Into the Cage

by Nick Gullo

  Rogan knows what he’s talking about. In an infamous YouTube video he teaches GSP to correctly throw a spinning back kick, a staple from his heyday. In the clip, Joe steps at the heavy bag, spins, and unleashes a waist-level kick that nearly unchains the bag. “Man, that’s fucking crazy,” GSP mutters.

  While TMA is not the most-trodden route into the cage, numerous elite MMA fighters hold the pedigree: GSP, Lyoto Machida, Stephen Thompson, Gunnar Nelson, Cung Le, Daron Cruickshank, and Edson Barboza, to name a few. Oh, and let’s not forget Anderson Silva, who walks into the arena with Steven Seagal, the biggest 1980s TMA film star and practitioner.

  Prior to Montreal’s UFC 154 weigh-in in November 2012, I sat with Lyoto Machida—a fan favorite due to his unorthodox karate-based fighting style—and quizzed him on his training. Machida’s father started him in shotokan karate at just four years old. Shotokan philosophy flows from ancient Bushido precepts, a.k.a. samurai, and stresses honor, courage, respect, and loyalty. Shotokan’s founder, Gichin Funakoshi, taught students that “the ultimate aim of Karate lies not in victory or defeat, but in the perfection of the character of the participant.” Like Helio Gracie, Master Funakoshi was frail and timid, and he developed the discipline to compensate for these deficiencies.

  Do you think karate is still as viable a path into MMA today as it was when you started?

  “I think it is very important to learn the fundaments of each martial art. Especially when you are a kid … not only the principles but also the philosophy of each martial art. [That is why a fighter] should come up through a particular discipline, and not just the MMA approach.”

  What aspects of karate apply to MMA?

  “Throughout its evolution karate lost itself. [That’s why] I look to the fundamentals, to karate’s roots, [which emphasized] the knees, kicks, and elbows.”

  Like muay Thai?

  “Yes.”

  Did you compete in karate tournaments?

  “Many times, and this helped [with] nerves, emotions—and also technique because the footwork you learn from competing, it’s different from the gym.”

  Which [TMA] kicks work best in MMA?

  “The front kick.” [I wonder, as Lyoto stares at the ground and chuckles, whether he’s reliving the Karate Kid kick he unleashed to knock Randy Couture’s tooth across the mat.] “Also the spinning back kick, and the wheel kick.”

  After karate, what did you train?

  “Sumo. Then jiu-jitsu, since I was fifteen.”

  How did you develop your fists?

  “When I first started my fighting career I went to Bangkok and trained muay Thai. But no matter what else I trained, I always incorporated it into karate. My fighting style comes from karate. I have incorporated other styles, but it’s still karate. I learn from everything, even old karate books.”

  What do you think about Bruce Lee?

  “Ah, great fighter, great actor. A legend.”

  How about the martial art that Lee innovated, Jeet Kune Do?

  “A visionary, a true martial artist. He used everything. Really, he invented MMA years ago.”

  What karate philosophy most guides you as a fighter?

  “Peace. Before a fight I empty my mind. Every fighter is able to lose. It is not a big thing. You have to accept what comes and remain calm.”

  When you’re fighting for a championship bout, how do you find that peace with so much on the line?

  “You just look at it naturally—this is all part of nature. Accept, and believe in yourself: that’s the main thing. There is always the internal pressure, and also the pressure from fans, the organization, media. You just have to eliminate as much as you can.”

  Which discipline do you feel provides the best path into MMA—karate, muay Thai, wrestling, or boxing?

  “I have never trained as a pure artist in other modalities, so I wouldn’t know.”

  Per week, how much time do you spend training karate?

  “I am always training karate. In every moment, whether walking down the sidewalk, standing in line. Sometimes, just waiting for a green light I will visualize different fight situations. This is all part of my training.”

  MMA

  All this discourse brings us back to that age-old question: Which style rules the cage?

  Jiu-jitsu?

  Muay Thai?

