A Ballet of Violence.

Ok, so there’s a TON of things I miss from back home. Obviously my family and friends top that list by far, but there’s a few other big aspects of my life that I’m living without whilst over here. I’ve already written about the Christian fellowship and such in a previous post, so there’s really only one other giant thing that needs to be mentioned. My priorities in life (in order) can basically be described by four “f’s.” There’s the standard three that a lot of people speak of: Faith, Family, and Friends, but then I’ve dumped in a nice little fourth to top it all off. Fighting.

I friggin’ LOVE fighting and everything that relates to it. If it’ll improve my abilities in that department, I’ll do it. No questions asked. I’ve been training martial arts for the past 7 or so years and due to my desire to basically one day be the best pound-for-pound fighter in the world, I’ve put myself through untold absurd workouts. I’ve dropped countless weights on myself. Stumbled an innumerous amount of times while pushing through some ridiculous cardio routine. Darn near blacked out (and subsequently gave myself WICKED headaches for about two weeks after the fact) while holding what we in the business know as the “horse stance” because I wouldn’t quit until I’d met my goal for time held in the position. Created literal pools of sweat in my basement around my heavy bag. And tons of other stuff too. Now I’m not trying to be a cocky toolbag or anything about this, but rather just give my one reader a vision of what I do.

Ok, maybe I'm not QUITE as jacked as the late great Mr. Andy Hug here (it's close though), but the point remains the same :-)

When it comes down to training at the old Tae Kwon Do (TKD) Club at the U, I don’t miss class. Like ever unless completely necessary. I’m positive that I had a super-bad stress fracture this past year from all the training and such. So bad I couldn’t even walk one day. Thankfully, that was a Friday and thus I didn’t have class. I was gimping like pirate with a peg leg for weeks with that thing. I only missed one TKD class. I taped that hummer up and toughed it out. Heck, I even fought at a tournament with it (got beat down too). That’s how much I love fighting. If we were just sparring in the gym for class, I’ll always volunteer myself to go. I’ll do 5, 6, 7, whatever rounds in a row. There’s just something about it that I can’t really describe. It’s the most pure, basic form of competition, you know what I mean? There’s something so natural to it. It just feels right for me, but yet I can’t even come close to explaining it. I think Joe Rogan said it best one night when he was describing the great Anderson Silva's fighting style: "It's like a ballet of violence." Beautiful.

Now I’ll be the first to tell you that I’m pretty much happy all the time. Try and catch me in a bad mood. Can’t really be done. And if you do, well, then I’m with you so I’m probably feeling pretty good again. Cuz let’s be honest here, if you’re reading this, you’re a friend of mine and you mean more to me than you’ll ever know. Ok, that was waaaay too emotional for a piece (yeah, I’m calling this a piece, because it’s clearly a literary masterpiece :P) about fighting. My apologies. Frigg, where was I going with that? Oop, got it. So with this knowledge of my being in such a good mood pretty much always, let me describe for you the greatest day of my life.

T’was this past April in the year 2008 (obviously :P). The Tae Kwon Do Club had traveled over to Osseo for a tournament. Heck yeah! My boy Kyle and I were just chilling in the cafeteria of the high school it was being held in when CONAN O’FRIGGIN’BRIEN walks in! Ok, it wasn’t really him, but I swear it was his doppelganger. From the pointed black dress shoes all the way up to the crazy, froffy-pompadour haircut parted just so, this cat had it all. A dead ringer. The entirety of the club had a darn fine time with this little gem for the rest of the day, and Kyle and I had a good laugh at the idea of his actually fighting.

But alas, this was the most action that was to occur for a while, as you see, the Black Belt fighting doesn’t occur until last in the day’s festivities. Thus, I had much waiting to do. You do your best to find things to partake in, such as helping make the whole thing not take eleventy hours to complete, but you know, all you’re (well, at least me) thinking of is fighting. FINALLY, though, the time came to throw down.

The Black Belt’s were divided into three different weight classes if I remember correctly. Of course, since I weigh about 165 or so, I was thrust into the heavyweight division… wait… what? Yeah. No biggie (pun), though, I’d been fighting as such (due to my height) for pretty much forever. Kyle was tossed in the bracket as well. I believe three more guys were put in there too. A five person division. Kind of small, but still, the competition looked good. Beyond myself and Kyle, there was Oy. Oy Lee is quite possibly the most fearsome individual I’ve ever seen in my life. The cat’s about 6’3” or so and probably clocks in at at least a rock-solid 230. Probably more. I believe he’s the head instructor or something of the sort at the World Tae Kwon Do Academy. He’s a former national champion as well. A bad, bad man. And then of course, a certain Mr. Conan O’Brien was in our division as well. NO WAY! Or wait, let me rephrase that, ¡QUE FUERTE! Some other gent was there as well, but meh, I don’t remember him.

