Issue 007 "Calm & Calculated"

ISSUE 007

“CALM & CALCULATED”

APRIL 2017

Letter From The Publisher We live in an interesting time. Technology has the power to connect everyone in the world with one another. It’s made its mark in our sport as well. I remember first starting out and going on to Youtube to watch techniques. Honestly the only techniques around at that time -I’m talking about only 8 years ago- were pretty crappy and useless. The running joke in many academies was, “that technique will never work, where did you learn that, Youtube?”

Oh how the tide has shifted since then. Now you can go into media sharing sites and see techniques taught by legends of the sport, amazing teachers, and world class bjj athletes. No longer are these techniques looked down on but instead they are studied, and imitated on academy mats all over the world. The best matches are uploaded and broken down to pinpoint how the competitors execute their moves. We’re witnessing first hand, technology integrating with our sport.

The amount of information available is staggering to say the least. Want to see a certain match 2 years ago, in Brazil, at the Nationals and in detail, you can. Looking for a breakdown on a technique from the athlete that is innovating it, you can.

Want to watch the world championships and root on your favorite fighters from the comfort of your own home, you can!

These tools are great and in the overall scheme of things, a very good thing for our art. Having an instructor there to help you with the techniques, to watch your execution, help you with your timing, and tell you where you need to improve upon is something that I believe is still critical to learning. Sitting in front of a screen memorizing positions to try out on your buddies in the living room is fun but it won’t replace the quality of instruction you get from someone right there in front of you; someone that’s as invested in your progress as you are.

So go ahead, drill that worm guard back take you saw when streaming the PanAms, but involve your instructors when you’re adding it to your arsenal, they’ll help you better implement it into your game. While you’re at it, thank him or her for putting in the years of hard work needed to become a Jiu-Jitsu teacher because man it’s tough!

Live, Laugh, & Roll!

-Clinton “Sapinho” Dela Cruz

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Cover Photos | Eddie Rodrigues

STORYTELLERS David Greer “Beach Duel at Midnight” E: dgreer13@gmail.com IG: @whitepineapple Chris Bumgarner “The BJJ Lightning Rod of Sardinia E: chriswarriorartsblog@yahoo.com

IG: @chris_firststatebjj Daniel Soule “The Grappler” E: daniel.soule@btinternet.com TW: @grammatologer

Ayesha Kamal Beyond the Technique: “Ownership” E: fiercefitfight@gmail.com IG: @plumpetalsfit Tanvir Mosharraf “Martial Race, Tribe, Indigenousness and Ethnicity in BJJ” E: tanvir.nick@gmail.com FB: /tanvir.mosharraf

Dustin Harraway A Competition Retrospective: The IBJJF Pan-Am Championships

E: dustinharraway@gmail.com IG: @dharraway

DESIGN | OPERATIONS Clinton Dela Cruz Publisher / Designer E: clintondlc@freerollmag.com IG: @clintondlc

Romana Miah Media Coordinator E: mana@freerollmag.com IG @anamormiah

Jason Walter Managing Editor E: menamejmaw@gmail.com IG: @menamejmaw

Tiannah DLC-Diaz Customer Representive E: tiannah@freerollmag.com IG: @tiannahko

Eddie Rodrigues Lead Designer E: eddie@freerollmag.com IG: @roxt_eddie

Jeffrey Huang Brand Ambassador E: Huang.JeffC@gmail.com IG @ajmataz

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S U R F

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T R A V E L

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J I U

J I T S U

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Y O G A

CONTENTS

April 2017 | Issue 007

06

Beach Duel at Midnight

By David Greer

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“The BJJ Lightning Rod of Sardinia”

By Chris Bumgarner

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THE GRAPPLER

By Daniel Soule

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Beyond the Technique:

Ownership

By Ayesha Kamal

Martial Race, Tribe, Indigenousness and Ethnicity in BJJ 06

By Tanvir Mosharraf

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A Competition Retrospective: Pan-American

By Dustin Harraway

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Beach Duel at Midnight

By David Greer

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“ ’m telling you it’s legit. I once saw a guy throw another guy 20 feet just by shaking his hand!”

“Ok, I believe you.”

“I don’t think you believe me. I’m telling you Aikido is legit! You ever heard of Steven Seagal?”

“Just about every fighter in the UFC.” I said.

“The UFC?! Don’t talk to me about no UFC. They’re a bunch of fools who haven’t figured out the game. An Aikido master could take out any UFC fighter.”

“Ok.”

“Seagal? Isn’t he like 300 pounds these days?”

My brother gave me a disdainful look at this remark. I chuckled to myself.

“I’m just sayin, Aikido is legit. It’s the best martial art out there. Don’t you do judo or something?” He asked “I’ve trained Brazilian Jiu-JItsu, been a couple years since I’ve done it though. How long has it been since you’ve done Aikido?”

“A couple years.”

We sat in a dimly lit dive bar, a few other guys cheered as they took tequila shots at the other end of the bar and some other guys just started playing pool across the room. Bummer, I was hoping we could shoot some pool. It might distract my older brother from getting too riled up on whatever topic he decided to talk about.

And somehow we had gotten to talking about martial arts and mixed martial arts.

“What is Jiu-Jitsu anyways?” He asked.

“Umm...” I always struggle to answer this one.

“It’s ground fighting. Grappling. Something between wrestling and judo. It’s using leverage to control an opponent and then submit them with joint locks and chokes.”

