Tag Archives: rolling

Haunted.

Hello again, you bunch of shits.

I’m still training away 3-4 times a week. My aim hasn’t changed. I still want to be better at Jiu-Jitsu than I was yesterday. That goal will never change. I haven’t been able to go to NoGi in a while, and my heart hurts as a result.

Since the Speedy visit a few weeks ago, I’ve been going harmbar mental. Drilling as much as possible, and trying to hit them in active rolling as frequently as possible. My success is varied because people know what I’m working or trying to work. I’m not very secretive in my intent. Probably doesn’t help that I’m screaming, “I’M GOING TO SNAP YOUR FUCKING ARM YOU DICK.”

Last night, whilst drilling butterfly with Paul I realised that as my armbar game has started to come on again, my kimura game has plummeted. A sacrifice if you will. I just don’t use them anymore. It’s common for me to neglect one technique for another but to have a truly rounded game I need to play with shit on the fly.
I can sequence well, so I’m not sure why I’ve suddenly just decided to spaz out on kimuras – but it’s clear I’ll need to start playing with them again.

I had a great fun roll with Ahmed last night, full of back and forth exchanges and scrambles. He’s brilliant to roll with. He almost caught me in a lapel choke, but I scrambled out like a kitten bagged up and launched into the river. On one of the scrambles I had a Matrix like moment where time stood still, I was off to his left hand side extending his arm back and the kimura was there to be taken. I grabbed hold, hit the gas and completely forgot to lock his hips in place so he scrambled out like a horrible tiny shit. Even with Matrix powers I missed the pissing kimura. It haunted me immediately afterwards, and I’ve been thinking about it since. So much so that I’m waiting on someone at work saying the wrong word. Fuck that guy, he’s getting his arm twisted off like a bottle-top.

Cheerio y’all.

Pressure.

Welcome back y’all. I’m here to ring in the New Year the only way I know how, by flinging shite at you until you go away.

In the lead up to Christmas, I normally get antsy because impending break knocks my chakra to fuck. Legitimately though, I turn into an even more pissy cunt than usual. Jiu-Jitsu balances me. It kills the ills, as it were.
Luckily this year, I was fortunate enough to catch training sessions here and there to tide me over until classes officially started back up again on Monday.

Today, some two days after that first official class back – myself, Danny, Grant & Sean flung ourselves into a car and hurtled down to Newcastle for a session with our good pal Dave ‘Speedy’ Elliot. It’s 180 miles each way, to get beaten up for a few hours before grabbing some food, and heading back. It’s a LONG fucking day, but it’s worth it for the wealth of knowledge that Speedy will impart whilst you’re there.

Regrettably Speedy invited along my arch-nemesis. His son Tyrone is a four stripe brown belt that has been bullying me on the mats since he was 15 years old. He does the whole nice guy thing well, but I know his game. He’s out to get me. Bastard.

Today we focused on side control and a plethora of armbar attacks from there. It was something I’d wanted to play with, and it was also a great way to better understand this mystical pressure that Speedy keeps talking about.

I cannot appropriately describe the horrendous amount of pressure demonstrated in each armbar. My arms felt like they were about to explode when having the techniques applied on me, and I felt like a destroyer of worlds when applying them. As I switched from side control into kesa gatame for the step over arm bar, I could feel my finger playful pointing towards the big button that said, “DO NOT PRESS: NUCLEAR WARHEADS.”
It was a fucking great addition to the arsenal, and the chain of attacks that came off of it allowed you to better picture how all of this shit fits together.

After learning how to prevent someone from carrying their shopping home, we rolled. I rolled with Danny, Speedy, Grant & Tyrone in that order. I’ll focus on my rolls with Speedy & Tyrone, because Danny & Grant are shitebags that I can roll with anytime.

Rolling with Speedy is very much like rolling with an avalanch. If you’re ever given the liberty of space, it’s not going to be for long, because that gap will just be filled with an unrelenting amount of weight and pressure. I fared better against him this time than I did last time, but I was still tapped plenty – as and when he chose to do so. I didn’t realise until after the roll that I wasn’t able to amount a single attack. I was working for sweeps, and trying to get into an advantageous position but it just didn’t happen. Six minutes of hell.