Anyways, since there were five people that would mean that two people would have to compete in basically a “play-in” type of match in order to make the bracket work out evenly. Unfortunately for Kyle, he drew the short straw and had to fight here. Against Oy. Sucks to be him. Kyle threw everything he had at the man, and he put up a pretty decent fight, but he wasn’t a match for Oy. Frigg, not a lot of people are.

Very few people throw hands in TKD competition. I do as I’m a huge fan of punches, but they very rarely score, so a lot of people just save them for the gym and the street (assuming there TKD school’s legit and actually teaches good punching technique). Oy’s different. The man THROWS straight bolos with WICKED intentions on them. Like two pistons just driving at an absurd pace into your chest cavity. Example, I was acting as Kyle’s coach for this match and was doing my best to yell out instructions to him throughout it. Right after Oy started throwing the knucks I yelled, “He’s got nothing on those punches. Don’t worry about them. Circle out,” or something to that effect. I think Oy heard this and remembered it for later, but we’ll get there. Point is, Kyle got rocked by those hydraulic hammers. The president of the TKD Club at the time (Nate, who’s since graduated) was videotaping the whole thing, and unfortunately, he’s yet to get us a copy of this tourney; Kyle’s really excited to see this match because the camera had the perfect view to get his facial reaction when Oy started launching those hurtin’ bombs (Rocky Balboa reference, anyone?). He’s pretty psyched to see the look of what’s probably going to be complete terror etched out on his cara.

At another point in the fight, Oy’s daughter (who’s like 4) could be heard cheering for her father. “Kick hard, daddy!” she yelled. A very cute thing… unless you’re the person getting wrecked. Kyle later remarked that all he was thinking about at that time was, “Please don’t.” Now let’s be clear on this, Mr. Hirn (Kyle) is a bad dude. Slightly shorter than me, but a fairly solid 200 - 210 pounds or so. The guy’s very light on his feet for being such a big dude, and he’s got some mad skills. Definitely NOT a slouch, but ain’t you, me, or anyone able to take shots like that from Oy.

Eventually the fight ended. Obviously, you know who won. It seemed clear that Oy didn’t go all out knowing that he could definitely mess this kid up, but by no means did he go soft on Kyle. It was a legit match. Sadly, though, my broheim was out and done fighting.

Next up was Conan vs. some other dude that I can’t remember. They went at it for a bit ending in Mr. O’Brien’s defeat. I don’t recall much from the match as I was just talking to Kyle about the whole endeavor he’d just partaken in. In retrospect, I probably should’ve paid attention, but you know, whatevs.

Anyways, after that match it was my time to roll. I was all geared up and ready to ball. Now, this is the part of the blog where in theory you’d receive an indepth look into the mind of a fighter right before he steps into the ring… but I’d be lying if I said I thought about anything in the moments before the ref starts us. Sometimes right before we get the start, I’ll shake my opponent’s hand, but I don’t like to unless I’m instructed too or the other guy reaches out his mano first. In the past, I’ve led with that gesture, but these days, I just don’t feel it anymore. In the ring it’s all business. Love before the fight and after. Not during… although, technically this is still before, but you feel me on this.

So yeah, right before we’re called to the center, both opponents stand on opposite ends of the ring facing each other at a distance of around 16 or so feet. I ALWAYS stare the guy down. I don’t do it to try to intimidate the person, but just because it’s what I do (Heck, I never wear my glasses when I fight, so I can’t even really see the dude.). I kind of shift my weight side to side on my feet and just watch. I’ve been told that I look like I’m possessed right before we start. Frankly, that’s probably an accurate account of what my appearance is at these times.

This match was no different. I stared across the ring at my opponent in the same manner that I always do. I didn’t care that it was Oy. In my mind, I’m the baddest guy in the gym and I can take anyone. Of course, looking at it from non-fight mode, I didn’t really have a chance to outpoint this guy. But I know I’m more than capable of knocking anybody out if I connect solidly to the head, so I’ve always got that confidence in my mind. It only takes one shot.