“Yeah see...that ain’t got nothing on Aikido.

I’m telling you, it’s the boss of all martial arts.

I mean, how are you gonna choke somebody when you’re sailing 20 feet in the air? Can’t happen! Who even uses Jiu-Jitsu?”

I hoped that by conceding the point he would let it go. But my words didn’t match my face and my brother could tell I wasn’t buying it.

“Let me show you a move. Just one move. I promise it will change your life!” He said.

“No way man, I don’t want to get thrown.” I said.

“I’m not gonna throw you. Just let me show you this move. It won’t even hurt. You’re my little brother, man, I’m not gonna hurt you. We’ll just go outside, it’ll take two minutes. C’mon, two minutes and you’re mind will be blown.”

He’s not going to hurt me, yeah right. My mind immediately flashed back to our childhood and the times he picked on me. That stuff kind of hurt. I really didn’t want to let my brother show me his ‘life changing move’ but I also know how stubborn he is. He won’t let it go and every time we speak he’ll bring up how awesome Aikido is and how I missed out on learning some life changing move. I weighed my options. A couple minutes of going through the motions and probably handling a little pain, or potential years at being annoyed by this topic.

“Fine, show me this move.” I said.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about! You want another shot before we go?” He asked.

“No thanks, it’s getting late. It’s already midnight. Just show me how this thing works.”

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“All right. Let’s go.”

My brother was absolutely giddy. We stepped outside into the parking lot and I stopped and looked at him expectantly.

“No not here. We don’t want to do this on concrete. Come on.” My brother said. Great, I’m definitely getting thrown, I thought to myself.

apart in front of his stomach. It looked like he was preparing to meditate.

“Attack me.” He said.

“What?”

“Attack me. Use whatever Jiu-Jitsu you want because it won’t work. Now, attack me.”

You have got to be kidding me!

My brother led the way toward the beach. I reluctantly followed. We walked onto the sand beneath a clear night sky, the beach illuminated by the full moon. The sound of gentle waves and steady wind surrounded us, the scent of the sea filled the air. And there we were, a couple of pudgy out of shape guys, a few years removed from training, facing off.

It was like a samurai showdown gone horribly wrong.

My brother wore a confident smile which made me question what was about to go down. Maybe he actually does know something good and I just got baited into a duel. My mind quickly summarized the situation. My brother trained Aikido for about 3 years and then stopped training about 2 years ago. I trained Jiu-Jitsu for about 3 years and stopped about 2 years ago. Our skill level in our respective martial art should be about the same. Whatever technique he knows and is capable of pulling off, I should be able to handle and maybe even counter. I was still nervous but was feeling a little more sure of myself.

“Ok, so what’s your magical move?” I asked.

My brother kneeled down on both knees and sat back on his heels. He held is arms out wide and then they smoothly glided in front of his body and came to rest in a position such that his hands were palm-to-palm a few inches

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My first thought was to kick sand into his face then charge forward and launch a flying death kick to his head. But that would just be mean. My next thought was realizing my brother was already on the ground.

He entered Jiu-Jitsu territory, he was in my world.

I kneeled down a few feet in front of him. I reached forward with my left hand and my brother quickly swatted it up and away. I reached with my right hand and he quickly deflected it down and away. He moved his arms like a windmill, think the Karate Kid doing wax-on, wax-off and sandthe-floor. I realized his magical move was all about redirecting his opponent’s momentum.

So I thought I’d get him to redirect me to where I wanted to go.

I reached forward with my left hand and again my brother windmilled my arm up and away.

Except this time I went with it and looped my arm underneath his and grabbed an underhook while slightly inching myself closer to him. Before he could react to the underhook, I reached forward with my right arm and he promptly deflected it down and I looped around his arm and got a grip on his bicep. At the same time I used the momentum of his deflection to circle to my right while pulling myself into him with the left underhook and using the grip on his bicep to pull his arm into me. As I circled, I leaned into him.

My brother lost his balance and sand flew everywhere as I took him down onto his back.

I secured side-control in a kesa-gatame position.

The whole sequence took less than two seconds.

“Dang your better at this than I thought.” My brother said. “Let’s try again.”

We reset. My brother got back into his meditative position and I kneeled in front of him.

When I reached forward I could feel he was putting more into it. His arm windmilled much faster and he was putting some muscle into it. He also didn’t remain stationary, after wind-

milling he scooted backward and repositioned himself to face directly at me. He was trying harder.

I used the same trick again to get an underhook with my right arm. My brother tried scooting away from me but I had a decent grip so he couldn’t fully break away. I closed the distance again by pulling myself into him. For a moment it felt like I was going to do the same thing and circle around him until he fell to his back, but my brother adjusted and kept stable.

Then I felt a cramp start to build up in my left hamstring. Good god, I’m out of shape. I didn’t want to concede due to a cramp, I’d never hear the end of it, so I just dealt with it.

I used the right underhook to pull myself into him and close the distance. My brother tried windmilling me away but it didn’t work. It looked like I was giving the guy a hug and he was trying to get away from it.

My head was tucked low against his ribs and I felt his arm wrap around my neck. He had me in a front headlock. And the cramp in my leg was getting tighter.

When rolling with an opponent who gets a front headlock, I expect them to either put their weight down on me or fall back into a guillotine choke but neither happened. In fact nothing happened. My brother just held onto my neck.