Rolling with Tyrone was a lot more playful. I think our styles compliment one another well. I tried a lot more sweeps and attacks with Tyrone, but the bulk of our roll was focused on a kimura lock that he was working for, that I refused to give up. I’ve got flexible arms, and as close as it was several times, I managed to somehow wriggle out of it. At one point I managed to create space and reel him right back into a heel hook. We both looked at one another knowing what was there, so I let go like the gentleman I am. It was a great roll.

All in all, the day was fantastic. I look forward to the next time I see Speedy, which’ll likely be in March on my fucking Birthday. The best day.

Toodles motherfuckos.

Eleven Stripe White Belt.

On the continual swing of the big fat Jiu-Jitsu pendulum, you’ll go from feeling like you’re worth your grade to feeling like an absolute spaz in the blink of an eye. You don’t get to decide when that happens unfortunately. Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu isn’t generous with its learning curve. Just when you think you’re starting to piece things together, Robson Moura or some other technical ninja comes along and blows your tiny little fucking mind. It’s time to rethink your approach to this ridiculous sport.

When I reflect on this year, things have been going quite well to my mind’s eye. Sure I’m still getting caught, because I’m not immortal yet – but I’m getting there. I’m starting to really play with my Jiu-Jitsu game, and shape it around the opponent, or force them to play my game. Different goals with different rolls.
If I’m up against a white belt, I play off of their movement. Looking for various attacks within that. If I’m against a blue belt, I try and flow more under their pressure. Attacking where appropriate. Another purple belt, it’s about who can apply their game best. Brown, I’ll do everything I can to get the tap (thumb in the eye, squeeze of the balls, the lot). Black, I cower into a ball and die. Things are falling into place. Moves (as Billy would call them – techniques for everyone else) are no longer perplexing or difficult. Or at least I haven’t found something for a while that baffles me.

Easing out the year, I decided it would be a really fucking wonderful idea to get the cold/flu/AIDS concoction that’s flying about at the moment. As a result, I’ve had to miss out on quite a bit of training this month (all of last week & this week so far). I helped out with a class on Sunday, but rolling near killed me because of how fucked my chest still was. I’m still finding myself out of breath quite easily, because of how much of a bastard it was on the old respiratory system.

My club is wrapping up the year with a little Christmas grappling competition that I was hoping to attend, but alas – those dreams were well and truly stabbed right in the shitter by my malaria/dengue fever/polio super-virus. I was hoping that this would be the right little taste of friendly competition needed, in a trusted environment to get me ready for next year’s plans. I was also hoping to meet Olly at some point, so that I could pull guard just to fuck him off.

Next year I’m going to do that competition thing that I so seldom do. I’ve always kept an active eye on the competition scene but I’ve always struggled to justify actually doing them. Money, travel, fear, anxiety, etc have gotten in the way. More recently, I’ve taken a look at the team of guys I have around me, and I think it’s apt to use a Scottish term here – but they’re all good cunts. I’m training with good people on a regular basis, and the feedback I get personally from some of those people is great. So myself and a group of guys will be hitting up the competitive mats in the new year. I’ve no illusions of how I’ll do, but the first hurdle is actually getting off of my lazy fucking arse and into battle. If I falter at the first competiton, then my goal will be to do better at the second, and so on and so forth until I am the supreme destroyer of worlds. I figure I’ll be able to enter the competitions as an eleven stripe white belt. That’s cool, right?

This’ll probably be my last waffle of the year, so Merry Christ and happy newness to you all. Cheery bye!

Sleepy Time.

SO tonight after god knows how many hours on the mat, I was put to sleep for the first time ever by the wonderful Frank.
Anyone that’s sparred with him knows he’s a very strong grappler, that puts position before submission. As you well should. He also doesn’t horse submissions on, and just lets the technique do the work.

He caught me with a bread cutter choke. Nice and simple. Basic. Something he goes for a lot, and I’m usually capable of defending or alleviating the pressure of.

In my head, the following scenario played out:

Holy buggery this is tight – I need to tap! Hand on elbow, relieve pressure, stiff arm, bridge, shrimp, create space, sit up and reset.

