[FIGHT] Takada Dojo: Lesson 1

I arrived about 30 minutes early for the 7 P.M. mixed martial arts class. The ground floor staffer handed me a flyer and told me to head straight downstairs to the basement gym. The first dude I saw wore glasses with a thick, black plastic frame on his beaky features. Yes, he was thick in the upper body and was doing his very least to conceal a tough guy attitude. Another guy sporting a more kindly disposition and the black Masked Saku T-shirt guided me to the locker and changing area. I had to walk across the mats, where submission wrestling class was in session under the direction of Matsui Daijiro.

[Unless otherwise specified, in this particular train of thought as in the other themes of djham.blogspot.com, I will present Japanese names as surname first, or in their most popular usage.]

Mixed martial arts class convened on schedule at the hour. The instructor was Yamamoto Yoshihisa, Rickson Gracie fodder circa 1995, and most recently a victim of Choi Mu Bae, 230-pound disco dancer extraordinaire. I expected that someone on such a string of hideous losses interrupted only by an accidental "DDT" win over "The Specimen" Mark Kerr would have a massive chip on his shoulder, but he was a nice-enough guy and declined to really work anybody over, fresh meat or not.

http://www.sherdog.com/fightfinder/fightfinder.asp?fighterID=454

However, I was immediately and simultaneously shocked and crestfallen when confronted with the first 10 minute segment of the class: my lifelong arch-nemesis, jump rope. Whatever part of the brain or whatever genome sequence there is that enables the human body to jump rope, well I don't have it. Obviously, the whole display was embarrassing, ludicrous, and traumatic for the 100th time, but I kept starting and tripping, over and over again, with severe intensity and determination for the full 10 minutes. If you've never thought you'd ever hear some retard say the words, "Hey, I need to practice jump rope," well, give me a call. Let's move on.

[I can understand readers finding the attached descriptions boring, yet these serve a crucial purpose as reminders to myself. In the meantime, should anyone have a differing point of view as to the execution of any of these maneuvers, I would be glad to hear it.]


Basic tackle

As I was taught it, the basic tackle form begins with legs spaced apart at about the shoulders, with the right leg slightly forward for a right-hander. The tackler lowers his or her center of gravity and shoots from the crouch. Step forward with the right foot with the head moving and looking straight ahead, pushing through the back of the target. Force your right shoulder into the middle of the target's beltline -- in vertical position, more Britney Spears's than Oscar de la Hoya's -- while your head courses just past the opponent's hip, and your hands move to clasp both smalls behind the opponent's knees. Maintaining forward progress, your left leg steps forward just beyond the target's frame as you secure your grips behind the target's legs. Your right foot and left foot should step through in a tidy one-two rhythm. Keep driving.

Points of emphasis: Drop to your crouch level first and then push in. Look through your opponent to a space a few yards behind the target. Do not stare at the ground because doing so will change the direction of the shoot into a diagonally down, awkward and easily defended angle. And keep driving.


Basic one-two

The basic one-two: feet apart; shoulders square; knees bent; right foot for a righty back between one or two shoes, in line with the shoulder. Power comes from the hips -- think Brian Viloria -- and a thrust in the general area around the shoulder. Throw the left jab straight with a slight twitch in the left hip while tightly guarding the face with the right. Throw the right with more power in the hips as the left returns and guards the left side of your face. Recoil the left with some crisp to generate a small extra margin of power in your right hand. The hips rotate but movement of the torso should be limited. Twirling the ankles, calves or legs is also not good. Upright posture throughout the entire delivery.

The goal is your opponent's chin. Strikes to the heavy sandbag should be snappy, not pushy. The left and right in the one-two should hit the same spot on the bag. Good practice away from the bag includes standing several feet in front of a mirror and punching to your own chin. Posture and balance.


One-two, hook

The attacker performs the basic one-two to just about full completion, or back to the initial position. The left hook is thrown with more swivel in the left hip than in the case of the left jab. The hook should land coming straight in horizontally; you throw out the left arm straight from the shoulder just as the right settles into protective position on your right cheek. The arm shapes into the hook form as soon as possible, while the left hip has already started its work. On a heavy bag, the hook angle means that the outside knuckles behind the third, fourth, and fifth fingers welt into the sand.

Points of emphasis: Do not loop the left hand or throw the hook from behind your body. The upper body is moving forward at contact.


Right mid-kick

In general, a right-hander owns a natural right leg, but as we shall see below, this is not always the case. From the same position as the basic one-two, step slightly and quickly to the outside with the left foot, with the toes now pointed northwest. There is a jutting little boney point on the side of your hip, just below the waist; this spot shoots out first and generates power for the kick. The right leg should not travel upwards from the ground to land near the opponent's lower ribs, rather the right leg should come in at roughly the same elevation. Nonetheless, the kicker should still feel an overall sensation of mid-lift at the time of the strike. Floating upwards and leaning forward at the same time. Guard your face with your left fist; you can throw the right hand back as the right leg fires by. The right leg smacks into the sandbag and everything returns to the start position, defensively minded.


Left mid-kick

Kicking from the left requires the attacker to assume the initial position at a further distance from the target. Take a full step out with the right leg, toes pointing northeast, then unleash the left. Not stepping towards the target, but rather cutting a path across the front of your opponent. In all other respects, the principles behind the delivery are identical to those for the right. Still, I found myself more comfortable kicking with the left, with vastly better balance and more power, and my coach (the black Masked Saku T-shirt) noted this several times. Naturally, this could have been merely a rare, well-placed compliment whose meaning actually translates to "hurry up and pay the tuition already," but the left mid-kicks did feel good.

