Chapter 10

21 Oct

Brazilian Jiu Jitsu Part 5: Tournament Fighter II, Return of Fingerbreaker

After the apocalyptic outbreak of disease, things became calm and peaceful. I made a lot of friends in the beginner adult class; even though the instructor was horrible, the people who went there were really good guys. I’m still friends with most of them today.

One of my friends I had made gave me a set of DVD’s by Roy Harris to borrow, and a membership to a MMA bittorrent site. I would learn more from these two resources than I ever did from my instructor.

I trained hard for months, diligently practicing during class, learning from downloaded videos and Roy Harris outside of class. I became engrossed in BJJ; the ultimate BJJ nutrider. My friends were in it, and I tutored them, along with sharing what resources I could find. I continued that way until there was another Smack Down at H Town. I remembered the pain and suffering I had felt last year from being unprepared. Since I had seen the tapes and downloaded information, my knowledge and understanding of BJJ had increased, and because I was sparring frequently with very talented guys (it’s a shame they chose that school, they could’ve been phenominal) I was feeling good.

I enrolled, and the usual happened. I waited 3 hours between matches, which is normal to me by this point. I defeat my first opponent on points, with a definitive 6 point lead. The next match I win by submission, but my victory feels cheap; he was 12, and at this point in time, I’m 14. Puberty kicks ass apparently, because I mauled him. I ended up getting a raping armlock, which he tapped to.

I had felt pretty good about it all; I had made it to finals for christ sake! This was the furthest I had ever progressed in my life. I get to the mat, and find my opponent to be…

Finger breaker.

Now, I had never sparred him personally, but Napoleon had, and he got raped. I considered him nearly an equal, and for him to get raped so thoroughly, I wasn’t optimistic. I expected him to have progressed as much as I did. But that rat bastard was still wearing a white belt.

I didn’t have time to get angry over his sandbaggery, as the match had just started. He goes to do an arm throw, where one drops to the knees, but I react too quickly for him and go to take the back. He rolls over, and I get the mount.

Wait, I get the mount?

I’m up by 4 points. This is amazing. He puts me back in guard, sloppily. I pass, and am up by 7 points. to 0. Is this really happening?

I’m on side mount, until he scrambles out of it and we’re standing back up. It’s halfway through the round, and by this point, I’m gassed. It’s obvious to present me that he was a wrestler with crazy endurance, and entered these tournaments based off of the fact he could wrestle well. He takes me down, I fail a sweep, and he passes guard. He gets knee on the stomach, and holds it. I can’t breathe, but I’ll be damned if I tap. The timer buzzes, and I’m glad. I’m too gassed to go any further.

Or so I thought. I hadn’t noticed, but his last desperate scramble had led to a tie score of 7-7. We were going again.

He was feeling fine, whereas I felt like I was a fish. I couldn’t breathe or think. He shoots, I half sprawl, but he eventually gets into half guard. We sit there for a good while; he can’t get any submissions, but I can’t get him off of me. I put him back in guard, and as I go to sweep, the timer buzzes. He wins the tie breaker 0-2, and I lose again.

I get a shiny 2nd place trophy, but he gets a gocart.

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