  Wrestling … Boxing … Tae kwon do … Kalarippayattu … Aikido … Shotokan … Savate … Tinku … Capoeira … Lucha Libre … Kenpo … Bok Fu … Shootfighting … Sli Beatha … Kajukenbo … Bojuka … Wen-Do … Sarit Sarak … Thang-Ta … Gatka … Silat … Judo … Sumo … Kumdo … Subak … Yusul … Bando … Dumog … Yaw-Yan … Nhat Nam … Pankration … Glima … Nova Scrimia … Sambo … Krav Maga … Mau Rakau … Buno…

  In the end, Bruce Lee said it best:

  If you want to understand the truth in martial arts, to see any opponent clearly, you must throw away the notion of styles or school, prejudices, likes and dislikes, and so forth. Then, your mind will cease all conflict and come to rest. In this silence, you will see totally and freshly.

  Or better yet—the best style is no style.

  If Lee were alive today, no doubt he’d counsel modern fighters to cherry-pick each discipline, select only techniques suited to the particular fighter’s physiology, mental makeup, and existing game. If a great muay Thai fighter faces a decent wrestler, what happens is the wrestler blocks that infamous leg kick and charges the kickboxer against the cage, slams and ground and pounds his face bloody. KO. But teach that kickboxer to sprawl and shuck a mean cross-face—that’s a lethal combination. That’s José Aldo. That’s Anderson Silva.

  Teach a world-class wrestler boxing footwork and how to throw a devastating Rocky Marciano–style overhand right? That’s Dan Henderson unleashing his patented H-bomb. Or Johny Hendricks dropping foes in thirty seconds.

  Teach a jiu-jitsu practitioner muay Thai—you get it, a modern MMA fighter must diversify.

  SKILLS VERSUS PATH

  So all these diverse skills are vital to a fight plan, but what’s the surest path into the cage?

  Initially, viewing the landscape from under the long shadow cast by Royce Gracie, I assumed jiu-jitsu provided the golden route. Then, from casual observations and barroom discussions, I assumed muay Thai. But it wasn’t until I graphed the stats that I saw the real map.

  In categorizing each fighter, based on available information (website bios, interviews), I determined each fighter’s initial combat discipline—for example, if a fighter started tae kwon do at age nine, and added jiu-jitsu at seventeen, then that fighter was primarily shaped by tae kwon do. Why? Because fresh off the street a kid is malleable, a tabula rasa quickly programmed with that discipline’s techniques, philosophies, work ethic. Subsequent training in other disciplines doesn’t erase that foundation, it merely builds upon it. Sifting through the information, I was forced to make a few subjective calls—such as, does a year of kung fu followed by five years of wrestling define a fighter’s foundation as TMA or wrestling (I’d argue TMA, if he/she continued with kung fu)—but how empirical can we get with qualifiers such as primary influence?

  Of the roughly 349 UFC active fighters under contract, 120 started in wrestling. That’s nearly twice any other discipline. I was most shocked that muay Thai trailed TMA. Perhaps it’s an era thing, and given time muay Thai’s popularity will draft the expansion of MMA. Or perhaps it’s an institutional thing, due to the countless tae kwon do gyms still anchoring strip malls around the world, and in coming years we’ll this see less and less. Time will tell.

  There it is. No matter the race for second, third, and fourth, there’s no question that wrestling far and away leads the pack.

  THE NEW BREED

  But hold up, before signing your youngster into the local wrestling program, think, Evolution. Think, A new option—the Sixth Option.

  As one of the first pure-MMA fighters to excel in the UFC, Rory MacDonald best represents this new breed. At just twenty years old
he amassed a 10–0 record, starting anew the whispers of “phenom” and “future champion.” So UFC matchmaker Joe Silva pitted him against elite veteran Carlos Condit for UFC 115 in June 2010. Only his second big-show outing, “career test” doesn’t begin to describe the bout. Yet Rory manhandled Condit, outstriking, outwrestling, putting on a veritable MMA clinic through the first two rounds, hands down securing the decision. Then, middle of the third and final round, Rory dropped his head and panted for air, losing steam. Condit turned on the attack: after slamming the kid he dropped relentless elbows—fracturing Rory’s orbital, breaking his nose, and, like that, the momentum flipped, and with just ten seconds remaining the ref stepped in, waving his hands.

