Friday, 6 August 2010
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Editor's Note
It has been brought to my attention that I have misspelled 'separate'. By somebody who counts English as his third language. Smug git.
Monday, 24 May 2010
The Horizontal Samba
I recently saw the following on the timetable for a swanky Central London gym (the 's' in 'swanky' is silent of course):
"BRAZILIAN JIU JITSU: A martial art and combat sport that focuses on grappling and especially ground fighting. Ancient slaves used to practice this combat form disguised as dance."
Hmm, are they also suggesting that Capoeira was brought to Brazil by Japanese immigrants? Exactly what kind of dance could you disguise ground fighting as? Mind you, I believe O'Sensei was once caught lying on his back attempting a triangle choke on his partner, and he claimed they were dancing. The manager of the Locarno Ball room in Basingstoke asked him never to darken their door again.
"BRAZILIAN JIU JITSU: A martial art and combat sport that focuses on grappling and especially ground fighting. Ancient slaves used to practice this combat form disguised as dance."
Hmm, are they also suggesting that Capoeira was brought to Brazil by Japanese immigrants? Exactly what kind of dance could you disguise ground fighting as? Mind you, I believe O'Sensei was once caught lying on his back attempting a triangle choke on his partner, and he claimed they were dancing. The manager of the Locarno Ball room in Basingstoke asked him never to darken their door again.
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
Kung Fu Whispers: the Memoirs of O'Sensei, Part 2
So, seekers after wisdom, it’s Sifu Seamus O’Sensei here with the second chapter of my memoirs. Today I want to talk about the acquisition and transmission of knowledge within the martial arts.
A little knowledge, they say, is a dangerous thing. But how much is a little knowledge? How dangerous is it? For all I know, the knowledge that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing is a dangerous little bit of knowledge to have. I must look that up on Wikipedia.
One thing I do know is this: beware Chinese whispers. The expression comes from the days when students in a Kung Fu school in Shanghai would watch their Sifu – a notoriously strict and unforgiving teacher - demonstrating a technique, then whisper to each other as he stalked around the room, ‘I think he did it like this…’
Many years ago, in the town of Letterkenny it was, a man began courting a young lady. When the day came for him to go to her house for the first time, she cooked a joint of lamb. The first thing she did was to cut one end off of the joint, before putting it in the oven. The lamb was delicious, the best he’d ever tasted. He asked her what difference cutting the end off made and she said ‘I don’t know, but Mammy always did it and it seems to make a difference.’
Some time later she took him for Sunday lunch with her parents. Her mother, sure enough, cut the end off of a joint of lamb before cooking it, and again it was a superlative meal. The man asked her, ‘Mammy, you and your daughter both cook a fantastic joint, and you both cut the end off before putting it in the oven – what difference does that make?’ Again, Mammy wasn’t sure – ‘Me own Mammy always did that, and it seems to work.’
The day came when our young Romeo came to visit his love’s grandparents. Sure enough it was another Sunday, and sure enough the roast was a joint of lamb - almost as if things had been worked out purely for narrative convenience. The young man was drooling with anticipation. But his girlfriend’s Nan simply grabbed the joint, stuck it in a tin and shoved the tin in the oven. Our lad was shocked, but sure enough, the joint was utterly delicious. If anything, though he wasn’t fool enough to say it, Nan’s cooking was the best of the lot.
‘Nanny,’ he asked her, ‘You, your daughter and your granddaughter are all fantastic cooks. But your daughter cuts the end off of the joint before cooking it; so does your granddaughter. They both say they got it from you, and yet you just stuck the whole joint in a tin and stuck that in the oven. Why don’t you cut the end off of the joint?’
‘Oh,’ said Nanny, ‘I bought a bigger tin.’
There is a moral here for martial artists, and I cut the arms off of many students before I realised what it actually was: you don’t have to shove someone in a tin to teach him martial arts, but if you do, it’s a pretty good conditioning exercise.
And you can always buy a bigger tin.
A little knowledge, they say, is a dangerous thing. But how much is a little knowledge? How dangerous is it? For all I know, the knowledge that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing is a dangerous little bit of knowledge to have. I must look that up on Wikipedia.