When I inquired further, black Masked Saku T-shirt replied that it's definitely possible that one's natural hand and natural leg are on different sides of one's body. Hence a right-handed puncher can kick more instinctively with the left leg, conceivably. I can't lie. This was probably my high point of the session.

One more thing: after contact, the standard position for a left kick is left foot forward, on the ground. Against a statue, your left foot ends up just outside the edge of your opponent's right foot; the curves on the striker's and target's feet in effect spoon each other.


One-two, right mid-kick

One-two from the standard, closed distance, seamlessly followed by the right mid-kick. Mind the details so far. Left jab: small hip twitch, block face with right. Right straight: recoil the jab, larger hip twitch, block face with left, pull right back. Right mid-kick: keep left fist on cheek, step out short with the left foot, throw out right bony hip point, drop the right hand, the leg travels laterally, lift and lean into it.


One-two, left mid-kick

From the farther distance, the same one-two followed by a full step out with the right foot and the left mid-kick. Again, your left foot customarily ends outside the statue's right foot. And again, I like this.


Right low-kick

The low-kick begins with a slightly bigger step-out for the left leg. The left leg bends liberally at the knee. Throw your weight onto your left leg, crouch but lean into the knee as you strike with the right leg. The right leg is not really led here by the small boney point on your hip, but by a somewhat more generalized area around that point. The lower right shin should club or swipe in below the target's knee at a marked downsloping angle.


Double right low-kick

After the first strike, draw back the right leg as much as possible, but quickly, to its original position. Step out again with the left foot, further to your opponent's perimeter, just before the right leg is slung in.


Left low-kick

A large step out with the right foot, moving diagonally across the front of your target, then sling your left leg in.


Double left low-kick

Step out, sling, step out further, sling again. Heed the rhythm; think Crunch, Crunch.


Combination 1: One-two, hook, right low-kick

The foci are straight to the chin, straight to the chin, snapping in at 90 degrees from the side, and low slug below the opponent's left knee. The waist twitches go small left, more right, big left. Then the low step-out, throw your weight through the bent knee, and thwack it. The several changes of direction and balance make this combination difficult. Smoothly executed, though, and it is in theory a reasonable way to put some offense together against a flat-footed or only straight-counterpunching opponent.


POSTSCRIPT

Lesson 1 was on Friday evening. On Sunday I was still hurting. In particular, whenever I so much as sneezed, the whole of the right side of my body seized up. Now, I have punched and kicked before, but (i) it's been awhile and (ii) the punching and kicking techniques were somewhat different from what I had learned in my prior experiences with more traditional forms. As far as I could tell, the mixed martial arts approach dictated some measure of conservatism, of always considering some level of defensive posture at the conclusion of every maneuver. Shoulders often remain square instead of gone-for-broke, for example. As a result, I undoubtedly ended up using parts and pieces that I just haven't needed for jogging, or spinning, or drinking.

On Sunday I was still hurting, but I took a trip out there again anyway, this time with Mrs. Ramen as wingperson. Not because I was ready to sign up in full, and not because the Mrs. wanted to have a go, but because we like to check out kooky neighborhoods, and by the way we're thinking of moving. There's no chance in hell that the Mrs. would deign to live in Musashi-Koyama, but the super-long trashy strip mall was cool as kitsch. We found a place that bakes exclusively soft, fluffy melon bread, easy on the sweetness and with a piping-hot texture halfway between cotton candy and chiffon cake. Then there was a gratin and doria place where I, predictably, had pork chops. Also lots of chicken-on-a-stick and conveyor belt sushi everywhere.

I decided to head back to the Dojo, since we were in town, and buy a T-shirt. For one thing, I could keep it in the closet as a good emergency gift for a fellow bloodsport fan. For another, I was pretty much the only guy on the mats that night without an official Dojo, Pride, or Saku T-shirt, and if I eventually decide to sign up in full I don't want to be without uniform again. So we winded our way out of the super-long trashy strip mall and made our way toward the gym. Just as we neared it, I saw a guy walk in through the back door of the ground-level Dojo office. From a distance, about my height and with terrible posture. Sakuraba?

We went into the Dojo office through the front door and started scanning the goods. As we were doing so, the front desk staff person (non-fighting female) went just behind an opaque plastic partition to talk some business. The man's voice was unmistakable. Hey, I am a fan. I would know the raspy, Akita hick voice of Sakuraba Kazushi, the man I consider to be the greatest fighter, pound-for-pound, so far in the young history of mixed martial arts. And so there he was, just 7 or 8 feet away, the closest in proximity I have ever been to this legend . . . but there was that opaque plastic partition thing!

So I just picked out the classic, ordinary white Dojo T-shirt in extra-large, paid for it, and left. Mrs. Ramen said, "If you're so sure that was Sakuraba, why didn't you say something?"

"I'm not worthy, yet."

We walked a few more steps.

"Besides," I continued, "if I called out, 'Good luck on New Year's Eve, Sakuraba-san,' and it turned out to be Matsui Daijiro, he would have kicked my ass."

My very own Tomato Dojo T-shirt! (Unless I give it to Phil.) Mrs. Ramen declared, "やきとりの町、武蔵小山," ("Chicken-on-a-stick town, Musashi-Koyama") and we got back on the train.