Unfortunately, that shot didn’t come this match. I got shiz-booted straight to the moon by the guy. I hit him a little to the body but never anything damaging. Basically, I got handled. And because I’m an overconfident tool, I decided to throw hands with the man. Mistake. I threw a couple and then he threw a friggin’ WHIRLWIND of punches at me. I was literally overwhelmed by them. Like I couldn’t fire back anything as soon as he started throwing that leather (well, not leather because we weren’t wearing gloves, but you know, it’s a good expression, and I don’t know when else I’ll get to use it. So back off! Unless your name is Oy Lee, in which case, I sincerely apologize.). So yeah, remember when I said that he had nothing on those punches during Kyle’s match… turns out he does. A lot actually.

At another point during my gluteus maximus whipping, someone from the crowd yelled, “C’mon, Master Lee!” or something to that effect. And of course while staring Oy down, I said back, “C’mon, Aaron.” I didn’t yell it back because you’re not actually supposed to talk during the matches, but frig I was feeling it at this point. I was receiving one of the best lessons I’ve ever gotten in the ring, so I was on top of the world at this point.

I took my words to heart and went at the guy. But he was lightning in there. I threw at him HARD too. Which was probably an error to some extent because there’s a tradeoff between speed and power (physics aside), and I would’ve needed speed to score on him. But heck, a knockout was a necessity. Although, some quick shots and good footwork would’ve been better at setting that up. Meh, I digress. Point is, my legs burned out on me. My cardio for this tournament was threw the roof, so my lungs weren’t bad at all, but mis piernas died on me. Nothing will lead to gassing faster than throwing power shots and missing.

So anyways, immediately upon the completion of this spectacular beatdown, I was told that I was to be in the next fight as well. Usually in this situation they give you a couple of minutes between peleas to recover, and the ref said this to me, but I looked back at him and told him that I was ready to go right then. I don’t remember it, but Scott (another guy from the club who was watching us) said that the guy was shocked at that idea. Screw waiting, I wanted to go. I love fighting, and there was no need to esperar.

In retrospect I probably should’ve maybe waited a bit to try and recover my legs by walking around a smidge and getting the blood flowing properly, but meh, not my style. I was still REALLY feeling the energy from the Oy fight, and I wasn’t done yet.

I stared across the ring at my opponent while shifting back and forth. The ref called us both to the center. “Jun bi (Ready)?!” he asked forcefully. I yelled back with a passion that I hadn’t felt since a year prior at a different tourney (but that’s a different story). We were close enough to see into each others’ eyes at this point. But I didn’t see fear in his. All I saw was Conan O’Brien. Yeah! I was going to get to fight late night talk show host Conan O’Brien. Hecks yeah! We backed up a bit and the ref gave the signal. Go time, kiddies!

What followed was certainly an epic match. I should preface this all by saying that this tournament was called “The Andy Whallen Invitational (or something como así– there’s a fair chance I misspelled the guy’s name too, so I apologize). Named after a former TKD’er who had died at a young age for reasons that I can’t remember. But what I’m getting at here is that this tourney was supposed to be of more family oriented variety. Thus, knockouts were definitely not encouraged (not that that really stopped anyone from trying). And more importantly, head kicks were only worth one point.

What? Ok, so TKD competition fighting is as such. It’s actually kind of weak, and honestly this pains me to say, but most Tae Kwon Do practitioners couldn’t legitimately fight there way out of a paper bag that may or may not be wet. They train just for competition and not for the street too. Hence, they throw a lot of kicks, but don’t have any hand abilities or grappling skills. I, however, am not like this. I’ve realized such things and made myself legit in other areas. But anyways, back to my point, the basic goal of the fight is to score more points than the other guy. This is done mostly because the guy who gets the most points typically wins. I implore you to find a result in a major sport where the opposite occurred. I’d tell you that I’d wait for you to search, but you’d never come back to read the end of this absurdly long blog post, so yeah with that.

TKD scoring goes like this. It’s one point for a clean kick (or a VERY strong punch – like Oy style, and even then those aren’t really counted) to the body and two points for a solid headshot. This favors me because I’m tall and I’m mad-flexible. So obviously I throw a lot of kicks upstairs. But alas, for this match, said kicks would only land me one point. Sadsies. The scoring is done electronically by four judges sitting ringside (one at every corner). They have little button dealies that they press when they see a point for a person. If like 3 of them hit the sensor within like a second or two of each other, the point registers (because that assumes that they all saw the same shot and that it was clean). This data transfers to a computer at the scorer’s table. This computer is facing the ring; thus everyone’s able to see the score at anytime (including the competitors).

