of stylistic invincibility were gone. Well, except for maybe Gracie Jiu-Jitsu.
In its place, a new sport was born. Sure, it was a little rough around the edges, not terribly graceful, and it shamelessly played up the possibility of catastrophic injuries through the “no rules” slant (which it would later regret). But at least it had begun with a bang.
I’d never really liked sports before. Whether they were individual or team, it didn’t matter. My parents never pushed it and since it was up to me, I didn’t get involved in traditional youth activities (football, baseball, basketball, or hockey in Alaska) because I didn’t have any interest.
I tried a few things in high school, but it all seemed pretty pointless. If you devoted your life to getting ahead in competitive athletics, you might win a scholarship to a college where you could continue to compete. Then, if you were in an elite minority, you could turn pro after school. That is, if there were professional organizations in your particular sport. If you were a wrestler, you could go to the Olympics, but then what? Coach? Same thing for cross-country skiing, gymnastics, diving, whatever. It just didn’t click with me. Why would I want to play football when I, most likely, wouldn’t ever play again after high school? I wanted something that could serve me in the long run.
Then martial arts came into the picture. They were a sport, a discipline, an art, and a means of social interaction that I could continue for the rest of my life. Plus, let’s not forget, I’d learn martial skill.
But they didn’t have trading cards, pennant races, huge stadiums packed with fans, national news coverage, or multi-million dollar contracts for their stars. Being an action hero is the closest you can come to that kind of payoff, and that’s different from being a pure martial artist.
I never followed football, baseball, or hockey. I thought they were boring. I probably would have enjoyed, or at least appreciated those sports, had I played. But this was something I did play, something that I could follow, something I could lose myself in by merely watching.
Maybe there’s something that I missed along the way. Whether it’s simple idolatry, a vicarious extension past your athletic limits, or just a way for a boy to dream, I think following your favorite sport is important. Although Noam Chomsky may analyze it down to a distraction for the masses, keeping our attention diverted from things that really affect our lives, like political policies, I still think it’s important. It adds a little drama to our day; it may inspire us, or inform us of the struggles and triumphs of others on a stage for all to see. At the very least, it gives us a little extra impetus to roll out of bed in the morning because we have something to look forward to.
So finally, after years of watching major sporting events apathetically, I realized what the magic of sports was all about through the UFC. Finally, a sport that I practiced, understood, and personally identified with had come into existence, and I was hooked. It took everything: boxing, kickboxing, judo, jiu-jitsu, karate, tae kwon do, wrestling, and whatever else you want to throw into the mix; combined it, and allowed me to witness with my own eyes answers to martial questions I had been struggling with for years. All done in a format that, to me at least, was undeniably real.
For others however, it’s not quite as convincing. I’m not talking about the close-minded, uneducated conservatives who think it’s human cockfighting and are determined to ban it. I’m talking about our own brothers in the martial arts community! They refuse to listen to the Word, to the Truth, to the Light of the UFC. I find it difficult to believe that they would rather close their eyes and damn themselves than be born again under a new baptism.
There’s not much I can do other than shake my head. You can try to spread the Word, but you have to be very subtle because, by and large, people don’t want to hear it. They get very defensive very quickly if they feel you’re insinuating that their art is ineffective.
I should know. I did, and I still do from time to time when people tell me the arts I’ve studied don’t work. Judo, jujutsu, aikido, iaido, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu; all have come under attack at one time or another by other martial artists. I take it all in stride, and try to see their points from their perspective.
Others don’t. They wear blinders or simply write off what they see. When I was taking tae kwon do, our assistant instructor was a freshly minted black belt, which translated to cocksure invincibility. This guy was no specimen, mind you. He was actually kind of chubby, and around 19 or 20 years old, but he had these freakishly flexible hips that allowed him to throw kicks in amazing directions. I have to say he was good at tae kwon do, but still not awe inspiring. When I asked him about the UFC, he immediately revealed his deeply rooted misunderstanding of the reality of combat.
“The UFC? Yah, I’ve seen that. Those guys, ahh, they’re not really good. I’ve seen them. They’re really slow, and some of the guys are pretty sloppy. If someone tried to shoot in on me, I’d kick their head off.”
I’d like to hear him say that while Ken Shamrock or Royce Gracie are in the room, but talk is cheap. Lots of people talk, lots of people talk about fighting, lots of people talk about fighting in the UFC. Few actually do it. Anyone who has the balls to walk through that crowd, step into the octagon, and throw down with everything he’s got has earned my respect, even if he loses terribly. It takes a lot of courage, and to actually be selected to compete (the caliber of fighters chosen has risen dramatically over the past few years), speaks volumes for a fighter’s physical prowess, dedication, and mental toughness to endure the training necessary to become a world-class mixed martial arts fighter.
