View Full Version : War Stories
Well, not exactly war stories, but I think everyone who has been in the martial arts for a while has some interesting stories to tell of training, competition, etc. Funny, sad, scary, or whatever. So let's hear yours! I promise to share as soon as finish work in a broken computer tonight.
BTW, in the Marine Corps, we used to have a saying about "Sea Stories" (aka War Stories). It does like this...
What is the difference between a fairy tale and a sea story? A fairy tale begins with "Once upon a time", and a sea story begins with "And this ain't no Sh*t". :D
I think this falls under all 4 categories... :rolleyes:
I personally didn't witness this,I just caught the aftermath.
I guess one evening at class, one of my teachers decided to give a demonstration on how hard he could hit with a short stick...so he proceeded to have another teacher hold a board for him to break with the stick! :eek:
Long story short....the board didn't break(duh),but the teacher's finger that was holding the board did prove to be more forgiving than the board.
End result...not only a broken finger,but a split finger as well,a nice long wide open gash about 2 inches in length down to the bone. It hurt me just looking at it. You would just think some people would know better.... :laugh:
This is more of a story about my instructor. Apparently his philosophy on challenge matches (for which Gracie Jiu-Jitsu instructors are reknowned) is not a forgiving one. Instead of choking someone out, he prefers to leave a reminder that will last a long time, the attitude of the challenger dictating how long. Well, as the story goes, some big guy comes in and decides that instead of straight up challenging my instructor, he starts manhandling him (grabbing his collar, shoving him around, that kind of stuff). So, my instructor says, "Okay, let's go." He gets the guy in a heel hook and cranks it 'till it snaps several times. The guy is laying on the mat, unable to get up, begging for someone to take him to the hospital. My instructor says, "No, you walk out of here. If you can't walk, you crawl out of here."
I personally thought that was a little harsh, but I suppose it does make you think about who you decide to f**k around with.
Oh Micheal! That was evil! :D Bet the guy got over his desire to go around to martial arts schools and behave like a jerk!
Okay, I promised a war story. I have a bunch of them, but here is a good start.
When I was over in the Philippines with Company C, Marine Barracks Subic Bay. I was fortunate to have found an outstanding Shorinryu instructor. His name btw was Virgilio "Chito" Fernandez. He was a Rokudan under Gonzales Shihan, who was at the time, the head Shorinryu guy in the Philippines. Because of my previous training when I got over there, Fernandez Sensei had a pretty easy task to convert me into a Shorinryu Karateka, and loved to show me how much of the bunkai in the kata were very similar to Jujutsu techniques that I had previously learned. He also loved to "show me off" along with several of his Filipino students when it came time to go to competitions and demonstrations. So anyway, every year the Subic Bay/Angeles City area had this gigantic tournament in Olongapo called the Phil-Am Karate Championship. The kumite rules were basically WUKO rules, but no pads and contact was OK as long as you didn't draw blood. :rolleyes:
So the big tournament rolled around, and of course our dojo went to participate. It was great to have represented the "American" Kempo folks and Tae Kwon Do guys from Clark Air Base, and Shotokan, Shorinryu and other karateka from all over the Philippines present. Strangely, I noticed early that all of the Americans were grouped in the brackets so they would fight each other first. Hmm, no big deal, but that should have been the first indicator that something was a little weird here, but never the less, I fought my matches and manged to make it all the way to the quarter-finals! So anyway, little break in the action with demonstrations, and time to get the brackets up to speed. Now, the way things "should" have worked is I should have next fought a guy that had previously beaten one of my Filipino dojomates. Having watched the match, I thought, "Hey, I can take this guy, no problem". So I wondered over, looked at the brackets and for some reason, I was not fighting the guy that had fought my dojomate. In fact, I didn't recognize the guy at all. Hmmm, even more peculiar, this guy had not fought ANY matches up to this point. As I learned later, he was one of the local favorites and had gotten a pass all the way into the quarter finals with the mission of getting rid of the American that managed to survive fighting all of the other Americans.