My brain had other ideas though. I probably flailed about the floor like an idiot, next thing I know, I’m sitting up in front of Frank being re-assured that I’m alright, it happens to everyone. I didn’t even know I was out.

Luckily Frank isn’t a cunt and immediately re-assured me about the time he went to sleep. Grant did the same. Weight lifted.

What freaked me out most is how un-freaked out I was. I’m aware that sounds utterly stupid, but I didn’t feel any different to how I felt before the class. It was just weird. Dare I say normal. I’m lucky enough that it’s taken so many years for it to happen.
I’ve caught people the right way, and put them to sleep, and I’ve seen plenty of other people get put to sleep. It’s just part of this fabled art.

It was bizarre but I’m unscathed! Onto the next class. 🤘😴💤

Progress.

On Saturday, I decided to get my arse into gear and go back down to Newcastle for another of Speedy’s bi-annual grading days. I hadn’t been down in a whole fucking year. Which is pretty shitty on my part but it couldn’t really be helped due to problems with anxiety and health. I say arse into gear, I had to be coaxed into going but hey. This is a big ‘un by the way, sorry about that.

This time last year, I had my arse well and truly punted all over Tyne Met by Hubert and Fahad. Their technique was far superior to mine, and I felt embarrassed by even being there. You’re inevitably going to go to battle with people that are better than you, but that’s the first time I just wasn’t able to put up any fight at all (that I can recall). It was a whitewash, and I’ve felt shitty since.

Fast forward to May and I couldn’t attend the grading for two main reasons – I was having issues with my stomach (AGAIN!), and I really couldn’t face the idea of getting absolutely obliterated in front of my peers again. I’m not what you’d call a competitor. I was never athletically gifted as a child, or even inclined to be (save for riding my bike fucking everywhere, and being shite at football behind the park). It wasn’t until my adult years I actually found something physical that I genuinely fell in love with, in grappling. What I haven’t fallen in love with of course, is the peaks and valleys that go with it. There’s trippy highs, agonising lows and the plateaus in between. That’s some difficult shit right there. When you’re not an athlete, the highs are few and far between, so you’ve got to push through all the bullshit to get there.

Since last year’s grading, I’ve missed quite a bit of training to start the new calendar year, so that I could focus on fixing the physical ailments that governed my abilities (or inabilities, as it were) on the mats. With a bit of help from the doctor, I’m now in the best place physically I’ve been for years (my fitness is still shocking, because I’m still pretty fucking lazy). I don’t worry about pain or discomfort when going to training, and I can actually just focus on the training. So that’s great. Leading up to this grading, I’ve been far more attentive in my training – taking in as many classes and sessions as I can with a busy work schedule.
I’ve been able to teach here and there, and most importantly I’m not focusing entirely on Gi training. I’ve been sparring NoGi  and picking up bits and bobs from the people I’m rolling with, and the coaches around the NoGi scene. This approach and mix of training partners has allowed my game to come on from where it was last year. I feel confident on the mats in my own club, and that’s pretty cool because it took a long fucking time to get there.

Where I still don’t feel confident is the competitive scene. I’m well aware that a friendly inter-club shouldn’t be considered competition, but it is. Doing poorly there, reflects poorly on the training and learning I’ve been given over the last year. I’m not only embarrassing myself, but my coaches and training partners. So that’s not a position I like to be in. That’s where my anxiety stems from. Looking foolish in front of my peers, when I believe I can do better.

This year it took me quite a bit of convincing to get back down to Newcastle for this grading day. Strangely enough I feel comfortable as a purple belt now, but when you’re pulling up the ever lengthening measuring stick of where you stack up against other purple belts, I still consider myself wholly shitty at this sport. As a result, going to war with other people my age/weight/level crumbles me. I’m fine until I step on the mats, but it’s then that I just shell up into oblivion. If I’m having a friendly roll, I’m cool. If I think competitively, I shit my pants.

My other half was very instrumental in pushing me towards overcoming this anxiety. I also turned to Speedy, Sloany and Grant who all delivered choice words to help me take the pressure off of the inter-club. I felt suitably relieved and actually happy about going down to Newcastle to support my teammates.
I’d shifted the focus off of my own journey, onto my peers. I want to see them do well, and to do that, I need to be there.