You have to be able to put your ego aside and overcome your weaknesses, which usually entails some degree of starting over. If you’re a great grappler, and can’t humble yourself into seeking out a boxing coach and take a few shots learning to survive on your feet, you won’t survive in the UFC. It’s the same for a lot of strikers who need to learn grappling. You have to be able to become that empty cup that many martial artists wax on about, but haven’t actually checked for awhile. It’s survival of the fittest, plain and simple.
Which is why I think a lot of people simply ignore the UFC. Maybe it will just go away and they can go back to teaching tae kwon do (or whatever) in isolation, without having to have this constant visual reminder that not only have traditional arts failed to do well, but so have one-dimensional fighters. Who really wants to be reminded that an art they’ve labored in for years, and which has enriched their lives immeasurably, does very poorly against a skilled opponent?
It’s a tough one to swallow, I’ll admit, particularly if you’re an instructor and teaching that art is your livelihood. But, that’s the evolution of things, and I believe cross-training is where it’s at. On the flip side, since the instructor would already have a strong suit, it’s pretty easy to add to his knowledge, since fighting technology has never been more readily available or easily accessible.
Think about it. Fifty years ago, if you knew any martial art, and went against Joe Dirt in an alley, chances are you would have done really well. Why? Because Joe had probably had never seen anything other than boxing and wrestling before you threw that Thai kick, tossed him with a tai otoshi, or put that wrist-lock on. Taking someone by surprise through an unorthodox approach gives you a tremendous advantage.
But today? Just look in the phone book, and you can study tae kwon do, karate, kung fu, judo, jujutsu, aikido, sambo, pa kua, tai chi, boxing, kickboxing, silat, or a dozen different arts from all corners of the globe. Since the advent of the VCR, and through modern telecommunications systems such as the Internet and satellite TV, you don’t even have to live in a town with martial arts instructors to receive exposure to the latest fighting technology. Watch the UFC on a satellite dish, order a bunch of exotic martial arts videos through a magazine or the Internet, and a wealth of information will be beamed or delivered right to your door.
Ten years ago, grappling was massively underestimated by most martial artists. But today, most practitioners will now acknowledge the importance of grappling, largely because the fighting technology held by families such as the Gracies has been given public exposure through vale tudo style events.
The Gracies could have continued to convert people slowly to the effectiveness of their system; student by student, through challenge matches and Gracie in Action videotapes. Even then, some people would find it difficult to completely change their beliefs because the general consensus of the martial arts community remained the same: one punch or one kick and you’re dead.
By organizing and demonstrating the effectiveness of Gracie Jiu-Jitsu in the UFC, it forced a paradigm shift in the martial arts community at large. People being people, once the majority had acknowledged the effectiveness of grappling, a huge new market was opened with high demand, and the Gracies were there to fill it. But the technology they innovated and refined was out of their hands at that point. People saw, people studied, and people trained. Now it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the world catches up. It may take generations, but I believe it will happen.
So the cat is out of the bag, and now that it’s free, nobody knows where it’s going. It shot out like a bullet and never stopped to look back, just like the fighters who are adopting these techniques and expanding their horizons. In the few years the UFC has been around, the quality of the fighters has risen exponentially, and everybody’s learned the game. Boxing combinations, Thai kicks, double-leg takedowns, the guard, armbars, knee bars, chokes, shoulder locks, ankle locks, heel hooks, defensive footwork and octagon tactics are not simply known by an elite minority; almost every fighter entering the UFC is either highly skilled in, or at the very least familiar with, execution of all those techniques.
It’s exciting, isn’t it? Both martial arts and martial consciousness are evolving at a rate never before seen, thanks largely to the martial testing ground the UFC has provided. But, I must admit, the UFC is not the be all and end all of fighting. Actually, despite the fact that they’re really fighting, the UFC can be terribly unrealistic.
Let’s start with clothes. Most competitors in the UFC reduce clothing to a pair of tight-fitting shorts, generally unacceptable for public outings. And the he kind of clothes you’re wearing can make a large difference in a fight.
Things would be a lot different if everyone were forced to wear a gi. Not only would judo and jiu-jitsu players do a lot better because many of the techniques in their arsenal are gi dependent, but they’re also highly skilled at limiting an opponent’s mobility solely through how they grasp their clothing. Without clothing, watching two evenly matched opponents grapple can be like watching snakes: slipping, sliding, constantly reversing techniques and positions. With clothes, things are much slower, and if your opponent knows how to effectively manipulate you with what you’re wearing, you can feel pretty helpless. Believe me, I know.
