As an adult, I became obsessed with soccer. I started watching YouTube highlights of current stars. Guys like Beckham or (Brazilian) Ronaldo played in their waning years, yet I still enjoyed watching their ability to manipulate the ball in differing ways. Being semi-new to a soccer obsession, I only knew the names in the zeitgeist. As I dug further, I appreciated the classics like Cruyff and of course Pele and Maradona. Then I came across Ronaldinho and two up-and-comers named Messi and Christiano Ronaldo, but I was aware of my own limitations. I appreciated their flare and touch, but knew emulating them wasn’t in my cards. I kept digging, searching for my veritable soccer spirit animal.
That was when I found a French midfielder who went on an elegant run through the 2006 World Cup. Of course I mean Zinedine Zidane. The way he harnessed nonchalant magic from the ether is what drew my eye. He didn’t rely on pace, physicality, or youthful vigor. He simply stayed composed and technical. He also did cool spinning shit. So that helped.
I spent countless hours trying to emulate Zidane’s touch and roulette. At first, I thought the move was bullshit. Quite simply, it didn’t work except for him. Yet I kept drilling it. And drilling it. And drilling it. Then one day I hit it in a Sunday league game. With time, the cool spinning shit became part of how I played soccer. Yet the obsession started even when I could barely run up and down the potholed pitches in Alaska without turning an ankle or pulling a hamstring. Yet the seeds were planted for a standard to reach for, knowing there was no way I could become as good as Zidane. Yet I could try in my own, small way.
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How the F does this relate to jiu-jitsu? Well…I went through the same early obsessive phase. I started looking up stars of the time. As I searched the internet for the reigning champions in 2016, my eyes wandered from the largest champions down the ranks until I found the weight classes about my size (140-145 lbs). In other words, who were the reigning black belt champions at featherweight and light-featherweight in the fall of 2016? What did they have in common? What were their styles? How could I find out more about these two? Did they have academies? Did they sell instructionals? Where did they train?
In 2016, the reigning light-feather champion was Paulo Miyao. In 2016, the reigning feather champion was Rafael Mendes. What did they have in common? They were both known for something called the “berimbolo” and playing De La Riva (DLR) guard. I didn’t know what either of those terms meant. As I dove deeper, I figured out a berimbolo was some…well…cool spinning shit. While DLR guard looked way better than clinging to closed guard with all my thigh strength or getting passed from half guard because I’m a small, 30-something white belt at a pressure passing academy. Watching Paulo’s and Rafa’s matches on YouTube was like being handed some secret scrolls. This was the style that I could see myself playing.
I kept digging. I found out they both had brothers, who were also successful black belt competitors. I learned they all (both sets of brothers) trained in the US.
At the time, the Miyao brothers trained at Unity. Located in New York City, ran by Murilo Santana, and featuring some other names like Leandro Lo and Mayssa Bastos and of course the Miyaos. Being new to these deep dives, I didn’t know who these other people were…at all. Just like Unity, every academy lists their black belts/instructors with some biographical information and record of achievements. I didn’t know one black belt from another. I didn’t know one type of world championship from another. I didn’t know if lineage mattered or not. So, who was to say John or Jane Doe black belt were any better or worse than Murilo or Leandro or Mayssa? I sure didn’t know the differences at this point and the Miyaos didn’t seem to teach any of the classes.
Moving onto Rafael Mendes, that’s when I learned about Art of Jiu-Jitsu (AOJ) in Costa Mesa, California. Rafael and his brother (Gui) owned the academy, taught classes there, and for a monthly fee you could sign up to watch their (recorded) classes online. Having access to instruction by the Mendes brothers, even while living across the country, blew my mind. It was like downloading instruction from Zidane on how to play soccer like him. I couldn’t pull out my credit card fast enough.
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This isn’t an AOJ advertisement. I promise.
When I tuned into their videos, I was transported to southern California on a crisp coastal morning. Everything was bathed in white – the uniforms, the mats, the walls. Everything looked clean – from the instructors to the academy to the techniques. Even the scratchy half and full circle artwork on the far wall complimented the swirling and spiraling movements. It wasn’t smash and stall. It wasn’t grit and grind. Instead the drills and rolls resembled a dance. There were more brains than brawn in any singular exchange.
This was how I imagined martial arts. This was how I wanted my jiu-jitsu to look. This was art.
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I’m realistic about combat sports. What’s effective may not be pretty. What is pretty may not be effective. To “fight” another human, it’s not meant to be pretty. Combat is gritty, intense, ugly, and pragmatic.
Yet there I was at 35 years old and 140 lbs. trying to jump in with both feet. My size and age didn’t allow me to make it ugly and hope to grind it out against people younger, bigger, stronger. With each birthday, I give up a little more hope that I’ll hit a secondary puberty. With each donut craving, I fight the midlife spread. I don’t much like the idea of steroids or other PEDs. So where does that leave me?
It leaves me relying on two things that have seen me through life successes outside the mat – my mind and work ethic. Well, those two things along with not having kids/other time commitments that interfere with spending inordinate time on other hobbies (see: soccer and now jiu-jitsu). In other words, I had the resources to be obsessive.
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After discovering AOJ Online, I sketched out a study schedule. I started my work day sipping a latte and reviewing a previous AOJ class or two (usually a 5-7 minute video) while scribbling notes. Throughout the da yI’d mentally review the move until carving out time before or after class that evening to drill.
Mind you, I was still a white belt in about every way imaginable for jiu-jitsu. My attempts at AOJ-derived moves were raw, confused, and sloppy. People passed my guard. People swept me. I tapped and tapped again. Yet that’s the life of a white belt. I thought of it as tossing seeds in fertile soil, continuing to water and tend to the crop and wait until roots took hold (ominous foreshadowing).
Yet in the moment, it seemed as if nothing worked at all. Were they posting bullshit moves? Did they breathe special air in Costa Mesa to help them hit these moves in training? Were people at AOJ just genetic wizards like in Harry Potter?
Every time I messed up and inevitably got smashed flat in bottom half guard while someone cross faced me until my lips bled and my thighs burned as I stared at the round timer, I thought of Zidane and my ability to do the roulette. Even now, I can find a soccer ball and do the roulette. Yet the first time I tried, I fell on my butt. The second time I tried, I fell on my butt. Maybe the 100th time I tried, I didn’t fall and the ball squirted away before my other foot came into play. Yet somehow at some point, I stopped messing up. “Practice until you can’t fail.”
As I sighed in frustration trying to figure out this “AOJ Style,” I remembered all the times I hit the roulette in a match.
“Keep trying,” I sighed to myself.
Even if I had no clue what I was doing or what these moves (leg weave, crazy dog, berimbolo, crab ride, kiss of the dragon, etc.) meant, I kept watching AOJ Online, drilling, and most importantly…trying.