But yeah, on to the fight, my legs were still friggin’ tired as crap and that was starting to take a toll on me, but I still threw with bad intentions at the Late Night sensation. I’m not going to lie, I was landing on him more than he was on me, but the judges either hated me, were drunk, or were stupid because several shots that I connected with got counted toward Mr. Epic-Hair’s point total. I don’t mind getting beat straight up in a match usually, but dag-nabbed if I was going to get screwed. This doesn’t happen often, though. I can only think of two other times when I received the shaft from the people at the corners… and one of those matches ended with my opponent lying on his back for an extended and uncomfortable period of time, so yeah... it didn’t actually end up mattering in that case.

I was getting pretty angry at this whole thing and the screw job I was receiving when I noticed that my belt had come untied and was slipping off. I backed off for a second, ripped it off, and threw it down to the ground. Apparently, this is a big no-no in the TKD world as the ref stopped the match and gave me a warning for that. Friggin’ A this was getting annoying. I wanted to fight, and I was taking it from all sides here.

I took a gander over at the computer at the time and saw that I had less that 10 seconds left, which was unfortunate because the score read (from left to right, my point total on the left) 8 - 10. I shook my head in disgust, hopped back a bit, and then launched into what I can only imagine was some sort of crazy super-saiyan blitzkrieg combo of moves that would’ve made Reptile from Mortal Kombat even greener than he already was with envy. I can’t tell you what I threw, but I friggin’ threw it. The ref yelled time just as I was backing off to regroup for a second charge. My body twisted within this mid hop as my gaze shot over to the computer. 11 – 10! HOLY FRIGGIN’ CRAP!!! I added a fist pump and a “Yeah!” to my twirl as I backed away. I’d done it. 3 points in under 10 seconds. Money.

I shook the Pompadour’s hand, received my medal, and then walked away to be by myself for a bit. I was physically done. My legs were complete jelly at this point. I hobbled away to the bleachers to quick change my clothes (yeah, I changed in the gym in front of everyone. Not too shy, I guess). I got everything back on and went back to the floor, knelt down, and prayed. No doubt that had been the greatest, most enjoyable 10 minutes of my life, and I needed to give thanks for it right then and there.

I finished this, pounded down a Vitamin Water that I’d packed, and headed toward exit with the rest of the U compatriots. I was still thirsty as a guy who’d just been through two ridiculously awesome fights back to back, so I stopped at the vending machine to snatch some Gatorade. I chose orange of course.

We all made our way into Kyle’s car for the ride back. I felt like complete poo, though. I opened the window and did everything I could to prevent it, but I made Kyle pull over and yes, hunched over mere feet from the interstate, I ralphed. Charming, no? I must say, though, that I loved the fact that this occurred. It means that I pushed myself pretty friggin' hard, and like I said at the beginning of this diatribe, that's what I love to do.

We made it back the rest of the way to the U without further incident. Kyle dropped us off at the back of Coffman as per usual and everyone went on there way. Except for me. I sat on the steps behind the building just with a feeling in my stomach much akin to getting rocked in the Rocky Mountain Oysters. Thus, it wasn’t long before I turned the stones back there orange with Gatorade. However, after this I must confess that I felt much better. That was actually my last Gatorade too (or one of them). Not because I became averse to such drinkables from this, but because I decided that they weren’t good for me, so I dropped them.

I started my walk back to Middlebrook, busted out my phone, and called my dad to relay the awesomeness of the day. About an hour and a half after returning to said dorm I was out again to hang with my awesome friend Laura to consume some Perkins. I pounded down the Tremendous Twelve without any difficulty surprisingly and then headed back to the Brook. It was at this point that I rocked some Guitar Hero with da broheims for solid period of time, and shortly thereafter, called it a night. The best ever.

So yeah, the basic point of this ridonkulously long story was just to tell you how much I love fighting. Thus to sum it all up, I do. And now that I’m here, I can’t partake in such things really. I’m doing some decent workouts in the room, but I really want to kick something. I don’t want to get into a street fight obviously, but I miss that beautiful sound of my shin/foot hitting a bag/person. As such, I’m shadow boxing a bit more than usual over here. So don’t be concerned if you see me throwing punches, kicks, knees, and elbows while I’m walking down the hallway. I’m not crazy… but I’m on my way.

Oh, and on a related note, I’m looking for some advice here. Which spelling do you guys prefer, “frig” or “frigg”? I’m leaning one way, but I want to know what the fans want because I’m a people person like that. Drop me a comment, if you’d be so kind and feel inclined :-)

And on annoying note, I was planning on throwing some of my own TKD pics up here, but for some triste reason they won't load up. You'll just have to trust me when I say that they would've been awesome. Again, though as per usual, I like to end all these things on a happy/comical note, so please enjoy the following picture.