He tried to squeeze but I could tell he didn’t know how to squeeze a neck properly so there was no choke happening. My neck was safe.

I let him hold onto my neck and circled to my right. I knew he wouldn’t let go of the headlock and the more I circled the more he would lose his balance. Sure enough, he toppled over.

He fell sideways and I landed in side control, popped my head free, and shook the cramp

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out of my leg.

arms aside and pushed me away from him.

“What do you do from here? You still don’t have me.” My brother said. He wasn’t completely flat on his back so I guess he technically had a point.

“You see that? I redirected your energy and used your momentum against you.” My brother said. “The more force you attack me with, the better I can deflect you. That’s how you can throw somebody 20 feet.”

He was lying on his right shoulder with his back exposed to me. I repositioned myself and hooked my left leg around his hips, rolled him over me, then hooked my other leg around his hips and took my brother’s back. We were now lying on our left sides and I had a seatbelt grip.

“Okay, so what did that do?” My brother asked.

Apparently he doesn’t know how bad it is to have your back taken. He turned his head to try and look at me with a smug expression that said you’re not doing anything to me.

I released my grip and wrapped my arm around his neck in a rear-naked choke. Now he started to struggle to get away. I didn’t put a squeeze on his neck but instead let him squirm away just enough so I could move into full mount.

The expression on his face changed and his eyes grew a little wider.

“Cool, but that would never work on Jiu-Jitsu... or anybody that knows something about grappling.” I said. “I wouldn’t attack head on like that. I’m going to methodically close the distance and circle around you, like how I just did twice. Or I’m going to pull you into me.”

“What do you mean pull me into you?” He asked.

I showed my brother by pulling him into my full guard. I asked him if he knew what he would do in that position. He looked confused and shook his head. I put him in a triangle choke and then an armbar. Then I did a scissor sweep, putting him on his back again, and moved into full mount just to drive the point home.

“Ok, that’s kinda cool.” He said.

“Oh dang. Ground and pound!” He said. Now he understood how bad of spot he was in. I got off of my brother and we kneeled down on the sand once more facing each other. We were both utterly doused in sand.

“I don’t think your move works against Jiu-Jitsu.” I said while trying to dust some of the sand off my shirt. “But what were you hoping I would do?”

“You’re supposed to attack me head on.” He said. “Try it, I’ll show you.”

My brother got back into his meditative position and I decided to humor him. I lunged straight forward as if I was going to shove him in the chest and my brother windmilled my 10 |

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“Ok. And now that we’re covered in sand, I’m going to head out and take a shower.”

Later on, after spending 30 minutes washing all of the sand off, I got a text from my brother.

It read, thanks for the moves. A sensei came here once that flattened me on the ground by shaking hands. No joke. I think the next level of MMA will incorporate martial arts and aikido.

I guess he still won’t let it go. But whatever, Jiu-Jitsu was the clear winner tonight. I must admit though, it was nice to out-grapple my older brother and put him in a choke hold.

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Interview with Amir Joshua The BJJ Lightning Rod of Sardinia

of the first, if not the first BJJ schools on the east coast, for years by Steve Maxwell, who is a world renown BJJ and strength and conditioning coach. He is also father to Zak Maxwell, one of the top representative of the Gracie Humaita competition team.)

FREEROLL: What was that first BJJ experience like?

by Chris Bumgarner

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mir Joshua is an American ex-pat with the goal of spreading the Jiu-Jitsu lifestyle through his new home of Sardinia. FREEROLL magazine got a chance to speak with Amir about his life, Sardinia, and his social project the Sardus BJJ Academy.

I walked in and Steve’s son Zak Maxwell was on the mat. So I wanted to give it a try. I throw on the kimono. I start rolling with Zak and he catches me in an omoplata. I nearly popped my shoulder out because I was thick headed like a wrestler and didn’t want to tap, but I fell in love with it.

Right away, day one it was a love affair with Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.

FREEROLL: How did you get started in BJJ?

FREEROLL: How did you end up in Sardinia?

Amir: I am originally from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Before I ever did Jiu-Jitsu I was a wrestler. I wrestled in middle school, high school, and a little bit in college at Penn State. After college I stopped wrestling and began to focus on my career working with community organizations.

My wife is from Sardinia and we moved here almost five years ago. Our daughter was born here and we decided to raise her here. The quality of life here in Sardinia is extremely high.

The people and culture of Sardinia are warm and welcoming. The lifestyle is amazing.

FREEROLL: What is Sardinia like?

While I was working with a community arts organization in Philadelphia a colleague of mine asked me if I wanted to go to this gym and do a workout with kettlebells. I was like what the heck is a kettlebell but I decided to go check it out. Before we went to check it out he also said this place did Jiu-Jitsu like what “Roy Grace” did. Long story short we end up at Steve Maxwell’s gym Maxercise and that’s where I got hooked on BJJ.

It’s a large beautiful island in the Mediterranean Sea. Sardinia is the second largest island in the Mediterranean and has a lot to offer whether it be at the sea or hiking in the mountains. Activities that people enjoy here are surfing, kitesurfing, sailing, and horseback riding.

The food in Sardinia is amazing. The quality of life is high and the cost of living is fairly low.

Sardinia is part of Italy but has a unique culture all its own.

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FREEROLL: What is the BJJ scene like in Sardinia?

Capoeira instructor and we offer BJJ and Capoeira classes to children and adults.