One thing I do know is this: beware Chinese whispers. The expression comes from the days when students in a Kung Fu school in Shanghai would watch their Sifu – a notoriously strict and unforgiving teacher - demonstrating a technique, then whisper to each other as he stalked around the room, ‘I think he did it like this…’
Many years ago, in the town of Letterkenny it was, a man began courting a young lady. When the day came for him to go to her house for the first time, she cooked a joint of lamb. The first thing she did was to cut one end off of the joint, before putting it in the oven. The lamb was delicious, the best he’d ever tasted. He asked her what difference cutting the end off made and she said ‘I don’t know, but Mammy always did it and it seems to make a difference.’
Some time later she took him for Sunday lunch with her parents. Her mother, sure enough, cut the end off of a joint of lamb before cooking it, and again it was a superlative meal. The man asked her, ‘Mammy, you and your daughter both cook a fantastic joint, and you both cut the end off before putting it in the oven – what difference does that make?’ Again, Mammy wasn’t sure – ‘Me own Mammy always did that, and it seems to work.’
The day came when our young Romeo came to visit his love’s grandparents. Sure enough it was another Sunday, and sure enough the roast was a joint of lamb - almost as if things had been worked out purely for narrative convenience. The young man was drooling with anticipation. But his girlfriend’s Nan simply grabbed the joint, stuck it in a tin and shoved the tin in the oven. Our lad was shocked, but sure enough, the joint was utterly delicious. If anything, though he wasn’t fool enough to say it, Nan’s cooking was the best of the lot.
‘Nanny,’ he asked her, ‘You, your daughter and your granddaughter are all fantastic cooks. But your daughter cuts the end off of the joint before cooking it; so does your granddaughter. They both say they got it from you, and yet you just stuck the whole joint in a tin and stuck that in the oven. Why don’t you cut the end off of the joint?’
‘Oh,’ said Nanny, ‘I bought a bigger tin.’
There is a moral here for martial artists, and I cut the arms off of many students before I realised what it actually was: you don’t have to shove someone in a tin to teach him martial arts, but if you do, it’s a pretty good conditioning exercise.
And you can always buy a bigger tin.
Thursday, 6 May 2010
Ssssssh!!!
ADVERTISEMENT: ‘The Secrets of Secretio ‘Sec-Sec’ Secrete’s Super-Secret Style of Secret Eskrima’, priced £12.95 in all good book-shops.
Secretio Secrete is a legend in the world of Filipino/ Philippine Eskrima-Escrima-Kali-Arnis-de-Mano-Dumog-Panantukan-Pangumot-Pananjakman-Pacman-Space-Invaders-Karaoke. He earned his reputation as a formidable warrior during WWII, when he took out the entire Japanese air force by throwing kamagong sticks at their ‘planes. For years he taught his Super-Secret Style of Secret Eskrima in secret, disguising the true purpose of his back-yard dojo by dressing his students as Morris Dancers. Now, Brad Suckmaster, the only Westerner graded to Black Belt by Secretio apart from all the others, has revealed all in this book of beautifully photographed secret techniques with wonderfully clear secret instructions.
For the first time you can learn the secrets of this deadliest of fighting arts from the comfort of your own home, instead of wandering around downtown Cebu in a Manny Pacquiao T-shirt that might as well say ‘White Boy who Can’t Find the Way Back to His Hotel’.
Learn:
Sticks
Knives
Sticks and Knives
Knives and Sticks
The 1 angle of attack (over the head from behind)
Authentic FMA terminology (how to say ‘That is crap, oh!’ with authentic pronunciation in English, Spanish and whatever the other one is)
How to stitch your fingers back on after balisong practice
Why Super-Secret Secret Eskrima is better and more authentic than all the other indistinguishable styles of FPEELAdMDPPPPSIK that were created by Secretio’s brothers and his next door neighbour
This ultimatest of martial arts is at last available for you to learn. Just don’t tell anyone!
Friday, 19 March 2010
The Memoirs of O'Sensei Part 1
Greetings, seekers after wisdom. It's O'Sensei here. Sifu Seamus O'Sensei, Hanshi.
A weak and sickly child, my parents decided that I should learn the traditional martial arts of our country - such as Ju Jitsu, Krav Maga, Muay Boran and WWF - in order to improve my health.