The Dundee and Perth lot did really well. I took the side of the mats, and coached where I could alongside other seasoned Jiu-Jidiots. Adam, Ronnie and Sloany were the standouts of the day, all getting long overdue shiny new belts (blue, blue and purple retrospectively). Something I really appreciated from the Newcastle and Darlington lot was their coaching instruction when the Dundee and Perth guys were facing each other. Naturally at the side lines, you can’t pick a side when you know both parties involved well, so it was great to see other guys taking that on, and helping out.

For my own match, I faced one of Dom’s up and comers ( a 10th Planet Purple belt). As soon as Dom approached me about it, I lost whatever spark I had for my proposed match. I was meant to be facing familiar ground, and now I was facing the great unknown. Scary. I could see him warming up, and I was already defeated mentally. I needed a moment to collect my thoughts and get my shit together. As I was walking over to the other mat to see how Sloany’s match was going, I was called up. This was it. Me vs Mighele right fucking now. I faced him, shook hands, bumped fists etc and he went for the takedown. I just did what I could, where I could to stop his onslaught of attacks. In my mind’s eye there were scrambles, but I don’t know if I’m remembering the fight better than I actually did, because of the positive comments I received afterwards. At one point, he had me in an armbar that I was later told the ref was on the verge of stopping the fight over, but I just waited until I could find my way out (a big thanks to those who were coaching me from the sidelines at this point. I distinctly remember hearing Ant). Once I’d worked my way out of the armbar, I managed to scramble to my feet before getting tripped again.
I attempted a single butterfly sweep, but failed miserably and ended up in a dorsal-fin kimura. This wasn’t good, but I wasn’t tapping. Mighele adjusted and lead me into the reverse triangle. When he pulled my arm across my neck, I was truly fucked. I was done. Life was leaving my lungs and I tapped.

In all that though, I felt calm. I don’t think I lost my cool, became panicked or embarrassed myself like I did last year. Sure, I was bettered in the fight but I actually had fun going against Migele, and would like to do so again one day, regardless of the result. If I’d had a moment to collect my thoughts, I probably would’ve picked more faults in my game, as I often do. Afterwards, I spoke with Migele and Billy (another of Dom’s guys). It was a good reflection on the match that just happened, and also part of what makes this sport, and these inter-clubs so great. There’s no animosity between anyone. It’s not the demon filled hell pit I seem to have in my imagination. I shouldn’t be fearing this like I am, or suffering whatever anxiety I do. I need to move on. I need to move forward.

Next year, I’m going to take a more active approach to competing. It’s something I’ve severely neglected in Jiu-Jitsu and part of what I believe makes me such a shitty purple belt. The first competition I have my sights on is in February, and a lot of guys from the club are already keen to go. I’m going to have to get out there, and start getting my arse kicked by people that people that actually want to kill me, so that when it comes to the inter-club I can better make the distinction between war and fun.

I also had some great rolls with Big Show, Dom and Speedy on the day that deserve a mention. Dom and Speedy toyed with me, like the devious bastards they are. Speedy gave me a few things to work on, so that’s cool.

I’m aware I’ve rambled throughout this piece, but that’s entirely the point of this blog. I have to be able to put down the good, the bad and the ugly. The big difference with this year’s ‘performance’ is that I’m raring to go, and ready to get back on the mats tonight. Which is exactly where I need to be to continue improving. I’ve made progress in that defeat, rather than shying away like I did a year ago.

Off you fuck then.

Rolling with The Master.

After another hiatus from Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, I wanted to throw myself back into the deep end. I asked fellow grapplers if anyone wanted to roll on Friday night, and the response was brilliant. I aim to roll from six to half seven every other Friday (work permitting), but Paul and Sloany were opening early to work on a few things. That was my in.
I swaggered into the gym at five on the dot ready to take skulls home with me, for the mantlepiece.

We drilled some techniques, then it was onto rolling. I got the fat straw first and rolled with Kenny. It was a fun roll, with him attempting various submissions and myself doing my best not to become another man trapped inside the stomach of Moby Prick. Kenny’s always a delight to roll with.