When I arrived here in 2012, it was young but it has grown up quick. Now there are ten or more schools throughout the island. Nearly every major city has a BJJ academy now. The island is set to host the Sardinian Open Jiu-Jitsu Open tournament 2017. So Jiu-Jitsu is growing strong.

The second is to be a lightning rod for Jiu-Jitsu practitioners that want to explore the culture of Sardinia. I want BJJ students and instructors who pass through Sardinia to have a home at the Sardus Academy. I would like to show people the Sardinia that I have fallen in love with.

FREEROLL: Tell us about your academy, the Sardus BJJ Academy.

Two years ago I opened up the Sardus BJJ Academy, a non-profit. The school is located in the City of Oristano which is located along the west coast of island. My intention is to create a place to help build the Jiu-Jitsu community, and spread the Jiu-Jitsu lifestyle. There are two components to the idea of Sardus BJJ. The first is connecting to the large Sardinia community and the large immigrant population coming from the continent of Africa. I partnered with a

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FREEROLL: What do you have in store for the future of the Sardus Academy and BJJ on Sardinia?

When I started the academy I affiliated with the BJJ Globetrotters Association. For those that don’t know the Globetrotters association is a BJJ team who is dedicated to a community of BJJ travel, and zero politics. In 2016 we were home to the BJJ Globetrotters camp, which brought practitioners from all over the world to Sardinia.

This year I am doing the Sardus BJJ Camp

outside of the BJJ Globetrotters Association camp. I am bringing in 12 instructors from all over the world to teach. The camp includes lodging by the beach, horseback riding, sailing, food, culture, and of course Jiu-Jitsu. I am also using it to help support both the Lion Heart Initiative and Veterans Jiu-Jitsu. The Lion Heart Initiative is introducing BJJ and MMA in Senegal. Veterans Jiu-Jitsu is a community dedicated to helping veterans through Jiu-Jitsu. The goal of the camp is to create a true international, inter-cultural Jiu-Jitsu experience.

Amir’s lifestyle reflects his true passion for growing Jiu-Jitsu and contributing to not just his local community but the global community at large.

FREEROLL: Any last words and how can people contact with you?

I am just grateful for the interview. If anyone is interested in the camp or wants to visit the academy while in Sardinia they can find me on Facebook at Sardus BJJ Academy or www. sardusbjjacademy.com Issue 007 | FREEROLL

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THE GRAPPLER

by Daniel Soule

It was the second punch, bouncing my head of the cage floor, which brought me to. He was on me, swarming, stepping between my legs and lowering his level to ground-and-pound me out, to finish the fight early, to pick up his win bonus, to shock the world, to be champ. It looked all but over. However, ‘but’ is a pretty big word.

I still can’t remember the left hook; I didn’t see it coming. You never see the ones that take you out. On the playback, it was like I’d been shot in the head, my legs buckled immediately, I dropped straight down, and then back, so that I lay with the fence behind me, my head thudding into canvas for another concussive blow. The logo of a “great tasting, crisp, all American beer” beneath me. If it hadn’t been a title fight the ref would never have let it go so long, but John had seen me though my career and gave me the benefit of a big-assdoubt. Playing his part in this all but over fight.

Momentum more than anything left me slightly on my side, taking away Marcos’s clear shot. Instead, a four-ounce fingerless glove cracked the top of my skull, giving me a wakeup call. My eyes rolled back into focus, and the world rushed back in. It was like when I was a kid and my dad dragged me to the dentist to get a tooth pulled. I was terrified and he held me down 18 |

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in the chair screaming. One large, manly hand pinning my chest, while the mask suffocated me. I writhed like a puppy drowning in a bucket until the gas took me. I woke up in a recovery room. The impersonal smell of cleanliness assaulted my nose, and sound came back as an unstoppable wave, screaming, then pounding with base tones and a high-pitched whine. Pops was sitting in the corner of the room thumbing through a hunting magazine as though nothing had happened. “Shudda blocked that one,” is all he said after this fight.

Like I said, I was on my side. I could taste the copper of my blood mixing with the smell of chemicals from the newly printed canvas under hot lights. Marcos was a Thai boxer, and a good one – inter-continental something or other – and had okay Jiu-Jitsu but wasn’t much of a wrestler. This means he should’ve stood back-up, but – that word again – who could blame him for thinking he’d got me, and the title?

I knew what my Pops would say, “In Jesus’ name, Mike, we’re Republicans: don’t just lie there with another man on top of you”. Usually, my wrestling means I can throw my hands and not fear the other guy shooting under my punches to take me down. It would be a special wrestler to put me on my back and an even more special kind of guy to keep me there. I’m not a drowning puppy anymore.

Usually it doesn’t matter how good a striker you are, if you can’t wrestle you’ll

end up on the floor with the grappler on top of you, then all your skills mean nothing.

And yet there I was put on my ass by striker who would hardly even make the high school wrestling squad.

Right after the first bell, I could feel I was no match for Marcos on the feet. Don’t get me wrong, I can bang too, put people to sleep; I’ve a highlight reel full of them. But Marcos was something else. For the first few minutes I could tell he was measuring, playing me, neutralizing my strikes and takedowns with his footwork. He wouldn’t set his feet to put weight behind his punches. This meant he was on his toes and mobile, hard to catch.