So finally, it is time for my match against this guy who I had never seen before. So for the very first part of the match, I feel him out and see how he would react to some pretty obvious attacks. Anyway, during one exchange, I drilled him with a really decent rear leg side kick. So expecting a point to be awarded, I look at the two judges. To my surprise, they didn't see it! Jeeze, I just kicked the guy squarely in the chest and knocked him on his backside, and they didn't see it? Ok, well I guess that happens sometimes. Next exchange, he strikes high and hits me square in the mouth. My lip busts open and I start bleeding all over the front of my karategi. To my surprise, he was not disqualified, nor was he even warned! Now this is starting to get a little strange, but I still had not "caught on" as to what was going on. So like a little Devil Dog that I was, I took the fight to him, and managed to catch him with a backfist to the cheek. Next thing I know, I am being warned for excessive contact, and he is awarded a point. Finally, the lights came on, and I figured out that I am not going to win this match no matter what I do (can't believe it took me this long to figure this one out!). So my new strategy upon realizing this was, "Fine, I am not going to win, but I am going to make damn sure that this guy looks like he has been in a battle". So I turn up the aggression factor several notches, and during the very next exchange, I caught him with a foot sweep. Didn't bring him down, but he was so off-balance that I was able to drill a front kick right down the middle, and a reverse punch directed full force at his chest. The problem with this is that as a result of the front kick, his face was where his chest was. Opps! So I hit him full force in the mouth with a left reverse punch. Now bear in mind, I was a little fanatic at that time. I used to do hundreds of reps on the makiwara every day, and I hit like a ton of bricks. So the next thing I see as my punch connects with his face is a spray of blood, his head snapping back, and a bunch of little white things flying into the air. Yes, those were his teeth. Anyway, he is laying on the ground, bleeding all over the place, and holding a handful of his own teeth. Needless to say, I was disqualified.
As I bowed out of the competition area, Fernandez Sensei and my wife intercept me, and drag me over to the officials table where Gonzales Shihan (who was watching the match) compliments me on my "strong punch". I quickly added that it was without control, and he tells me to keep training. From there, they quickly drag me out to my car, with all of my Filipino dojomates surrounding me. It was at that point, that I realized that the guys from my opponents dojo were in a particularly evil mood and were wanting to make sure I pay dearly for hurting one of their own. So I get to my car, and make a strategic retreat to the safety of the base at San Miguel. Later I learned that my opponent had the majority of his teeth in the front knocked out, and his dojomates were looking very hard with sharp implements in hand for me. Anyway, this was the last tournament in the Philippines I competed in and I didn't travel back down to Olongapo for several months afterwards.
:up: very interesting! :wink2: no war stories from my end here. :D but i do know someone who got killed because she did not finish the technique.
a friend from another dojo was "malling". she got held up at knife point. i think she gave him the money and all her valuables, but he wanted "more". so she fought back. the security at the mall should have been alerted but they were in an area just on the landing of a stairwell. she managed to do a half hearted hijikime osae on him but she did not pin him down or bop him or something. he managed to get her down on the ground and knifed her in the tummy. she died about 3 hours later, in the hospital.
my teacher used to cite her example to emphasize thorough and total control, alertness and being slack, and also being sort of merciless :( in certain situations.
I have more than my share from my time in the Air Force, and I am sure I could come up with some from my very interesting family life, but those are outside the scope of this thread. I have only been training in jujutsu for less than four years, so I have not yet amassed much worth mentioning.
I --could-- touch on the time a few months ago when I sprained a dojo-mate's wrist after he complained to me that he wasn't feeling anything in the wrist during my Gyaku Kote Gaeshi. That was my reward for taking it easy on him because of his many months off the mat.
But enough about me. We won't rest until we hear more tales from your past, Robert. You know that you need to start writing that book, right?
Not any big, big special stories.. perhaps instead of war story, a small anecdote from military refresher course I participated some time ago.. a basic securing and guarding task, MP job to do, and we we're lucky enough to have some enthusiasistic young MP trainees to play bad guys, do different type threats/attacks/simulations.. well, as civilian, I don't have too often options to really take someone down, group/ground control or search - so I took all the pleasure available. Couple days pure fun. In the very last days, there was personal feedback from our second leutenant to us squad leaders.. to final note he told: "Well, you certainly made some influence to guys.." Me: :confused: :confused: "Yesterday, guy from watch point told patrol to go check some unidentified vehicle. Before patrol left, they asked him that if the situation is otherwise peaceful, or do they have to take you to patrol, too".. I guess I was doing at least something right...
