RingoYou ever lose a really intense fight? One where you knew that you were in it, but felt like you were struggling for every inch? Maybe you felt like you were a half a step behind the whole time and never really managed to catch up, but were able to stay swinging and banging till the end. Or you thought you were up the whole time but were never able to settle in and relax and keep that space till eventually you slipped up and they took the thing?
Did it fucking suck? Did you beat yourself up for days after? Weeks? Hell are you still obsessing over a loss you took in Poland 5 years ago? No? Was that Just men then? Sorry, might be projecting a bit with that last one. What I’m trying to ask is are those losses enjoyable to you? Cause they fucking wreck me.
You know what I hate more than anything when it happens? How for the next 30 minutes or few hours people keep telling you how good that fight was. When people come up to tell you how good you did. No I fucking didn’t. I fucking lost and that’s it. I know that’s stupid, irrational, and objectively wrong, but hey I’m not a fucking angel…or robot? What are those things without emotions? Oh yeah, men…and I am one of those…so I guess I’m fucking up then.
I love fighting. I love winning. I love smashing fools and hearing them make sad noiseTM as you land a really punishing blow. I love the moment your opponent realize you have domination over them and basically gives in to you will. I love making flashy moves that get the crowd hyped like a rappers squad after hot line. I love watching people miss or shutting down their attack and seeing them get frustrated.
I also love the struggle though. I hate pain normally, but god do I love trying to survive a beating. Hell I even love tapping out occasionally. I love seeing someone get one up on me and pushing me into a hard spot. I love that moment when they hit 6th gear and you realize you can’t keep up at your current level. I love when I learn about the holes in my guard so I can patch them up.
I love the entirety of the fight, from the pleasure of causing pain, to the humiliation of being utterly out classed. I love The suffering, the blood, the bruising. I love the danger, the inherent social stratification, the spectacle. There is nothing about fighting I don’t love…in general.
But sometimes. Sometimes I can’t take that loss. Sometimes it fucking eats at me like flatworm, taking all the emotional nutrition from a fight. Sometimes I can’t watch tape because it haunts me. Sometimes I feel like crying when my opponents hand goes up. And that shit doesn’t fly.
I believe in losing with Grace. I believe in honoring your opponents victory. I believe in celebrating their triumph. We share the list with each other, the terror the thrill the violence, and I believe in sharing the euphoria after. There is no bond like that of two people who’ve tried to kill each other. To me that is the ultimate bonding moment. Further I hold to the idea of good sportsmanship, of keeping those emotional outbursts outside the list. I believe in being professional. In not making the moment about me and my issues, but letting it be about the fight. I believe in learning from mistakes and that if you can’t love the losses you aren’t really loving the sport. In that case you just love feeding your pride.
It’s not always that easy though. You know that Picard quote that’s meant to , Sometimes you can do nothing wrong and still lose? Yeah fuck him. Fuck that. Fuck all well meaning comforts. Sometimes there ain’t nothing that can make a loss feel better. That quote about no losing, only learning? That’s bullshit. Sometimes there’s only losing. Sometimes there is no lesson.
I lost to Brian Juranty for the third time this weekend. I have no answer for that kid and it sucks. Sometimes you just have to admit you aren’t as good as you want to be. The thing about the best? Only one person can be it and if you make that you goal, there’s a damn good chance you’re gonna be disappointed. Being humbled is good for me and usually I can embrace it..but this time it’s sticking in my craw.
I hate it all the more because I want to celebrate and enjoy my friends progress. I want his victory to be mine, but instead his victory is my loss. I can be happy for him, but it’s twinged with this bitterness of recognizing my own limitations. I made this sport my life’s work, being the best fighter my only goal. And I’ve pretty much hit a point where I have to come to terms with that will never happen. I had no answers for Brian this weekend. I couldn’t keep up in striking, movement, in the clinch, grappling, anywhere. And it sucked.
I know there’s more I can do training. I can learn new throws, pick up sweeps, and double down on my striking drilling. I can add more days of workout. I can double down on diet and read even more about training philosophy to maximize time and effort. But at the end of the day, I’m thirty fucking two. I’m just gonna have to admit at some point I’m past my physical prime and I’m still trying to play catch up as my body and mind are slowing down.
I should bow my head and accept my new place in the hierarchy at the hall. I mean, I’ve been claiming Brian is the best fighter in the US for 2 years now. I know there’s a whole group of fighters we haven’t got a chance to test ourselves against so perhaps I’m overselling him. But within our house, I’ve def lost my place. It’s now a conversation between Brian and Cat and maybe still Jaye, though time is finally possibly catching up and out pacing the experience jump he had on us all.
I should do that. I should, with grace take the L and be happy with how reality is. Wanting and hoping for things that can’t be is a recipe for unhappiness. I should learn the lesson and adjust to it. The stoics say one should be grateful for everything as it is. Buddha says desire is pain. And the Neo-Rationalist say that one should always want to know and accept the truth no matter what.
But fuck all those guys. Sometimes you gotta give a finger to the universe. Sometimes you gotta say fuck losing with grace, and make the bastards choke on your stubbornness. I wouldn’t be me if I accepted it till its been proven to me 10,000 times. So here’s to me doubling down on destroying my body in vain attempt to crawl back to the top. And here’s to knowledge that I’m gonna have to be taught this lesson 10 more times as I get my shit continually pushed in.
God I love fighting