He’d adapted from previous fights, where he’d gone on a tear, knocking out three in a row and earning his shot. I hadn’t drilled for this. He usually circled to the left, his right, to the outside of my left jab, where unless I have some tricky spinning techniques, which I don’t, he’d avoid my big right hand and a power-double. But I’m a different class of wrestler – three times All American, highest ever number of pins in a season. I’ve snatched up single-legs off God knows how many opponents with similar movement and put them on their asses.

One guy I hoisted so high and slammed down so hard his collar bone fractured.

Instead, now Marcos would halfcheck to the left, draw my footwork and then change direction, retreating in a wide loop to the right. He was winning the foot-battle, baiting me, and as I set to throw a jab or lead-right or shoot for the takedown he was gone, stiffing me with his jab, finding his range.

It was frustrating. To an outsider, it looked like he was running, that I was the one chasing him down and controlling the Octagon. The crowd booed what they couldn’t see. It’s the invisible stuff that matters at this level. Whether you’re a striker or grappler, it’s the small details that make the difference between good and elite. On the feet, the art is about faints within faints, drawing your opponent with your body position, showing him your right hand to stick him with the left, or going low with a kick to open up the head, or winning the foot battle so you’re only hitting a ghost.

The boy wasn’t running; he was setting me a puzzle I couldn’t solve; he was teaching me and I knew it. In the back of my mind I felt the presence of that hand on my chest.

It motivated me, made me search for an alternative way – always has.

I’d just worked out what he was doing when that left-hook landed right on my jaw, whipping my head. I know this from the replay and I know Caesar, my boxing coach, would roll his Mexican eyes at me and swear. I carry my chin too high, a tic left over from wrestling, but no one had been good enough to make me pay for it.

I thought he was slipping left again and timed the over-hand-right, only to hit air. My body was set to deliver force in front of me, not to take it from the side: my balance was off. A sweet check-hook and he spun off, pivoting on his front foot.

More than time, that practiced-footwork of his bought me space. If he hadn’t spun off, he would have been right on top of me. Instead he had to come in, drawing him to the mat, away from his open space, away from his footwork, away from the illuIssue 007 | FREEROLL

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sions of the striking game, into the mysteries of the ground game.

Like I said, he had one leg between mine, down on one knee, while he postured up, his other foot planted on the cage floor near my face, as if he was trying to combine a marriage proposal with a parking lot brawl. My hands came up and John hesitated to stop the fight. “Fight back” he said, looking for me to intelligently defend myself.

Interesting way of putting it. There isn’t much intelligence involved. Not in that kind of bleeding-heart-liberal-never-watched-afight-never-trained-don’t-know-what-you’retalking-about assumptions of our sport.

What I mean is that it is a conditioned response from hours, upon hours, upon hours of training. “You don’t drill until you can get it right, you drill until you can’t get it wrong,” my college wrestling coach used to bark, while we puked at the side of the mat into waiting buckets, convulsing with fatigue.

away a lot of leverage; he could still generate power from there, but – always about the ‘but’ – it was at a cost, a tiny imperceptible cost. You see, the left hook brought his weight forward and I felt the easing of pressure on my bottom leg. A wrestler, a good one, would sit his weight back on the leg he’d trapped between his own legs to control your movement, while he unloaded his ground-and-pound. Without the weight on my right leg I had space, just a little, but it was all I needed and my body reacted.

No thought, just training.

Another punch and another rained down but now hit my guarding hands, protecting my head. The screaming wave was still rushing in at me. I didn’t know fully where I was, only that I was in the shit, under that hand which wanted to push me down. I was familiar with this place, come to accept it; I knew its ways and how to beat it. Every cell in your body wants to struggle, like the puppy in the bucket, like the boy in the dentist chair. But that ain’t how you win. Never meet force with force.

My left hand snaked away from guarding my face at the price of eating another punch. The crowd roared; John told me to “fight back” and stepped closer, preparing to separate us, to save me the beating and give Marcos the victory.

My arm slid around Marcos’s waist, like that marriage proposal had gone well for him. I gripped his far hip and sucked the space away, clamping my shoulder to the other hip. I came up on my right elbow, which started to change the angle, moving me to the side of Marcos. He should have stopped here and tried to put me back on the mat or just got the hell out of there, instead he punched twice more. I heard his corner screaming “whizzer, whizzer” at him. But – I love that word – it was already too late. There was no chance of getting his right hand threaded under my arm pit to help break my base. There was no space left. He was the puppy now and I was the bucket.

Marcos’s blood was up and he changed from straight punches to a swinging left hook. Fighting on the ground takes

I span to my knees so we were now hip to hip. Marcos still had one foot on the mat, another mistake and the reac-

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tions weren’t automatic for him. A wrestler would have battled to be the top man and we may have ended up standing in the scramble, and back to his striking game. A Jiu-Jitsu guy might have done the same or spun to his backside for a butterfly guard or full guard if he was a step behind. Marcos finally decided to go for a guard, any guard, but it was too late. I’d already begun to change the angle of pressure, shifting my orientation to drive obliquely through the weakness in his line of balance. As he yielded the position I felt that familiar feeling of syncopation, of forces aligning, of leverage transforming into centrifugal force.

It is a feeling of balance and control and I knew he now felt the opposite. I used chest pressure on his right hip and cupped the ankle of his foot planted on the mat with my right hand as I turned him over, rotating him away from the cage, where he might use it to defend.

