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Every now and then you meet someone who is all about ‘traditional martial arts’ and looks down their nose at mixed martial arts like it’s the mangy neighborhood dog that keeps pooping on their finely groomed lawn. There is, of course, only one proper way to deal with such people. Namely; tackle them to the ground and choke them ‘til they pass out and wet their pants.
Every now and then you meet someone who is all about ’traditional martial arts’ and looks down their nose at mixed martial arts like it’s the mangy neighborhood dog that keeps pooping on their finely groomed lawn. There is, of course, only one proper way to deal with such people. Namely; tackle them to the ground and choke them ’til they pass out and wet their pants. However, before you can do this, you must first lure them into your club using the bait of the ’free trial class’. Only once the fly is in your web and has signed the decapitation-waiver can you pounce and inject their thorax full of your deadly venom. To quote the bard Shakespeare “smile, and smile, and be a villain”. Sure you can spring to action right there in the mall food court, but if you live in a civilized country you can’t just go around throwing people on their brainpans and handing out Bulgarian death wedgies, no matter how badly they deserve it. Outside the confines of your club this sort of behavior will land you a quick assault charge and possibly a trip to “Ye olde house of steel bars and sodomy”. Within your club, however, this will garner you the admiration of your fellows, who never grow tired of seeing unbearable blowhards get their heads rightfully twisted. Tales of your cunning will be remembered and re-told in song for generations to come. The catch of course is concealing your devilish intent. As willing as they may be to spew their “one punch one kill” propaganda, the average traditional martial artist knows very well that to set foot in a mixed martial arts club is likely the first step in a slippery slope of events which will likely end with a twelve-year old girl choking them mercilessly while tattooed hooligans in spandex shorts look on, howling with glee. For this very reason, they have developed a whole list of reasons not to accept your gracious offer of a free class. Not too long ago, for example, I was sitting at the movies waiting for the third “Lord of the Rings” movie to start. I’d gotten there early for a good seat, so I had quite a bit of time to kill. Then, as if on cue, a guy sat down a couple of seats over and began immediately raving about his kung fu school and the super-human powers of his instructors. I swear to god this actually happened. At first I just sat there chuckling to myself while my head filled with images of putting him in a Turkish liver hug. I thought, incorrectly as it were, that eventually this guy would start talking about something else. But he didn’t. He just went on and on. Eventually the theatre filled up and the usher came up the aisle, asking which seats were free. Somehow this kung-fu guy spun that into a conversation about kung fu. So now this poor usher is trapped in conversational limbo with this kung fu cult member ranting away at him about his eagle-claw strikes and nubile snake movements, and I’ve had to bear half an hour of listening to this, all the while exchanging glances with my girlfriend, who keeps giving me the eyes-flared “don’t you dare!” look because she doesn’t want to get tossed out of the theatre and miss the happy hobbits because I’ve thrown four litres of Pepsi into this kung-fu guys face and tackled him to the butter-coated floor. Anyway; after what seems like an eternity of hearing this guy rant, I finally speak up and say, “You know, I do martial arts as well”. At this point the usher, possibly sensing his opportunity to escape, says “Oh yeah? Do you do kung fu too?” and I say, “No, I choke the hell out of kung fu guys!” At that exact moment a gong sounded in the distance and, for the lack of a better term, it was on. Releasing his conversational-death-grip on the usher, the kung fu guy turned all of his high-school debate-club skills on me and turned the theatre into ground-zero for a kung fu rant the likes of which the world has never seen. This guys’ shit was tight; or so he said. From “monkey steals the magic peach” and “crane swallows the grape” to “blowfish plays the tuba” and “rhino hides the sausage”, he had mastered it all. I began with phase one; explaining how, in a real fight, standing on one leg with your hands by your waist is stupicidal and will invariably lead to you waking up in a ditch with all of your limbs pointing the wrong way, but it was too late. He’d already drank the kool-aid and joined the cult, so I went to phase two and invited him to come by my club and try mixed martial arts. Sensing the conversation had changed gears the kung fu dude immediately went on the defense and began listing off the reasons why he couldn’t accept my invitation. His kung fu was too deadly and I would be surely maimed. Plus, he had just started his training, so he wouldn’t be able to properly demonstrate just how lethal kung fu is. Finally, his instructors would never give him the written permission (in triplicate) that he needs before he’s allowed to set one deadly foot in another club so, lucky for me, the power of his kung-fu would have to remain unleashed. Now the movie was starting so I said, as a final thought, “Listen, I did traditional martial arts for a long time. I’ve done what you do so don’t rant in my ear about your deadly skills until you’ve done what I do. Come by the club and I’ll be more than happy to choke you senseless. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy the movie”.
I thought that was a pretty good way to end things. Strangely, he never came by the club. I wonder why.
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