Don’t forget about footwear. A lot of those foot and leg locks are much harder for opponents to wiggle out of if they’re wearing shoes. But that risk would be offset by the huge power increase generated for kicking by a pair of steel-toed boots. Can you imagine a savate champion in the UFC with a pair of cowboy boots? He may not win, but it could be a Phyrric victory for his opponent if he managed to get some shots in.
Next, let’s have the fighters begin standing face to face, with no more than a foot between them. That’s how a lot of fights start in a bar, with no Big John McCarthy asking them if they’re ready before they “get it on.” Or, if that still seems too even, flip a coin, and have the loser of the toss stand with his back to his opponent, so he can get jumped. You know, add that element of surprise.
I could go on and on with other ways the UFC could change its format to more closely approximate the conditions of a street fight. Friends, weapons, alcohol, light conditions, even the surface you’re on would change the tactics you adopt. I think you’d agree that the UFC would be much different if everyone were required to wear a T-shirt, denim jacket, a pair of jeans and steel-toed boots, then squared off in an asphalt octagon.
But it’s not like that, which in a way, gives it a kind of nobility. It’s purified combat, taking place in an environment where advantages are evened and variables minimized. It allows technique, strategy, and athleticism to shine, maximizing the safety of the competitors while still demanding them to give it their all. It is a highly controlled arena, but within the wide parameters of combat that have been established in the UFC and MMA competition, a tremendous amount of martial freedom and technical creativity is allowed.
Some martial artists I know criticize the rules established by the UFC. No biting, no eye gouging, no fishhooking, no small joint manipulation, no pressure points, and a few others that have been put in place mainly to appease the incredibly hypocritical cable companies.
Let’s go over some of these rules. As Iron Mike has shown us, biting is a savage act that may inflict permanent damage, but will not, by itself, incapacitate an opponent.
No fishooking is a good one, because if somebody sticks their finger in their opponent’s mouth, they’re taking the risk of being bitten, so it goes hand in hand with the no-biting rule.
Eye gouging may incapacitate some, but if they’re still ticking after you’ve done it, all you’ve really done is piss them off to the point where now they’re going to really hurt you.
No small joint manipulation is intended to keep people from breaking fingers and toes. But fighters are tough, and they’re able to eat that pain, especially if they have a more substantial submission nearly in place.
Overall, by entering the UFC and adhering to the rules, you’re not really giving up all that much, but some people still insist that they’re so unfairly hampered by the restrictions that they can’t really show what their arts are capable of.
My take on it is this. Yes, these can be effective techniques for primal, animalistic defense, but if you don’t have the ability to fight without your beloved eye gouge or the freedom to bite you’re severely deficient in martial ability. Using whatever it takes to survive is OK in a life or death situation, but the UFC is a method of testing martial prowess, and if you don’t want to test yourself because you believe the conditions are unfair, then when will you test yourself? When you get jumped in the street?
If that’s the only time you elect to spar, you’re not going to do very well, because you haven’t developed the attributes or timing necessary to activate your techniques or the ability to stay calm in high-pressure situations. Don’t depend on the dirty stuff, thinking it will all be over when you jab him in the eye. You may get lucky, but I wouldn’t count on it, especially with vital areas and pressure points. Pressure points work, but not under all conditions, and some people are insensitive to them. You’ve got to have a backup.
You may think the rules are limiting, but actually, it’s your limited skills that will come back to haunt you in permanently impairing somebody’s vision or biting a chunk out of a leg. Haven’t you ever lost your temper? Haven’t you ever made a mistake? Putting somebody in an immobilization or submission technique will allow time for both of you to calm down, and act as a buffer before actions are committed that may corner you into a lifetime of regret. Plus, isn’t it more admirable to be able to effectively control or subdue an attacker while injuring him as little as possible?
I think so. After all, the only time a lot of people actually get to use their martial training is holding down a drunken friend. You don’t want to hurt him, you just need him to calm down. That’s real skill and compassion, and it’s real life.
In a way, the UFC is a little bit beyond most hobby martial artists. It’s the bigtime, it’s going to “the show.” Most people are not born with the genetics of Mark Kerr, have access to the mentorship and experience of Carlson Gracie, or have the ability to devote themselves to full-time training as they do at the Lion’s Den. The ranks of professional fighters are growing, and because of the severity of their training, they are distancing themselves from your average martial arts practitioner. But that’s okay, it’s just the evolution of things.