Six months later, whilst recovering from a fractured skull and three detatched retina (you don't believe in the third eye? Pah!), I came to realise the flaw in this view. It was vital that I, as a smaller and weaker man, learn an art that would allow me to overcome a larger, stronger opponent. As the Uzi 9mm had not yet been invented, I begin to travel the world - studying with many of the the great masters and distilling all that was good in their teaching, whilst ignoring the difficult bits.
It was Musashi of course who first suggested that I train with Yip Man, and I beat his top student Bruce Lee in many a cha-cha throw-down. But whilst Bruce was working out sayings like 'be like water, my friend' in that ridiculous accent in order to impress girls (he was actually from Leicester), and Simon Lau was eating all the St. Ivel Gold he could get his hands on, I felt that my own training lacked something. My true epiphany came years later, after Kano Sensei had sent me to England to teach Hapkido.
One day, whilst meditating outside of a Portuguese chicken restaurant, I witnessed a fight between a stoat and a stag beetle. Although it was much smaller, the stag beetle managed to get the stoat in a guillotine choke, causing it to tap out. I decided then and there to model my fighting system after the stoat. I've always been one to champion the underdog.
Some years later two of my senior Stoat-Fu students emigrated to Brazil, where they were saved from a bar-room conversation with Steven Seagal by the timely intervention of Gracie Fields. In gratitude they taught Gracie the Ways of Stoat, and she passed them onto her children. But Gracie was bone idle, and felt that anything worth doing was worth doing lying down. And so Brazilian Stoat-Fu was born.
Her eldest son, Rochdale (pronounced 'Hochdale') became a professional martial artist, as it seemed a lot easier than working for a living. Besides, he had literally grown up in the dojo - he'd have been lucky to get a job cleaning lavatories with those qualifications.
Instead, he developed the Ultimatest Fighting Contest (like the Ultimate Fighting Contest only Ultimater). He cleaned up against oposition who had never had to deal with a grown-man in fluorescent purple pyjamas with an ad for Sketchley's sewn on the back.
And so we have come full circle, as the popularity of Brazilian Stoat-Fu has spread throughout whatever country it is I come from and martial artists everywhere are getting their uniform from Nando's.
A weak and sickly child, my parents decided that I should learn the traditional martial arts of our country - such as Ju Jitsu, Krav Maga, Muay Boran and WWF - in order to improve my health.
Six months later, whilst recovering from a fractured skull and three detatched retina (you don't believe in the third eye? Pah!), I came to realise the flaw in this view. It was vital that I, as a smaller and weaker man, learn an art that would allow me to overcome a larger, stronger opponent. As the Uzi 9mm had not yet been invented, I begin to travel the world - studying with many of the the great masters and distilling all that was good in their teaching, whilst ignoring the difficult bits.
It was Musashi of course who first suggested that I train with Yip Man, and I beat his top student Bruce Lee in many a cha-cha throw-down. But whilst Bruce was working out sayings like 'be like water, my friend' in that ridiculous accent in order to impress girls (he was actually from Leicester), and Simon Lau was eating all the St. Ivel Gold he could get his hands on, I felt that my own training lacked something. My true epiphany came years later, after Kano Sensei had sent me to England to teach Hapkido.
One day, whilst meditating outside of a Portuguese chicken restaurant, I witnessed a fight between a stoat and a stag beetle. Although it was much smaller, the stag beetle managed to get the stoat in a guillotine choke, causing it to tap out. I decided then and there to model my fighting system after the stoat. I've always been one to champion the underdog.
Some years later two of my senior Stoat-Fu students emigrated to Brazil, where they were saved from a bar-room conversation with Steven Seagal by the timely intervention of Gracie Fields. In gratitude they taught Gracie the Ways of Stoat, and she passed them onto her children. But Gracie was bone idle, and felt that anything worth doing was worth doing lying down. And so Brazilian Stoat-Fu was born.
Her eldest son, Rochdale (pronounced 'Hochdale') became a professional martial artist, as it seemed a lot easier than working for a living. Besides, he had literally grown up in the dojo - he'd have been lucky to get a job cleaning lavatories with those qualifications.
Instead, he developed the Ultimatest Fighting Contest (like the Ultimate Fighting Contest only Ultimater). He cleaned up against oposition who had never had to deal with a grown-man in fluorescent purple pyjamas with an ad for Sketchley's sewn on the back.
