by Nick Gullo
But this was a process, at times awkward and stuck in the bog, and at times awesome. As with Royce, occasionally fighters from other combat disciplines, at least for a spell, dominated the cage—that is until other combatants co-opted the new advantage. This viral cycle of infection, adaptation, and incorporation continued for decades until, voila!, the genetic hybrid that is modern MMA emerged as its own sport.
Through exultant victories and heartrending defeats, it’s now clear that before entering the cage, at least at the elite level, a fighter must train and near-master not only jiu-jitsu but also muay Thai, wrestling, and a bit of boxing. A weakness in any area renders a fighter vulnerable.
On a final note, any exploration of style requires a discourse of not only the techniques required to compete at the elite levels of MMA but also the decade-long path a fighter hews into the cage. Now, understand that I’m talking the rule, not the wayward exception, when I say no chance in hell a twenty-two-year-old warehouse clerk who has never studied a combat discipline is going to one morning join a gym and work his way toward a UFC contract. Anything is possible. But by and large fighters enter the cage after years of training one of the numerous combat disciplines. However that doesn’t mean each path is equal.
After scouring official records and speaking to countless trainers and fighters, I was shocked by my conclusions. Again, put away the pitchforks, I’m not addressing the exceptions. Like many, I assumed jiu-jitsu was the superior path, as nearly every UFC fighter holds a black belt in the art. But the truth is, jiu-jitsu is just too passive. We all know the tired metaphors—a blacksmith pounding red-hot steel, molten metal burning away the impurities. But practice a discipline and more than acquiring mastery, the endeavor molds a fighter’s demeanor. And quite often demeanor trumps skills.
On October 23, 1951, the most important fight in the history of jiu-jitsu was held in Rio de Janeiro.
MMA is a brutally tough sport. That’s evident, but it’s not just the fights, it’s the endless training sessions, head games, and relentless media scrutiny. So you have to ask, Does a particular discipline, regardless of combat effectiveness, adequately prepare a fighter to seize the belt?
JIU-JITSU
Last we left Otavio Mitsuyo Maeda, he had just taught Carlos Gracie the art of jiu-jitsu, and from there Carlos taught his brothers—all except Helio, the youngest. Poor Helio was so frail and sickly that on doctor’s orders he could only watch. But watch he did. Unbeknownst to the others he studied their techniques, working the mechanics in his mind, parsing each movement and isolating a weakness here, a potential variant there, so years later, when Carlos failed to show for a class, Helio stepped in as teacher. The students praised him, and from thereon he taught at the family academy.
But all was not well with Helio. Due to his smallish stature he couldn’t pull off the moves executed by stronger opponents, so he modified the techniques, honing the art much like those unarmed Buddhist monks of lore. Intellect over brawn. Leverage over speed. In the end, Helio engineered a system of jiu-jitsu—Gracie jiu-jitsu—so effective that in just a few years he challenged Masahiko Kimura, Japan’s greatest jiu-jitsu practitioner, to a fight before twenty thousand rabid Brazilians.
Jujutsu translates from Japanese as “gentle art,” but it’s more a physical game of chess. Many fans groan when fighters hit the mat—wriggling around, grabbing ass, they say. And I get it. Count me among those bellyachers—that is until I rolled a few times. Then I understood the origami-like art unfolding on the mat. After just two sessions the scales fell from my eyes. Position Before Submission is a common jiu-jitsu mantra, and what it means is, during all that ass-grabbing, the fighters are actually struggling for superior positions from which to attempt a highlight-worthy armbar, foot lock, or choke. No doubt it’s subtle. Passing a knee just inches here, sliding hips there, makes all the difference and often determines the victor.
To demonstrate the four basic positions, here’s Rener and Ryron Gracie, the eldest grandsons of Helio and two of the most respected MMA commentators in the biz. Together they host “Gracie Breakdown,” a monthly segment on the Fuel TV show UFC Ultimate Insider.
Closed or Full Guard. Despite how this appears, Ryron (in white) is actually in a dominant position because his legs control Rener’s hips. However, he must also “break” Rener’s upright posture by pulling him low—or else suffer punches and elbows to the face.
