I used to be an athlete.
Growing up I played three sports, all of which I achieved the highest levels of mediocrity, never really getting to the level I wanted to for varying reasons and excuses. But, during my college years, I knew I was getting a little "soft" and decided to LITERALLY step into the ring. It was then that my friend Albie introduced me to the world of mixed martial arts.
Over the past five years or so, what followed was a complete hodgepodge of training from Vale Tudo, to Brazillian Jiu Jitsu, to Judo, to Aikido, and Muy Thai. This mixed bag of disciplines all taught me different things with different philosophies on how to properly engage somebody in hand to hand combat. Needless to say I liked some things about all of them but fell short in some categories. For instance, in doing vale tudo and Brazillian Jiu jitsu, I found that my legs were too short to get somebody in a proper guard or complete any good submissions. Aikido was a bit too passive and impractical for me, albeit really cool. And in Muy Thai my weight class had me fighting people twice my size with twice the reach...which left me getting kicked and punched a lot. So basically I was too short and too fat to do anything required of me...awesome.
Then it happened, I had heard about Krav Maga for some time, the draw being it was real-life, real-application, no bullshit fighting style used by the Army, police forces, and founded by Israeli martial artists. A system basically to learn how to kick the shit out of somebody with no regard for their health. The practice literally involves testicle kicking, eye scratching, and chokes. The only thing it's missing for me is how to properly hit somebody with a brick once their back is turned.
I've been at this for about three weeks now and from what I'm told I'm a natural. My mixed history of fighting has provided me with ample kicking prowess, and a hammer fist that will cave in the back of your skull. Just ask Fridge's leg how good the Von D hammer punch is. Finally I feel like an athlete again, quickly moving up the ranks of the Krav Maga class. The other good thing about this class is that there is no regard for weight, height, sex, or athletic ability. This being the case, one day I might be fighting a guy who looks like Zangief from Street Fighter (yes, there is a large Russian wrestler named Vlad in the class) or a 90 lb. pain-in-the-ass housewife who can barely tie her shoes without falling over. Perfect for me, an example:
This ninety pound woman I just mentioned. Last night she kept going on and on last night while we were "working" together that I wasn't doing the choke escape correctly. She would give me pointers, I would nod my head and pretend like I was taking in what she was saying. She'd bitch some more to the instructor, he would come over and tell her that I was the ONLY ONE doing it right, and to just settle down and do the drill. This led to her rolling her eyes at me the rest of the class, and me doing everything I could not to crush her windpipe...for I knew I would get my chance.
And in the last two minutes of class, my chance came.
The drill was as follows:
-One person stands in the middle of the circle.
-The rest of the class has various pads for which the person in the middle has to strike upon command of the holder (straight punches, hammer punches, kicks, etc)
-Repeat for 3 minutes
The drill started fine, couple straight punches, some roundhouse kicks, and a couple uppercuts. Then it happened:
I feel a light tap on my back with a pad and hear "straight kick". I look over my shoulder and see this little bitch lady and decide that I will not be satisfied until she's internally bleeding. What followed was a kick that, for all intents and purposes, looked like the scene in Chappelle's Show when Charlie Murphy kicked Rick James into the mirror, complete with an "OIIIIIIIIIII!" sound that was like church bells in my ears. She hit the ground about ten feet later and was slow to get up. A twisted smile showed everybody in the class my delight, and the instructor could barely keep from laughing. Needless to say, no more front kicks for me that day.
Now, do I feel bad about this? Straight answer: no. She signed the waiver just like everybody else and show know better than to hold a pad against her chest. Absorb the blow, you dumb C...and don't roll your eyes when the kid is in his office.
Kicks and punches,
One Bad Muthafucka
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