He floundered. My left hand swam for head control. There should have been an arm there to defend but there wasn’t and so my bicep pressured across his face, as my fingertips found his opposite armpit and I rotated my shoulder into his sternum, forcing his face away.

He bucked and bridged, pushing his feet into the mat, trying to lift his hips, but now I had control of his elbows: one isolated by my hip movement was now pinned between my left thigh and left tricep; the other I pulled across his abdomen. If you can’t put your elbows to the floor you can’t turn.

Breathing tells you a lot. Marcos was

panting and even by this I could perceive what level of grappler he was. Everyone loses in the gym or in competition but a good grappler never pants. Their heart could be going one-ninety but their breath would be slow and steady. Marcos wanted free and would do anything now. I rotated my left shoulder a quarter of an inch, increasing the pressure on his throat, heard the grunt, and waited to see what he wanted to give me. Sure enough, he struggled to get his left forearm away from my controlling right hand, so that he could try to push my face away to create breathing space. But – and this was really Marcos’s final ‘but’ – that was just fine with me.

I let it go and as he pushed the forearm towards my face. I simultaneously pushed his elbow in that direction as I swung my head out of the way so that his forearm found nothing and carried on. My cauliflower left ear swung back behind his tricep, and I then shucked it down to my neck, trapping his arm across his face, securing the head and arm choke. I locked my hands together and waited for the inevitable bridge. He bucked. I rode the bridge, keeping my base. As his hips came back to the canvas my right knee was already sliding across his belly into the full mount, like a school yard bully sitting astride the chess club captain.

We were chest-to-chest and I levered forward to feel the response. He was strong and fit and this was still the first round so I didn’t expect to submit him from here: the leverage was poor. He bucked again, as I hoped, and when he settled once more my left heel kicked tight to my ass and span to

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his opposite hip avoiding his legs, and I slid off to side-control on the other side of his body. It was all but over.

One last struggle came from the puppy. He’d put up a brave fight. He’d come so close. Maybe this would break him. Maybe it would be that motivating hand, always looming in the back of his mind. Either way there were no more ‘buts’: it was over.

I rotated perpendicular into him, focusing all the force of my leverage through my chest against his tricep, as I squeezed my bicep that lay perfectly across his rightside jugular. His hand waved in the air like the Queen of England, hesitating while he did the calculations of pride – “tap or nap”, that’s what we say. He decided to tap.

Three panicked slaps on my left shoulder before consciousness would leave him.

“Let him go. It’s over,” came John’s booming instruction and he lay hands on me, letting me know to stop and I’d won.

I sat up, hands on my knees taking a deep breath. I looked up at the big screens overhead, already replaying the submission, and took the gum-shield out of my mouth.

I could hear Longan’s voice from the side of the cage, breaking down what just happened for the audience at home, like an ADD kid on coke. Then I looked back down to Marcos, who was still lying on his back, the arm I used to choke him now covering his eyes. I knew what he felt. Like his whole life built to this one moment, that his whole being was about this moment, that he had one hand on the belt but – you can’t escape the ‘but’ – he’d made a mistake. Maybe he didn’t know what it was yet, maybe 22 |

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he’d put it down to not being good enough or think maybe I was just lucky, which one he chooses to believe will determine whether he is going to be the puppy or bucket.

He is being swarmed now. They are all over him: trainers, doctors, athletic commission marshals. I put one hand on his chest to console, say thanks. I could feel the pain; I didn’t need to be a grappler for that. I was ready to leave him to his sorrow but just as I was about to pull my hand away I felt his glove over mine. We gripped for just a moment and understood each other.

My corner was ecstatic, pulling my sponsor’s t-shirt and hat on me. Caesar slapped me on the back and rolled his eyes, “that fucking chin of yours hanging out in the wind”. He smiled but he won’t let it go back in the gym. I hope he saw the footwork too and understood it better than me. It’s then I saw my pops in the front row, still wearing a flannel shirt like we are back in the dentist’s, shaking his head. He wasn’t impressed then or now.

Logan bounds up to me after the decision, twelve pounds of gold pinned to a leather belt hung around my waist again.

Time for the interview. “What an incredible comeback. Talk us through the finish here.

It looked like it was all but over after that left hook.”

I dip a little to the microphone: “But is a pretty big word…”

THE END

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FREEROLL Feature Blog

Beyond the Technique: Ownership

By Ayesha Kamal

Y

ou attend class regularly. You listen attentively. You drill diligently. You keep showing up - but despite your obvious dedication, your progress doesn’t fully match up to the mat time you’ve been putting in. Does this sound familiar to you? I know that I’ve been in this situation - and it wasn’t until I really took ownership of my learning that I started to make the progress I was after.

As important as it is to show up to class, the truth is, sometimes showing up isn’t enough - it’s a start and it’s more than what many do, but when you’re aware of a stall in your development it’s time to take a closer look at your learning and figure out how to further your progress. This is what taking ownership is all about.

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Unless you’re doing only one-on-one training, you’re in a group class. This means that everyone is receiving the same detailed instruction as you are.

They are learning the same techniques - however, what you do beyond the technique taught is what will really make a difference to your progress. You decide how you are going to take ownership of what was taught - are you going to efficiently use all the drill time to get in your reps or are you going to do a couple and then sit and chat? Are you going to accept that you didn’t remember all the details of the technique and just go with it or will you raise your hand and ask for assistance? Again, we’re all there learning the same thing - it’s how you make it your own that will make the experience truly resonate for you.