  A heartbreaker, if ever. Ten seconds. If Rory could have just stymied the attack for ten more clicks he would have emerged with a perfect record and probably a shot at the belt.

  If only. So goes MMA: count no victory until the bell sounds.

  Rory and I ate breakfast together in Toronto, and wolfing down two plates of eggs and pancakes he shrugged off the loss, as though it was a perfect stepping stone toward his eventual title. We talked training, head games, and his path into the cage.

  “I was pretty lucky to find a good MMA gym in a small town ten years ago,” Rory said. “Ten years ago a good MMA gym was pretty hard to come by. I guess I was one of the first [pure MMA fighters] that’s in the UFC now. But I think you’ll see more and more of it with the growth of the sport, the popularity. So many young kids want to get into it.”

  How is this evolution going to effect the sport?

  “I think [new fighters] will have a lot more balanced style. There’s no longer going to be one-specialty fighters. I think those guys are gonna get weeded out pretty fast. Now you have to be balanced in every discipline to make it in the UFC.”

  How did you find the gym?

  “My dad and brother and I were in the car, and my brother was saying he went to a class at an MMA gym. We’d been watching UFC since I was little. So we got all excited talking about it, and my dad was like, ‘So do you wanna go?’ I said yeah, and right then he turned the car around. I did a class and fell in love … it was a no-gi jiu-jitsu class and a bit of striking. The gym was grimy, but so badass. We hit the heavy bag, shadowboxing, and some MMA on the ground, and I was hooked. I told my dad when I got in the car, this is what I’m doing, this is it, I am quitting hockey and all that shit.”

  Rory MacDonald, pure MMA.

  What did he say?

  “He was down ’cause it was way cheaper!”

  So the more holistic foundation of pure MMA helps, as opposed to coming up through another discipline?

  “Yeah, because your thinking is always geared toward an MMA fight. If your outlook is coming from a muay Thai background, then you’re always thinking stand-up. Jiu-jitsu, the ground. My outlook is always to mix it up and change at any moment. So starting young in an MMA gym is ideal, in my opinion.”

  THE CAGE

  It’s hard to imagine that John Milius comprehended the true impact of introducing those eight vertical planes on the nascent sport. He’d trained jiu-jitsu with Rorion Gracie, but as a renowned Hollywood director he was no doubt more focused on the drama and symbolism of the cage: how, positioned under thousands of cheering fans, it emotes ancient combat, danger, sacrifice, and rebirth.

  But the impact of those eight fences on fight strategy is immense.

  Most combat plays out on a flat surface: the ref signals Fight! and you’re projecting only along the x-axis—moving forward and back, sideways, cutting angles. Think merely in 2-D and you’re good. But introduce four sides of loose ropes, like in boxing and muay Thai, and you can trap your opponent in the corner and rain blows or, in rare instances à la Muhammad Ali, lean on the top rope to exhaust your opponent with the rope-a-dope. However these maneuvers require only minute calculations on the y-axis.

  But throw a vinyl-coated fence around the horizontal and you’d better start mapping in 3-D. Ignore the cage and next thing it’s against your back, restricting movement, and, oh yeah, how about that head under your chin, and the knee slamming your thigh, over and over until it cramps. There goes your fight strategy, at least until you get the hell off of there.

  Here’s the thing: I couldn’t stand when fighters landed against the cage, swimming arms for underhooks, shoving and tugging. But as with jiu-jitsu, I was ignorant and needed a primer to understand. So I rapped with Chuck Liddell, watched hundreds of fights, and here’s my take-away:

  Cage Strategy #1: Basic Offense: Pin your opponent back against the chain-link, driving his shoulder into his chest, stepping your front leg between his, jam your head under his chin and stretch him out. This stretch weakens his base. Now clench his waist and slam him to the mat.

  Cage Strategy #2: Basic Defense: When faced with #1, don’t stand there like a dummy. Turn your hips, shift your feet parallel with the cage, swim your rear arm under his armpit, and pull higher, higher, until it’s him now stretched and off balance. Now turn him 180 degrees against the cage and implement #1.

  Cage Strategy #3: The Crab Back: If you find yourself taken down, crab your hands backward until you feel the cage at your shoulders, then perform a leg press against it and stand. Now start on #2.