Breaking the Posture. Ryron breaks Rener’s posture. Now he can move toward a submission—armbar, triangle, omaplata.
Half Guard. Rener “half” passes through Ryron’s full guard, and now he’s in a dominant position. From here he must slip his leg free and continue to side control.
Side Control. Ryron controls the hips with his own knee and elbow, thereby trapping Rener. From here Ryron can drop elbows and punches or attempt a submission.
Full Mount. This is a desperate situation for Rener. With no leverage or options but to cover his face, he’s now Ryron’s little brother, subject to whatever punishment Ryron deems appropriate. Rener must try to bridge on his neck, escape his legs, and encircle Ryron’s hips, thus re-establishing closed guard, or he won’t last long.
Taking the Back. It doesn’t get much worse. Ryron is seconds from snaking a forearm under Rener’s chin and choking him into oblivion.
There it is. Next time an MMA fight hits the mat, watch the fighters moving for these positions.
After shooting the above photos, I sat with Rener and picked his brain re: the rise of jiu-jitsu, the art’s influence on MMA, and how to win a street fight against a giant.
This is just my experience, but it seems that more kids are learning jiu-jitsu than other martial arts—is that accurate, and why?
“Just do the math and count back to the first UFC event. In 1993, karate and tae kwon do were big. But now, this idea of the perfect kick—the perfect spinning back kick, the perfect flying whatever—it’s not very reliable in a real fight, and people know that. So you have parents saying, ‘Hey, my kid needs to learn self-protection, gain some confidence.’ Well, that parent, during every UFC fight, hears Joe Rogan yelling, ‘Oh, jiu-jitsu this, jiu-jitsu that.’ It’s a household term that parents hear far more than karate. So when they think, My kid needs to learn something, it’s jiu-jitsu, because that’s what they’ve seen in the cage every weekend. Also, a kid learning jiu-jitsu isn’t getting punched and kicked, so there’s no worry about concussions.”
Online and in gyms I see flyers advertising jiu-jitsu competitions—is there a difference between self-defense jiu-jitsu and sport jiu-jitsu?
“They all spring from the same place. In the 1960s jiu-jitsu competitions started in Brazil. Initially, they trained only self-defense jiu-jitsu, blocking punches, kicks, all that. So [in these first tournaments] they’d compete without strikes in a raw, controlled setting to test their street skills. But then came this importance and emphasis on tournaments, and people started saying, ‘What can we do within the confines of these rules, these guidelines, to ensure a victory, even if it means not being as successful in real fights?’ That shift took place in the late 1960s, early 1970s, and it’s gotten to the point where in many schools 100 percent of the training is for this sort of recreational effectiveness, as opposed to preparing a student for combat against a giant. There are schools you could train at for three years and never learn to block a punch. That’s the difference.
“So a sport jiu-jitsu match has no concern for distance. You grab gis, sleeves, and belts—all these different things that don’t exist in a real fight—and push or pull with no concern for how far the other guy’s fist is from you face. In street jiu-jitsu, the number one thing is distance management. It doesn’t matter if you’re standing or on the ground, in a street fight whoever controls the distance comes out on top.”
What does that mean, controlling the distance?
“In a fight, whoever manages the distance between the two subjects will win. If you fight Anderson Silva, the reason he�
��s gonna knock you out is because he’s gonna control the distance. You try to close it, and he will say, ‘No, I’m here now, I’m there.’ He’s gonna keep you just out of range from grabbing him and perfectly in range so he can strike you. He’s the distance owner of every negotiation—that is, until he gets a wrestler who is more effective at distance management than him. But then, ironically, when someone like Chael [Sonnen], who is a very effective wrestler, gets on top of him, what happens? Anderson pulls Chael close so he can’t hit him. During any given sliver of time in a fight someone is controlling the distance. When Chael is on top of Anderson, what does he want? Striking distance. Anderson didn’t give it to him. So isn’t it fascinating that at any given point during a fight—who’s winning? Whoever is controlling the distance. That’s the primary rule in self-defense jiu-jitsu.”