And so we have come full circle, as the popularity of Brazilian Stoat-Fu has spread throughout whatever country it is I come from and martial artists everywhere are getting their uniform from Nando's.
Saturday, 30 January 2010
Injury Fun Time
I may have asked for it with all the jokes about injuries in that last post. Last week at Ju Jitsu (not my own club but the one I train at) we had a crowded mat with lots of newbies and returned prodigals (as is often the way at the start of the year). Sensei demonstrated a throw - essentially a leg sweep as a defence to a kick - where both uke and tori have their backs to the spot that uke is thrown to.
Sensei gave all the usual warnings - look before you throw, throw out from the centre of the mat etc. and I threw my training partner with no problem. Then it was his turn. I hit the mat safely enough, but the next thing I knew somebody else hit me. Hard. He'd been thrown at the same time, in the same direction as me and the back of his head hit the side of my face. I remember bellowing in a manner more bovine than manly and trying to get off the mat as quickly as possible. However Sensei flung his arms around me and guided me to safety himself. He'd seen how dazed I was and didn't want me wandering into something or someone.
All I remember saying at that point was 'it's bad'. Sometimes it hurts like hell but you know you'll be alright with a few minutes/ hours/ days of rest. But I couldn't feel my teeth. Not all of them anyway, and I couldn't open my mouth or my eye properly. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad. Then Sensei said the encouraging words 'That side of your face is drooping.' Shit.
After the obligatory 5-hour wait in A&E I found myself talking to the terrifyingly young and rather beautiful Dr. Chu. I explained what had happened, that the pain was all over the lower right side of my face and that I couldn't feel my teeth. I also mentioned a bump I'd felt in my eye socket, prodding around to relieve the boredom in the waiting room.
Anna, as I'm sure she won't mind me calling her, tested for concussion, vision problems and paralysis (the latter was a new one on me that involved her grabbing my arm and asking me to pull her towards me). 'I doubt anything will be fractured,' Annie assured me, 'but we'll take a couple of x-rays to be on the safe side.' Now where have I heard that before? Oh yes, two cubicles up when one of your colleagues doubted I'd broken my toe. Wrongly.
After the x-rays it was an hour before I saw the Annester again. Had she forgotten about me? Was she experiencing a crisis of conscience, torn between professional duty and burgeoning passion? No.
'Normally if the eye socket fractures it goes in two places at once...' Right. You've got my interest now, Doctor Chu. '... so I called a specialist to make sure that what I was seeing on the x-ray was a fracture as it's only gone in one place. They want to see you next week as a precaution - they hardly ever need to operate with a fracture like this. They'll most likely let it heal itself.'
I should know by now. Whether it's my luck or a case of Doctors not wanting to frighten you (Christ knows what sort of reactions they get on the night shift in A&E), the things that hardly ever happen seem to happen to me quite often. So I guess I was lucky that it was only a single fracture.
The not-beautiful maxillo-facial specialist advised that the bone had dropped and it might be an idea to lift it and fix it with a titanium plate, for the sake of my stunning good looks. He then double-checked this with a not-beautiful senior colleague who prodded me around a bit (they were both a lot less gentle than the lovely Anna) and advised that it wasn't a mere cosmetic consideration. 'The bone's trapped a nerve - we need to lift it clear so that it doesn't trap the nerve permanently as it heals.'
That explained the loss of feeling. It also got me some brownie points at work, where the relatively light bruising had been a cause of disappointment amongst my colleagues. So now I'm waiting for a call from the hospital telling me when to come in for my op. It should take place on Monday but I may need to be there on Sunday night.
Why is it that martial artists, more than skiiers or footballers, get asked why they keep their hobby up when something like this happens? This last week I've had people who've broken their arms skiing say 'Why do you keep doing this?' Er, because a) I love it, b) serious injuries really are rare and c) we all know how dangerous it is and so most people, most of the time, are very careful. Mountains, on the whole, don't give a toss what happens to skiers.