But enough about me. We won't rest until we hear more tales from your past, Robert. You know that you need to start writing that book, right?
No book in my future. Too boring and no one would read it! ;)
You're kidding, right? Real-life stories are all the rage now (see Amazon for anything from Augusten Burroughs, David Sedaris or James Frey for example, although I am sure their tales are far different than yours), and if you combine that with military and martial arts I am sure you would make more than enough $ for it to be worth your time to write.
I would offer my services as proofreader.
I wrote this bit for a friend's website. This pretty much how I remember it happening although I have been hit in the head alot.... :)
I was young and stupid and full of energy. Most eighteen-year-olds are. The fact that I was always willing to expend this youthful vigour on a reckless adventure is also unremarkable. But I really wasn't looking for trouble. Honestly!
I just liked to sit quietly drinking Chinese tea and feel vaguely superior. Peter would have none of it, the smarmy drunken *******.
It must have been karma. I remembered working for Peter as a dish washer and the time he was so sure he could take me. He charged into the kitchen screaming, "Com' on white boy I kick your *** now!" There was no need for me to press him over my head, and spin him till he puked. That was cruel . Amusing, but cruel. Well this was Peter's big moment. Payback. Time to watch the fat white kid squirm.
Fred didn't look like too much at first glance. He was about five-foot-seven , stocky but not heavy, wearing pinstriped suit pants, a vest and a brilliant white dress shirt. It was in the eyes. The set of them. And it was in the hands. They floated down his body like falling leaves as he smoothed his vest and then suddenly changed direction.
"Hey Fred," slurred Peter in his usual semi-inebriated tone. "WHITE boy wants to fight you . Says he can kick you ***."
"I sell the restaurant to Fred," he screeched while spilling his beer. "He a street fighter from Hong Kong ."
Fred said nothing, stood silently, and let his eyes issue the challenge.
"I don't know what the f**k you're talking about Peter, you f**king a**hole," I mumbled through my jasmine tea.
" No it true," shrieked Peter. "Fat boy thinks he knows kung fu. He want to fight you!" He broke in wailing laughter along with every one else in the Oshawa Palace Chinese Food Restaurant.
" F**k off Peter," I replied.
The tipsy Chinaman sloshed his way behind the bar, unzipped his fly, and pissed in the sink.
"Washroom too far ,"he giggled.
"You're a pig Peter," I replied.
I glanced up and noticed that Fred was in the exact same spot, eyes fixed on mine. He brought his hands up and did the Bruce-Lee-come-on, both hands up and gesturing for me to attack.
"I won't hurt yuh," he purred.
"How can I refuse an offer like that," I reasoned while getting up from my chair and closing the distance between us.
"Oh boy, Oh boy, OOOHHHH BOY!" hollered Peter while jumping up and down and zipping up his pants and narrowly avoiding permanent damage to his privates.
Like something out of a bad Kung fu movie, three cooks and a waiter all came running to clear away the tables and chairs around us. I found myself in the middle of a ring of people all smelling vaguely of egg foo yong and screeching bets in Cantonese.
"What do I do now ?" I thought.
We stared at each other for about 60 seconds. It seemed like hours. Then I thought, "I might as well get it started."
I launched myself at Fred with a "U" punch from Shotokan karate simultaneously attacking the face and groin and yelling at from the bottom of my belly "KIIIAAAA!"
I stopped the strikes about one half inch away from Fred's face and genitals. He didn't even flinch. Fred blinked his eyes once and stepped back into a fighting posture .
With real enthusiasm he said, "Oh, you have trained."
Then he attacked.
The next ten minutes were a blinding frenzy of action. I blocked . I countered . I struck, and was struck. We danced around each other like vicious marionettes on cocaine. At one point Fred actually ran up my bent leg and punched me in the top of the head.
When it was over I had a bloodly lip and countless brusies all over my body. Fred was a little winded and nursing his left hand which I had managed to block with the hardest part of my head.
Peter sat there drinking his beer and looking disappointed. The cooks headed back to the kitchen and the waiter brought over a fresh pot of jasmine tea.
"Want some tea?," asked Fred.
"Sure" I said.
"Peter really sell you the restaurant?"
Like Rasputin, I have nothing worth mentioning.
This does make for some good reading though. :)
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