What do you think about the rise of no-gi jiu-jitsu [when the sport is practiced in surfing trunks and a rash guard, as opposed to a gi]?
“Totally logical, makes sense. I never saw the two as separate things. For me jiu-jitsu is whatever I’m wearing—I could be in board shorts or snowboarding gear. It’s more about how to defend myself from getting punched in the face. Come at me, and the moment you make a mistake I’m gonna choke you out. That’s jiu-jitsu. So the rise [of no-gi jiu-jitsu] makes sense given the rise of MMA. But with all these people saying no-gi jiu-jitsu is more realistic than gi, I don’t agree with that at all. I think that is wrong in many ways. Your jiu-jitsu and your self-defense abilities should not be limited by your clothing. If that’s the case, how good are you? My grandfather nailed that down very early: if we wear a gi when we practice, that doesn’t mean we need a gi to win or survive. However, training purely with a rash guard and board shorts every time—when you get in a street fight wearing a jacket, and someone grabs your collar [and] starts punching you in the face and you don’t know how to deal with the restraint, well … So here’s my final thought on gi versus no-gi: training no-gi refines your control and submission capabilities, and training [in the] gi refines your escape and submission counters.”
Is that why so many UFC fighters train in a gi?
“Absolutely. They train in a gi because it helps their escapes. Once they get proficient wearing a gi and then take it off, you can’t hold them down. If I want to get up from the bottom of a fight, I’m getting up guaranteed because I’m so used to being immobilized with the gi that when you take it off, it’s like free wings to fly. Straight up.
“But on the submission front, you don’t want to become too reliant on the gi. Because when you go to no-gi, you’re in trouble. So what’s the ultimate training? Wear a gi and train against someone who is not wearing one!”
The original Gracie Jiu-Jitsu in Action featured Gracie fighters throwing side kicks. Yet I’ve never seen that in a jiu-jitsu gym—why not?
Gracie jiu-jitsu includes strikes—however, the strikes are used only as a means to get to what we really want—which is to control the distance. So we use strikes not to win the fight but to better our position. For example, I don’t want to stand trading punches with an opponent because if I’m weaker, or he gets lucky, I might get knocked out. So I throw a jab, or a side kick, to measure the distance, and to provoke my opponent’s anger, get him to charge so I can close and grab him easier. The strikes are flash-bang entry methods—not, Oh I’m gonna knock this fool out and win this fight with one punch. That’s an illusion because every time I put myself in range to hit, I am now in range to get hit, and if it’s a heavier or stronger attacker, which we must always assume it is, I’m in trouble. Never ever trade blows.”
If a young kid with zero prior training tells you he wants to get into MMA, how do you respond?
“Get a purple belt in jiu-jitsu, and don’t think about fighting until then. Fighting is like jumping from a plane, and jiu-jitsu is your parachute. What I mean is, you can get in a fight and do all the kickboxing—throw all the flashy punches and kicks you want—but when things get tight, you better pull the rope.
“No question, pound-for-pound the best striker in the world is Anderson Silva, agreed? Well, what’s his parachute? It’s black-belt distance-management on the ground. That’s not muay Thai, that’s jiu-jitsu, learned from someone who learned from someone in the family.
“So get a purple belt. A blue belt is decent, you have a little knowledge, you can win a street fight, but not against another savvy grappler or a wrestler who imposes his aggression. But a purple belt, that’s safe. At that level you’ve got enough instinctive reflex, and belief in your moves, that when things get tight and you get punched, your body knows what to do. You don’t even think about it, the responses take over. But as a blue belt, you get rocked and you might go back to what you did in third grade—get him in a head lock and hold on for dear life. With a purple belt, you don’t do that. You go to your core, to what your body reflexively knows.”
What’s the best path into the cage?
“If you want to compete in MMA, in addition to jiu-jitsu you gotta learn striking skills. More than a jab and a side kick to close distance, you must learn to knock someone out with a right cross on a moment’s notice. Because if you’re not banging in there, they don’t want to see you fight. So you have to acquire every tool that your opponents are using. You can’t enter the cage with a smaller skill set. That means incredible muay Thai, wrestling, endurance—the physical conditioning has to be top notch.”