So I've been going to most of my classes, teaching verbally from off the mat*. Which is actually a lot of fun, and an interesting challenge. I expect I'll be out of action for a month or two, then I'll ease myself back in gently. The reaction from my JJ and Escrima buddies has been everything you'd hope - concerned, thoughtful and cheering. And I'm looking forward to any special powers that come with my titanium plate, even if it is only the ability to pick up the Paul Jones Show on Radio 2.
*Any Green Belts who claim that I snuck on the mat quickly to show them an arm-lock are lying.
Sensei gave all the usual warnings - look before you throw, throw out from the centre of the mat etc. and I threw my training partner with no problem. Then it was his turn. I hit the mat safely enough, but the next thing I knew somebody else hit me. Hard. He'd been thrown at the same time, in the same direction as me and the back of his head hit the side of my face. I remember bellowing in a manner more bovine than manly and trying to get off the mat as quickly as possible. However Sensei flung his arms around me and guided me to safety himself. He'd seen how dazed I was and didn't want me wandering into something or someone.
All I remember saying at that point was 'it's bad'. Sometimes it hurts like hell but you know you'll be alright with a few minutes/ hours/ days of rest. But I couldn't feel my teeth. Not all of them anyway, and I couldn't open my mouth or my eye properly. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad. Then Sensei said the encouraging words 'That side of your face is drooping.' Shit.
After the obligatory 5-hour wait in A&E I found myself talking to the terrifyingly young and rather beautiful Dr. Chu. I explained what had happened, that the pain was all over the lower right side of my face and that I couldn't feel my teeth. I also mentioned a bump I'd felt in my eye socket, prodding around to relieve the boredom in the waiting room.
Anna, as I'm sure she won't mind me calling her, tested for concussion, vision problems and paralysis (the latter was a new one on me that involved her grabbing my arm and asking me to pull her towards me). 'I doubt anything will be fractured,' Annie assured me, 'but we'll take a couple of x-rays to be on the safe side.' Now where have I heard that before? Oh yes, two cubicles up when one of your colleagues doubted I'd broken my toe. Wrongly.
After the x-rays it was an hour before I saw the Annester again. Had she forgotten about me? Was she experiencing a crisis of conscience, torn between professional duty and burgeoning passion? No.
'Normally if the eye socket fractures it goes in two places at once...' Right. You've got my interest now, Doctor Chu. '... so I called a specialist to make sure that what I was seeing on the x-ray was a fracture as it's only gone in one place. They want to see you next week as a precaution - they hardly ever need to operate with a fracture like this. They'll most likely let it heal itself.'
I should know by now. Whether it's my luck or a case of Doctors not wanting to frighten you (Christ knows what sort of reactions they get on the night shift in A&E), the things that hardly ever happen seem to happen to me quite often. So I guess I was lucky that it was only a single fracture.
The not-beautiful maxillo-facial specialist advised that the bone had dropped and it might be an idea to lift it and fix it with a titanium plate, for the sake of my stunning good looks. He then double-checked this with a not-beautiful senior colleague who prodded me around a bit (they were both a lot less gentle than the lovely Anna) and advised that it wasn't a mere cosmetic consideration. 'The bone's trapped a nerve - we need to lift it clear so that it doesn't trap the nerve permanently as it heals.'
That explained the loss of feeling. It also got me some brownie points at work, where the relatively light bruising had been a cause of disappointment amongst my colleagues. So now I'm waiting for a call from the hospital telling me when to come in for my op. It should take place on Monday but I may need to be there on Sunday night.
Why is it that martial artists, more than skiiers or footballers, get asked why they keep their hobby up when something like this happens? This last week I've had people who've broken their arms skiing say 'Why do you keep doing this?' Er, because a) I love it, b) serious injuries really are rare and c) we all know how dangerous it is and so most people, most of the time, are very careful. Mountains, on the whole, don't give a toss what happens to skiers.
So I've been going to most of my classes, teaching verbally from off the mat*. Which is actually a lot of fun, and an interesting challenge. I expect I'll be out of action for a month or two, then I'll ease myself back in gently. The reaction from my JJ and Escrima buddies has been everything you'd hope - concerned, thoughtful and cheering. And I'm looking forward to any special powers that come with my titanium plate, even if it is only the ability to pick up the Paul Jones Show on Radio 2.
*Any Green Belts who claim that I snuck on the mat quickly to show them an arm-lock are lying.
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