Once your coach gives you guidance, it’s up to you to figure out how you want to implement it. I know that I often avoided drilling techniques that I struggled with. I didn’t want to do them because I was not good at them. However, that type of avoidance wasn’t going to get me anywhere. The only way I could move forward was if I took ownership of my own learning. I had to make sure that I specifically drilled those techniques that I was trying to avoid. Again, I had to take ownership of my learning.

Accepting the challenge and recognizing that I needed to put in hard work to achieve what I wanted has been a good practice for me.

It is something that I have been able to apply both on and off the mats. Taking ownership has taught me how to question and ask for clarification without hesitation. It has also prompted me to take a closer look at how I learn best. I came to realize that watching and doing wasn’t enough. I needed to write it down. I needed to figure out the moves on paper and visualize the sequence

of events in writing before I could apply them. It may seem like an extra, tedious step, but for me it was one that was necessary.

I also realized that video recording myself doing techniques was helpful so that I could see my errors. It gave me something concrete to work on instead of just hearing feedback such as ‘your hips are too high’ or ‘your body isn’t at enough of an angle’ - actually seeing it enabled me to understand it and thereby make improvements.

Everyone learns differently. Take the time to figure out what will make it click for you - watching more videos? Talking to someone about your struggles?

More drill time (never a bad thing)?

Actively engaging with and taking ownership of your learning will keep you better connected with your jiu-jitsu and take your training to a whole other level.

Read the whole Beyond the Technique online at www.freerollmag.com.

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Fictional locker room banters on Family background

Martial Race, Tribe, Indigenousness and Ethnicity in BJJ

By Mohammed Tanvir (Nick) Mosharraf

A

fter training, the boys hung around the locker room. Changing, showering, resting, ranting; the room was full of commotion.

As he took his Gi off, Arne proudly displayed inscriptional tattoos on his chest. The artwork, with a picture of the Viking God Odin read: ‘DIE IN BATTLE, LIVE IN VALHALLA’. It reflected his pagan Viking heritage. He playfully boasted “My noble savage ancestors excelled in the art of Gilman (Scandinavian folk wrestling). BJJ today, is my modern day calling; it keeps the spirit of my ancestors alive in me.”

Arne and Vince enrolled together and have spent the same amount of time on the mats. They both saw an advertisement on their school notice board and decided to join the academy together as it seems something fund to do. It took Vince almost one and half years to get his blue belt while Arne got promoted in less than year.

Vince: “Dam! My ancestors were religious people! God fearing priests who promoted peace!” He wrestled with jealous emotions inside.

“Maktub!” exclaims Mohammad, who just got out of the shower. “It is written!” he sighs referring to the Arab phrase that means ‘it is fate or this is the way it is meant to be’. “Arne, you are born to be a fighter, it’s your des-

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tiny.” claims Mohammad, a white belt who believes that it is up to Allah to determine what fate holds for you.

Vince felt disturbed. He wanted to be perceived as a fighter, a tough guy.

Girls dig that! No hottie wants to date a softie! He wanted to ask the blonde at the reception out for drinks this weekend. He looks up at the poster in the locker room that their Sensei put to motivate them at the academy. It was also part of the décor their otherwise bare gym possessed.

The picture quoted boldly ‘Champions aren’t made in gyms. Champions are made from something they have deep inside them - a desire, a dream, a vision. They have to have the skill, and the will. But the will must be stronger than the skill’ with Mohammad Ali standing tall.

Vince: “I think that’s nonsense! You should work hard and create your own destiny! Nothing is predetermined!”

Before Mohammad could respond, Joshi, aka Josh, interrupted looking at Mohammad, “My Mom believes that shit. Kismat, they say.”

Josh was a purple belt who has been practicing BJJ on and off for fifteen years. His family hailed from India and they were Brahmins. They did not eat meat. When Josh wanted to commence BJJ his mother consulted an astrologer who was well versed in Jyotisha, the vedas and Ayurveda. The whole

package he jokes. “Joshi, we are not Kshatriyas (Hindu warrior caste)! Why do you have to do this Kusti (Indian wrestling) thing? We are better than this, beta (son)?”

Mohammad, who has been training BJJ for only a couple of months, always gave Josh a hard time during sparring sessions. This was embarrassing for Josh. Their sensei justified that Mohammad wrestled and did Judo before he started training BJJ and hence had a strong grappling background. Still, the idea of not being able to dominate a rookie nagged Josh at the back of his mind. This was especially because they worked together in a factory and Josh got Mohammad into BJJ. Mohammad constantly teased Josh. “It’s cause y’all skinny vegans don’t eat meat, you need your God damn protein intake son!” Josh always responded by pointing out that Jake Shield was a vegetarian and excelled at BJJ. Vikram, or Vik, as the boys called him, keenly listened to the conversation as he was changing. “You need to be a special breed of people to excel in combat, no matter what form, soldiers, BJJ, Muay Thai, you name it.” he quotes in a matter-of-fact fashion.

Everyone at the academy respected Vik. He was a brown belt who has been training for only six years. He had recently won gold at the local BJJ tournament by submitting all his opponents. In spite of being one of the little guys in the academy, he was a tough cookie and, earned a reputation to be

very skillful and explosive. He flaunted his customized T-shirt. It read ‘If a man says he is not afraid of dying, he is either lying or he is a Gurkha’ the famous quote by Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw. He went on to explain that when the British ruled India, after the 1857 rebellion the Army classified the people of India into two segments.