The modern era has provided us access to the best hand to hand combat techniques from every corner of the globe, refined over centuries of experimentation. Couple this with advances in sports physiology and scientific training methods, and it should be no surprise that these fighters are the greatest martial athletes the world has ever known. Weight training, whey protein, nutritional analysis, anabolic steroids, supplementation, PNF stretching, visualization, biofeedback, target heart rates; all of these have propelled the modern athlete to push the envelope of human capability.
Which is why I don’t buy it when your average martial artist starts ragging on the realism of the UFC simply because they don’t allow things like biting and eye gouging. Even worse are those that dismiss the fighters offhand because- well, I’ll put it in their words:
“Yah, I think my sensei could take Mark Coleman or Rickson Gracie.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you serious? You really think he could beat them?”
“Of course. Those guys train for competition, and competitions have rules. They don’t train for combat. So they’re going to be limited in a real fight.”
Sometimes, I fear these people cannot be helped. Maybe they forget that their ace in the hole, the dirty stuff, can also be used by their opponent who’s developed his attributes, put in his time sparring, and knows how to be overwhelmingly aggressive. UFC fighters may not know weapon defenses, or tactics for multiple assailants, but I’ll put my money on almost any of them over a local bar tough if it’s simply fisticuffs. As an uninitiated observer of the UFC once noted, “Geez, the toughest guy on your block loses in 20 seconds!”
That’s the reality of it, and I think that’s one of the reasons why it excites me so much. There’s unpredictability in a fight, and the skill level these competitors operate at turns the martial into art. It’s breathtaking to watch two martial athletes at the top of their games square off in a contest that exemplifies the crux of the human condition. Skill, strategy, discipline, honor, respect, passion and pain intertwine momentarily in an expression of total energy and emotion. It is all beauty, it is all passion, it is all heart.
It hits me at a primal level. My heart races, appetite disappears, and pupils dilate. The UFC is my drug of choice. If they had it on as often as football or baseball, I don’t think I’d ever leave the house.
Religion must have seized people this way in the past, inspiring this kind of passionate devotion. Once the UFC is on, I’m no longer in control. The only way I can explain it is to say I am in rapture. With the light.
I couldn’t sit still during the famous Oleg Taktarov/Tank Abbot final of UFC 6, so I nervously paced in front of the television, arms folded across my chest, one hand on my chin. After Oleg finally won, I quietly pondered if God was keeping tabs on all of these quid pro quo UFC debts. I hope not. The afterlife isn’t going to be pretty if these promises actually count.
But this sport, which has revolutionized the world of martial arts, and further provided me with a wealth of information, entertainment value, and the occasional spiritual epiphany, is in danger. Some, without ever seeing the purity, skill, and athleticism of mixed martial arts competition, have consciously chosen to restrict access to viewing such events. Many of the major cable companies, hearing that it might be a political hot potato, dropped the UFC and MMA competitions from its pay-per-view service.
This is unfair on many levels. In the sport of boxing, people have died, suffered permanent brain damage, and had their ears bitten off. This is far worse than injuries competitors receive in the UFC, since most victories come through submission techniques. Unlike in the aforementioned events, MMA competitors may submit at anytime, without injury or shame, and without having to endure round after round of punishing blows to the head.
Additionally, with fewer homes to purchase the event, the economic losses of the company trickle down to the fighters. Even top-ranked fighters receive paltry sums in relation to their skills. They are professional athletes, and deserve to be compensated as their counterparts in football, baseball, and basketball are. Eventually, I believe the market will bear these salaries, but only if the events these athletes participate in are allowed to be seen by the general public. For now, they continue to do it for the love of the sport, not the lure of a big paycheck.
Whether it’s the modern continuation of combatic traditions, or the infectious passion of an emerging sport, I feel that the UFC has a lot to offer, not just to martial artists, but to everyone with an open mind. It is a microcosm, playing upon one of the most fundamental dilemmas in our existence: the uncomfortable tension of facing another person in one-on-one opposition. Yet that very confrontation has the power to enlighten us, since nothing makes you feel more alive than imminent conflict or an unavoidable fight. Our evolution and assimilation into the information age has not been without repercussions, so the UFC is simply reclaiming a vital part of our past, celebrating the human experience in greater totality.
It may not be me fighting out there in the octagon, but in a way, it is. I’m right there, every time, taking notes and inspiration from the competitors. I feel I’ve learned a lot, and realize that far beyond the biomechanics of executing techniques lie much deeper truths: Preparation is everything; there are many ways to win a fight; class is more endearing than victory; and a loss may cause a man to leave, but the fighter still remains.
These are lessons for us all, I think, and I look forward to learning more of them in the years to come, as I watch the UFC alone, quietly hoping God’s lost track of my promises…