Arms Are For Hugging


I competed in the American National Brazilian Jiu Jitsu Tournament last weekend. A BJJ tournament is a lot of things. It’s a battle of strength, technique, athleticism, and will. It’s a rare opportunity to go mano a mano against another human being. Most importantly, you get to roll around on mats with sweaty men in front of a crowd of people - teh h@wt!

I haven’t competed in a couple years, and my last experience was horrible. I cut ten pounds, competed a belt level up, psyched myself out mentally, and performed poorly. These days, I’m in decent shape, but have only been training four times a week, and have not been paying attention to what I eat (and drink and drink and drink). I decided to enter the competition heavy, and what I gave up on size I would hopefully make up on endurance and guile from not having to cut weight.

The night before the competition, I checked the brackets online and looked up my opponents. One guy had competed in an MMA event and another guy, who I would face in my first match, owns a martial arts school in Ohio, and has his own instructional DVDs on the market. I was intimidated, and quickly assembled my little ponies in a circle for some advice.


“I don’t know about this.” I asked the quorum of ponies, “This guy has been in martial arts his entire life. He trains every day. I’m not sure I have a chance!”

Pinkie Pie combed her pink hair back and nuzzled against my head, “You’ll do great, Mezz0!”

Scootaloo jumped in, “Yes, Mezz0, you’ll have ever so much fun, and I’ll bet the winner gets a ‘My little pony party play set!’”

“And a new brush for my hair!” Pinkie Pie squealed. The rest of the ponies agreed that the potential upside of Hasbro cosmetics outweighed the downside of humiliation.

“I don’t know, girls, I’ll try to make you proud.” I kissed them all on their plush noses and stuffed them back into the sock drawer.

The next morning, when they announced my belt and age group, I tried to stay loose, and to generate some extra testosterone by playing Flaming Lips "Yoshima Battles the Pink Robots - Part 2" on eleven. By the time Yoshida enters the ring to battle the robots with the single most horrific battle cry (1:30) ever created for musical purposes, I was ready to tear my opponent, the ref, the scorekeepers, the T-shirt vendors, the parking attendant, and random citizens in the greater Long Beach area to pieces.

When my name was called, I stepped on the scale at 191, (three pounds under the limit) and stood in a group of competitors in my age and weight division. They looked big, and W1ll Figgins looked ashen-faced. Was it fear, illness, or rage?

I didn't want to be friendly towards the man, because it would ruin my visualization of ripping off his skull and spinal cord and showing it to the crowd. He tried to shake my hand in the wings, but I bared my teeth and made guttural noises until he backed off.

Match 1: When the match began, and I immediately grabbed his left collar with my right hand, pushed him forward, scooped up his right leg, and drove the motherfucker to the ground for a two point take down.


Once we hit the ground, I passed his guard for three points, and dug my knee into his stomach for another three points (see below):


I went ahead 12-0 when I mounted him for four points, and then stalled out the time to win. He didn't resist much, or very intelligently, and appeared outclassed by the rest of the competitors in our age/weight division, but you never know if he was sick, recovering from an injury, or was just competing for his prurient sexual gratification. If that's the case, he sort of won, I guess, or maybe we both won.

He hit me in the face a few times during the match and apologized, which makes me think he hasn't competed before. In the academy, you apologize for accidental illegal contact like punches, kicks, elbows, etc. In competition, you look for opportunities in which you can get away with "accidental" illegal contact. In fact, there is a huge list of things I would never do in class with a teammate, but wouldn't hesitate to do in a competition.

For example, when he was attempting to escape, I drove my knee into his face, which is not nice, but not illegal, either. You do this in class, you're an asshole. You do this in a competition, and you get to experience the joy that is intentionally hurting another human being for sport.

Match 2: I went through a lot of energy in the first match, mainly due to nerves, and my desire to win the first match at all costs. My second match was against a bigass Persian dude with insanely long legs. He had to have at least four inches on me, as well as a goatee. A loss against this guy could mean kidnapping and indefinite detainment.

"One more match," I told myself beforehand, "you win this one, you get a bronze medal at the very least...And maybe a Littlest Pet Show Frosty Fortress."

The match started and his stand up energy was unyielding. I couldn't move him, and tried to avoid clinching with him. We swatted at each others hands, and finally locked up at which time he pulled guard and immediately slapped a triangle choke on my head. I remember thinking, "How did that happen?" There are some guys at my academy really good at triangles, and I never get caught in them.”


I was having trouble breathing, and stood up as I considered an exotic triangle escape, but his leg weight was so intense, I didn't think I would be able to pull it off. He adjusted the triangle making it even tighter, and I started to wheeze, and my vision turned fuzzy. (When choked unconscious due to carotid artery constriction, your vision gets fuzzy, like static, then darken on the outsides like entering a tunnel.) With my vision fuzzy, I considered tapping out when, like out of a dream, I heard my coach yell "Knee to tailbone! Knee to tailbone!"

I knew immediately what he was talking about, and thought, "No shit – I didn't know that was a legit escape - I thought it was just a guard pass technique." I put my knee to his tailbone, yelled "SPARTAAAAAAAAAA!!!!" and his legs sprung open like a woman of loose morals in a house of ill repute.

I was relaying this story to TNT, who asked, "What a second – is putting your knee on his tailbone some sort of pressure point? If this guy had you nearly choked unconscious, how did that prevent him from finishing you off?"

"Well, you sort of slide your knee up his tailbone a few inches and then drive forward, pressuring his man-sack."

"So you kneed the guy in the balls?"

Long pause.

"Yeah, kind of."

His legs were freakishly long, and while I was trying to isolate one leg, his other leg was strategizing with his coaches, grabbing something to drink, and returning to the mat to wrap it around my back in an obscenely flexible angle. I passed into his half guard and then moved inch by inch until my shoulder was pressed up against his face. He returned the favor by making fists with his hands and driving them into my nose and cheek to relieve the pressure. I passed into side control for 3 points, and then immediately to mount for 4 points,


and at that point he was mentally beat. I rode out the time, pretended to try to submit the guy, and then my hand was raised.


The head instructor at my acadamy greeted me at the edge of the mat, "Nice win, buddy, between you and me, that was probably your gold medal match - he was the champion from last year and the rest of these guys - they got nothing."

This is not the kind of thing that I would tell someone, ever, no matter what the sport or circumstance, in fact, I would avoid saying these types of things to someone prior to their final performance so as not to distract them, or cause them to lose focus, or to take their last performance less seriously than would be warranted. But I'm not a black belt from Brazil, so what the fuck do I know?

Match 3: My last match was boring. We were both tired, and neither of us wanted to make any mistakes. My opponent made weak attempts to take me down, and I stuffed the take downs and made weak attempts to choke him out.


The match was restarted several times when we went outside of the designated area. I passed his guard just as time was expiring, but didn't receive any points because it was too late. I stood up and looked at the scoreboard. At some point in the match, one us received an advantage point. Advantage points only come into consideration if the score is tied at the end of the match, and are awarded for coming close to completing a technique that would receive points.

My opponent had come close to taking me down a couple of times, so I didn't know if the point was for him or me. I though it must be for me or else my coaches would have been going ape shit for me to get a point as time was running out.

We stood in between the ref, who held our wrists by our uniforms. The ref raised my hand, and my defeated opponent bowed his head and walked off of the mat in shame. He would be on suicide watch for the next 24 hours. I won the gold, and brought much honor to our acadamy. My performance would be talked about for at least a few days, maybe for even as long as a week, but the gold medal I received will last forever, and will forever stay in the sock drawer next to Pinkie Pie for comfort in times of crisis.