One group was martial, and the other was non-martial. Gurkhas, Jat Sikhs were among the famous martial class.

They were conscripted into the British Army and were given land for their loyal services. He went on to tease that Bengalis were too lazy and fragile to fight.

All eyes were on Devesh (or Dave as nobody here seems to get his name right), a blue belt who worked in investment banking. “That’s because we are smart, and we had our own brain and will not follow orders blindly” he scorned as zipped his bag. Amar, a brown belt whose family was Jat Sikhs, winked at Vik and patted Dev on the back indicating to keep the conversation playful as he sipped on his protein shake. Vik and Amar had to start their night shit as security guards in an hour. He did not want to carry emotional baggage from the academy.

But that did not stop Martin. “Today, we call them discrimination!” he shouted as he got out of the shower. “It is unfair to deprive one of participation in something like BJJ, or any legal activity. We need to change this raciest mentality” although addressing Vik ensuring that everybody heard him.

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Martin was a civil rights lawyer. He was also a BJJ black belt who has been training for 10 years. He volunteers at his neighborhood community center where he runs a BJJ program. Most of his students come from underprivileged background and are minorities.

He always encouraged people to fight their way out of the vicious circle of problems and limitations in life. He believed that is what BJJ taught him in life more than anything.

“Don’t ever let somebody tell you...

You can’t do something. Not even me.

All right?” continues Martin quoting Chris Gardner from ‘The Pursuit of Happiness’. It was his favorite quote.

He knew how hard Vince was preparing for the upcoming Grapplers Quest tournament and what it meant for his confidence. He also knew Dave gave his best at the academy. Dave never did any sport of physical activity before he joined the academy. Although he struggled, he kept coming back to the academy in spite of his travels and long working hours. His work friends went to high end fitness clubs. But, he wanted to change his image as a nerd. And so he chose this academy in a rundown warehouse. Martin’s eyes grazed his eyes towards them to ensure that they got the message.

“But I think it is a combination of your will, hard work and, your background does play a part too’’ articulated Lu, as he was spraying his deodorant. Lu’s father and uncles taught Kung Fu in China. He served in the Chinese army.

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officers he was court marshaled and discharged. He left China, learned that his new found home recruits foreigners in the Army. He enlisted, became a citizen and moved up the ranks. While not on deployment, he trains regularly.

“See, I got my blue belt in 6 months, purple 2 years later, and I think I pick up things fast because I come from a martial arts family”.

The boys headed towards the door.

Dave bumped into Ivan, a Russian brown belt who worked in construction.

Dave: “Dude, I gotta say, every Russian I meet is ridiculously strong! What is it with you guys?”

Ivan: “It’s our environment, the harsh winters make us tough, now stop whining and let’s go for some drinks, and I’m buying the first round.”

Ivan winks as they head out of the door. “By the way, you are strong for a little geek” Dave grins, “It’s from lifting all the heavy books.”

The boys step out of the locker room.

A poster on their background door reads, PUSH: Persist Until Something Happens!

“The events depicted in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental. It does not express the views of the author or publisher”

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A Competition Retrospective

Reflection By Dustin Harraway Purple Belt Dustin Harraway recently competed in the International Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu Federation (IBJJF) Pan American Jiu-Jitsu Championship and wrote about it in a competition blog for FREEROLL. Check out what Dustin had to say about his experience here!

B

efore competition, I felt great physically and mentally. I felt calm and confident for this tournament. I would never enter any competition unless I felt that I could win 1st place. This competition, the IBJJF Pan American Jiu-Jitsu Championship, was a different experience.

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I’m used to competing at small local tournaments back home on Oahu. Normally, at the local tournaments there are only a couple of competitors in my division. This means a guaranteed spot on the podium. With that being said, the Pan American was definitely a challenge.

It’s usually 3-4 fights before the semifinals and sometimes your total matches can be up to 7 matches. Nevertheless, it was a great experience and I can’t wait to compete in it again.

To get my mind ready for competitions I make sure to focus on my progression in the gym.

I always keep an open mind and a positive attitude. Having a good mindset and no ego is key on and off the tatami. For example, when I’m tired and someone fresh comes into the gym to train I try to get a roll or two with him/her. Win or

The IBJJF Pan-American BJJ Championships lose it doesn’t matter. This is your time to become better than you were yesterday.

If you make a mistake don’t think it’s because they’re better than you. Look at what you did wrong.

Correct your mistakes and try again.

I didn’t win the Pan American this year, but I’ll train to become better every day so I’m ready for the next tournament. One day, I’ll be World Champion. Today I learned more about the techniques that I was executing.

What to do and what not to do.

I attempted one of my favorite positions the ankle lock from 50/50.

Didn’t get it this time so what I will do to fix it is watch instructional videos on the position.

Study, drill, and execute.

The Pan American Championships were a surreal experience because I got to compete against the best in a different environment. I love traveling and meeting new people to test my skills as a Jiu-Jitsu practitioner. Although I lost I’ll be back. This loss is only motivation to continue to get better and reach my aspirations of being a World Champion while living the Jiu-Jitsu lifestyle.

The next step now is to continue train and work until I can move this summer to continue my Jiu-Jitsu journey in Vegas.

Freeroll would like to wish you the best of luck in all your future endeavors Dustin.

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