Why does wrestling account for the background of so many UFC fighters?
“The circumstances and judging imposed by MMA favor the wrestler because to most viewers if you are on top you’re winning. It’s a visual thing, but it’s not real. The truth is, you could be on the bottom saving energy, burning your opponent’s energy, striking effectively, neutralizing strikes, but for most judges this doesn’t matter. It goes back to the sport and what they want for entertainment purposes.
“Wrestling is also such an explosive sport, which translates. I wrestled in high school, and it’s six minutes of kill or be killed. I’m not dogging wrestling, it’s great. I’m glad I did it. Anybody who has the athleticism and the drive should wrestle. But not everyone has the desire or ability to go in there and crack skulls for however long it takes to become proficient. Jiu-jitsu, on the other hand, is the everyman’s art. That’s what makes it special. If you’re not a tough animal, no way you’re going to wrestle. Think about this: by the time a wrestler reaches the highest level in the NCAA, he’s been to hell and back. MMA is no big deal, you’ve already done the hard work. Now just learn some striking and don’t get submitted. You can have a blue belt in jiu-jitsu and survive submissions with a good wrestling background.”
So, the best path?
“Train jiu-jitsu since you’re five, wrestle when you get to high school, and kickbox the entire time. Wrestling brings the explosive fire, teaches you to impose your will, and that’s very different from what jiu-jitsu was designed for; because if we train our jiu-jitsu with that wrestling mindset—kill or be killed, you gotta get that point, fight for that top position—we’d ruin the essence of what makes the art so special, which is that a smaller, weaker, less athletic person can survive any attack. That’s what it’s all about.”
What would Helio, your grandfather, think of jiu-jitsu’s blossoming across the world?
“He knew it was just a matter of time. In Brazil, before he got here, he was already changing lives. Neighbors, senators, the president, the president’s son, they all trained with him. It’s crazy huge over there, just like it’s becoming here. In terms of self-defense, he knew it was the best thing. Good things always find their way to the top.”
MUAY THAI
Muay Thai fighters strike with fists, elbows, knees, and feet, and for this reason the discipline is known as “The Science of Eight Limbs.” Like jiu-jitsu, the ancient origins of muay Thai lie shrouded in mist: whether developed by Siamese soldiers losing their weapons on the battlefield, or descended from Sanskrit-era Indian boxing,
no one knows.
Nai Khanom Tom was a revered muay Thai warrior. Regarded as the godfather of kickboxing, his statue stands guard in the capital city of Ayutthaya, Thailand. A grim Buddha warning back all comers. Every day worshippers leave flowers, to pay homage. Here’s why. In 1776, the Burmese army captured Ayutthaya and imprisoned thousands of its soldiers. After proclaiming victory, the Burmese king heard boasting about the level of Thai kickboxing: it’s world class, unbeatable, an immortal art, and so on. Sick and tired of the rumors he organized a tournament to prove his nation’s superiority.
Court McGee unleashes a flying knee on Dongi “The Ox” Yang during UFC Fight Night 25.
Sound familiar?
Of course it does.
Let’s cut straight to the action: after a lengthy introduction, the Burmese champ bows before the throne. The crowd cheers, hailing their hero. The king raises a scepter for silence. Nai Khanom Tom, chosen to represent Thailand, steps from the throng. Shuffling forward, shy in the limelight, instead of bowing he rises on his toes and whirls this way and that, waving his hands overhead like a Pentecostal snake charmer, performing a traditional pre-fight dance that, holy shit, leaves the audience stunned and frightened. Who is this black magic dervish?
Exasperated, the king signals for combat. The Burmese champ circles, fists raised. Nai charges forward in a flurry of elbows, knees, and kicks that backs the champ across the courtyard and lays him out, blank-eyed staring at passing clouds. The crowd moans. What has befallen our lion-hearted hero?
The king signals for another Burmese challenger, then another, and another. Each lies drooling on the cold marble. In the end, the king crowns Nai Khanom Tom the tournament champion, gifting his freedom as well as the treasure of his choice. Instead of gold Nai selects two wives from the king’s harem, and to this day the country reveres him as the godfather of muay Thai.