  Cage Strategy #4: The Escape: God forbid, if ever you’re on your back fending off a submission, walk your legs up the chain-link and get vertical, thus reducing the torque on your arm/neck, and perhaps even escape.

  Cage Strategy #5: The Holiday: A variant of #2, but instead of working for a reversal, just lean back and rest. B.J. Penn showed how, pinned against the cage, a fighter needn’t panic. Maybe it’s an Aloha thing, but he’d just chill there, letting his opponent burn through the gas tank. Once recharged, shift to #2.

  Cage Strategy #6: The Corner: Backpedal into the cage to prevent a takedown. Sure, I can’t sprawl when I’m against the fence, but you can’t shoot a double leg. No room. Anderson Silva used this against Chael Sonnen during UFC 151, thus negating his wrestling.

  Cage Strategy #7: The Diaz: What you do is throw relentless jabs while walking your opponent down, the whole time talking shit—bitch, you want some of this? 209, motherfucker!—and once his back hits the chain-link, jab, slap hook, left uppercut, then deep-slip his counter, and tackle him against the cage. Employ #1 for a bit, then break free and repeat #7.

  All cage strategies employ risk management. Reduce the variables and you need only concentrate on what remains. Clinched against the fence you eliminate kicks, flying knees, spinning fists. Now you’re only dealing with dirty boxing, knees, elbows, and takedowns.

  Helio Gracie wanted to simulate a street fight. The grandmaster was a purist, and if he’d had his way, the UFC would’ve taken place behind a convenience store—with just a handful of onlookers, a flickering lamppost, and a camera to record the action. But life is full of compromises. Fans want to watch. Governments wants to regulate. In the end, modern MMA is the closest, on a worldwide scale, that we’ll get to his vision.

  Every principal discipline that comprises the sport—jiu-jitsu, wrestling, muay Thai, boxing—is shaped by the confines of their respective rules. Stringent rules. Yet, in the cage those rules vanish. Boxers must defend takedowns. Wrestlers must fend off head kicks. Jiu-jitsu players must block upper cuts. It’s a beautiful calculus, in which subtraction yields a sport so new, so innovative, from here on its adherents will likely only train the sport itself. Welcome to the brave new world of MMA.

  Lavar Johnson vs. Pat Barry.

  4: THE HERO’S JOURNEY

  Vitor Belfort suffering. (Credit: Ryan Loco)

  “I hated every minute of training, but I said, ‘Don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.’ ”

  —MUHAMMAD ALI

  SO HERE WE ARE, recounting history, dissecting styles and techniques, but in many ways this focus obscures the true source of every victory: The Will. And what I mean is, the immeasurable doggedness that drives a fig
hter to train through exhaustion and pain, to ignore thirst and hunger while shooting takedowns, hitting the mitts, to suppress the ego and work through awkward movements, honing kicks and footwork until they flow effortless.

  None of which is easy. Some mornings a fighter wakes and stares at the empty ceiling, and in those cold, alone moments, to reassure himself he summons the chants and envisions his hand raised in the Octagon, until lying there he floats in that warm glow. The alarm buzzes, but just a few more minutes to stave off the doubt, and worse—the fear, yes, fear—because those shadows on the periphery are always there. Fear of failure, fear of pain, fear of career-ending injury and shame. A mirror glint and it creeps back, the light dimming to dark for just an instant, until again he summons this scene and convinces himself: No, I got this, I am the fucking man!

  Welcome to martial arts, where the true battle unfolds within, where our innate dualities compete for attention: courage/fear, yin/yang.

  In his seminal book The Hero with a Thousand Faces, author Joseph Campbell revealed the blueprint underlying all great stories: Sumerian myths, biblical parables, kung fu movies, and even The Matrix. Campbell leaned heavily on Carl Jung, looting his work on subconscious archetypes, and also on that nihilistic German sage Arthur Schopenhauer, whose seminal essays explored the human will; and thus, Campbell laid out “The Hero’s Journey,” a template that features a broken character searching for redemption, encountering obstacles, until on the desolate road he meets a mentor, and battling inner demons he grows, is reborn, and, achieving victory, earns a treasure that helps, not only himself, but his people.