Then I rolled with Robert. I’d never rolled with him before, as we’re normally on different paths through the club. Opposite classes, different time tables or whatever the hell you want to call it. I’ve always passed him and thought, how does this guy roll?
I’d watched him roll with Kenny for a bit to try and gauge how he’d get on, but it’s hard to tell, when Kenny is on someone.
Rolling with Robert was fun. Plenty of back and forth and opportunities from both of us. It’s also good to roll with someone that is in a similar weight bracket. Although, with my ongoing fatness I’m probably quite a bit heavier than him. Gah.

Next up was Paul. The master himself. Paul’s been the staple submission grappling coach since the club’s inception. Without him and Billy we just wouldn’t know any of the shit we do. He’s a fan of catch-as-catch-can, and loves to wrestle. Tonight from the second I got into the club, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. He’s the smallest I’ve ever seen him, at 76 kilos. I’m sure the last time I rolled with him he was at least 90KG, but it’s hard to tell because his top game is so dominating.
Apparently he’s eating yogurt five times a week, and the weight has just fallen off. Goes to a yogurt class and everything.  Amazing.

We tickled fingers, slapped hands, bumped fists, kissed each other’s cheeks, signed the necessary papers and got to rolling. I was completely thrown by everything he was doing, because for several years Paul has been very much a crush and smash sort of player. He gets top control, and makes you feel like you’ve never grappled before in your life. He has a few attacks that he’s able to get to from anywhere, and you’re just along for the ride.
Friday though, he was actively playing guard, and attacking from angles that I hadn’t seen him do before, unless giving the class a demo. He was inviting passes, attacks, etc. He thoroughly kicked my arse in a whole new way, expected of course – but not like that. He fucking Jiu-Jitsu’d me, when he’s meant to be a bloody wrestler. This will not stand.

Along the way he was doing what a good coach does best and correcting glaring holes in my game, and adding new tips and tricks to my arsenal. It took me a while to realise that I could actually move him, which never used to happen before. Obviously it was a friendly roll, so he’d turned crush and smash off for a more flowing approach – but it was just surreal to play with that energy.
You’re looking across at someone that used to be one of the strongest people you know, and now they’re this super flexible, relaxed grappler in the space of only a few months. It’s one thing knowing how dangerous he was when he was a big strong lump that could smash you through the floor, but this lighter, flexible Paul is a whole new animal. He’s always been the end game boss, but this is the sequel and he’s back with new tricks. The knowledge was obviously always there, but this further cements the necessity in understanding mobility and flexibility in grappling. It can completely change how great a grappler you are. Paul was always great, but now he’s greater whilst being less (fat). Mind fuck.

I don’t get to Paul’s classes enough, or train with him enough. That has to change. I might have to set my gis on fire and retire my Shaka to be allowed though. 😕

Smited.

Tonight, I went down to my usual Friday NoGi rolling. I’ve been lucky for the last however many weeks, in that Kenny hasn’t been able to get his rotund frame through the door as often as he’d like; due to his ear taking the same form as the rest of him, by bloating.

I knew tonight was coming, ever since I wrote my previous post all the way back in July. I had a warmup roll with Olly, and he tasted my fear (I may have farted in his mouth, a little bit). I’ve been playing with leg attacks a bit more recently. Getting used to going inverted, etc. I don’t really understand any of it, but it’s good fun to just explore. Olly smashed me slapped me about for my troubles.

Kenny slowly pulled on his safety helmet (to protect his knotted ear – he refuses to call it a cauliflower ear, because it sounds to healthy). He stared me right in the eyes, and then we did that usual awkward handshake bullshit that grapplers do, where you slap hands, then try to fist bump and what actually happens is you sort of stroke one another’s fingers. It’s horrible, but also a welcome alternative to actually rolling with the fat, vengeful cunt.

I’d be a lot happier if he just subbed me a thousand times, but that didn’t happen. He caught me a couple of times, and then blobbed all over me, using his weight well, and basically just running through me like I’d somehow sullied his good name. I’ve no idea where he got that from. My shoulders and upper back really, truly ache. I didn’t really get the chance to threaten him with anything, because he was quite simply too much to handle (fat jokes are all I’ve got right now).

I’ll get him back. I’ll probably keep it to myself though.

Toodles.