BJJ ConfidentiaL
An origin Story of sorts
I'm in a van; I don't know what time it is. The humidity is so thick that I can't tell if I'm sweating. I run my fingers through her braided hair. The smell of alcohol on my breath is making me sick. I look around the van; it's full of trinkets and we're on a dirty mattress. I wonder how many have been here before and how I ended up here. I manage a smile and think to myself, this has been an adventure, and I don't know how I'll share this with anyone, ever. I look out the window and the Vegas rays are hitting my face through the car park.
I'm not from this era; I mean, my heroes are all from '70s and '80s films, books, and sports. Steve McQueen from Bullitt and The Thomas Crown Affair, Paul Newman from The Hustler, and Robert De Niro from Goodfellas; Jack Nicholson from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. In books, I got into Hunter S Thompson quite early: The Catcher in The Rye, all of Stephen King, and Agatha Christie. In sports, it was all about F1 and the NBA: James Hunt and The Orlando Magic. (My NBA dreams were dashed when I didn't grow past five foot nine inches.) These characters lived in the moment without worrying about living to 100 or getting their macros right and their HRV up to optimum levels. They just pushed through and did it anyway. This is why I started my BJJ journey, and this is why I'm sharing these stories with you now. There may be some or many embellishments, and names will be changed to protect the not so innocent. I have some regrets, but just a few; maybe I will mention them.
I was generally a quiet kid; the only trouble I got into growing up was schoolwork-related—oh, and the one time we started stealing car badges from the front of cars. I just didn't get it. I don't think I was that bright, and in our household, sports were considered a waste of time. I was raised by my mother, and she only cared about raising me, working, and trying to have some fun in between. She never had it that easy; she got away from Turkey when she was 16 and came to London to find a new life. She had good instincts; she wanted to stay central, she wanted to avoid the Turkish community, and she was good at saving—something I still need to learn. Mostly uneducated, she wanted to work, so she started in shops and bought a flat between Holland Park and Ladbroke Grove, and that's where it all began.
Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu was something I didn't know about when I started. My first experience of the UFC came via the commercials on cable TV that my grandmother had for only two months; it wasn't for me—"no rules!", "no holds barred!" It looked gritty and a mess. My second experience of actually watching it came a few years later when I went with a friend to smoke weed at this guy's house. He had a room in a dark basement covered in what looked like metal posters and full of junk. We sat there, stoned, watching clips of Vitor Belfort smashing a guy to bits; I didn't like it. "If this guy likes it, it can't be good," I thought to myself. I still didn't know what BJJ was, but I knew I didn't like the UFC. I continued my life of not knowing what to do with myself. I had a group of friends I went to parties with every weekend. I was supposed to be getting ready for my A Levels, but hey, what's the point? I had a big friend who was six foot four at seventeen and weighed at least 100kg; we used to wrestle while play-fighting, and he used to sit on me, and I couldn't get him off. I remember feeling frustrated, as I was sure there was a way to do this better but couldn't put my finger on it. Then one day, I got my first submission! I was wrestling with him as we usually do; then I managed to get my arm under his arm. (Now I know what you're thinking: this is an underhook, right? Well, I didn't know what I was doing then, so we'll go with how I remember it). I then managed to use having my arm under his arm to control his shoulder; I like to think I got my hands together like Marcelo going for a straight armlock, but I think it was much more rudimentary. He tucked his hand into his waist and tried to sit up, and I turned my whole body, and he smashed his face into the ground; I held him there while he moaned at me; then he said, "Ma-te." I was on cloud nine! I had conquered Godzilla.
A few years later, I had my second taste of an attempted submission, which was done on me, and this could have been a close call, looking back on it now. I had a friend who was half Brazilian; let's call him Felipe. He was part of our "dosser" gang. We used to go to all the great clubs in Park Royal, Kingston, Fulham, and anywhere that would take us with our fake, photocopied birth certificates stating we were definitely of age. We all had that telltale sign of our actual ages with our bum-fluff mustaches, and we looked 12, but we got in and had fun. Anyway, one day Felipe's dad decided he had had enough and sent him to Brazil for six months. He came back, and we went to see how he was. He seemed much happier and was raving about the parties in Brazil (his dad's plan had obviously backfired). With stories of Brazilian girls, the beach, and partying, we went back to our usual antics and started play-fighting. He got his legs around my neck (yes, yes, it's a Triangle); I can't remember if my arm was in or not, and he started squeezing. I couldn't get out but was fine otherwise; he asked me if it was working, and I said, bemusedly, "No?" He continued, and luckily it wasn't working, as who knows how long he would have held it. This was my second taste of a submission, but the first one on me, and I'm proud to say, I didn't tap!
I am sure there will be more to come and it might even contradict what I wrote here, but hey it’s my fantasy of a life. In the next posts I will tell you stories of some more great characters I’ve met over the years and lots of unintentional situations I get myself into, even to this day.