Tag: MMA

Can You Bullseye a Womp Rat?

“It’s not impossible. I used to bullseye womp rats in my T-16 back home, they’re not much bigger than two meters.”—Luke Skywalker

If you’ve seen Star Wars (Episode IV – A New Hope), you’ll probably remember that Luke Skywalker saved the day and the galaxy by firing torpedoes from his X-wing space fighter into the exhaust port of the Death Star, a moon-sized battle station with enough firepower to destroy a planet. This was considered practically impossible because of how narrow the approach was, how small the exhaust port was, and how fast the fighter craft would be approaching—not to mention that there would be resistance from the enemy.

This scenario got me thinking: In “no-holds-barred” type fights, is the reason why strikers have historically done poorly against grapplers because they’re essentially trying to bullseye a womp rat? (For the sake of this discussion, let’s define strikers as those relying primarily on punches and kicks and grapplers as those relying primarily on throws or on shooting in followed by submissions and chokes.)

Sure, at the highest levels of striking and grappling, both can work and be devastating. No doubt that striking with adequate force to a vulnerable area can be a showstopper. And no doubt putting someone in a guillotine with adequate constriction around the neck can also be lights out. The question is which of those against a moving, non-compliant, resisting, and perhaps even aggressive opponent is more likely to work.

In my opinion, in a situation where both opponents square off beforehand (e.g., in a UFC competition), if you rely primarily on striking, you’d better be Luke Skywalker and able to bullseye a womp rat to stop even a decent grappler. Although there are many vital areas and pressure points all over the body that a striker can target, a grappler’s targets are by comparison largely, well, large (e.g., the legs for a takedown) and arguably easier to get to, requiring less precision and coordination than a punch or a kick. Sure, a well-placed knee to the head or elbow to the back of the neck can stop someone shooting in for a double-leg takedown. But there’s a reason why the sprawl is generally more effective against someone shooting in: executing the knee and the elbow with proper timing and distance are like, well, bullseyeing a womp rat. And if you don’t bullseye the womp rat, the grappler’s going to be all over you.

So, what to do if you’re a striker? Well, one obvious solution would be to practice bullseyeing womp rats more. By increasing your precision and speed against a decent grappler at full speed, you increase your chances of being able to use it in a realistic situation. But in my experience there’s a big problem with this solution: finding a person who’s willing to be kneed or elbowed like that. When executed perfectly (especially if you try something like hitting a person in the trachea when they shoot in), striking can be very dangerous—and that makes it problematic in training. Unfortunately, being unable to train at full speed makes using these strikes in real combat much more difficult.

Another, probably better solution is to work some grappling into your game. Both standup and ground grappling will almost certainly occur naturally in any situation that is not for some reason limited to striking. In fact, even in western boxing, fighters will clinch, sometimes throwing the opponent away to make space or staying in the clinch and getting off short, powerful body strikes. And I don’t disagree with grapplers who say that most street fights go to the ground (I just disagree with a percentage like 90%—I’m not sure it’s quite that high).

A third way to make striking potentially more effective is to make your strikes heavier. That way, even if you miss your intended target the size of a quarter, you might at least do some damage to the area you do hit, perhaps jolting your opponent enough to then allow you to hit your intended target. So, if you’re primarily a striker, ask yourself if, like Luke, you can bullseye a womp rat when the entire galaxy’s fate rests on it. If not, consider practicing on more (and different) womp rats/partners, consider working in some grappling to your skill set, or consider making your strikes heavier. But whatever you do, don’t join the dark side.

Why I Prefer Being “Heavy” Over Being Fast

When I was younger, I was obsessed with speed. I was a huge fan of the blinding-fast Bruce Lee as well as of those kung fu movies with cool wind-like sound effects for punches and kicks. More than anything, I wanted to be fast. And that was how I thought and trained for probably 20 years.

But around 10 years ago, I started to rethink the importance of speed in unarmed combat. Note that when I say “speed,” I mean the velocity of the movement (not reaction time). And when I say “mass,” I mean the mass behind the movement, not a person’s mass in general (although sometimes a person’s mass in general can also be an overwhelming advantage).

I now prefer being “heavy” as compared with being fast. Don’t get me wrong: I know you must have speed and mass (and other things, too) to be effective. But consider the following two options: (1) having average speed and above-average mass, and (2) having above-average speed and average mass. All other things being equal, which would you take? Unless I knew beforehand that my opponent was especially vulnerable to speed, I’d take the first option—average speed and above-average mass. But why?

First, I think back on my own fights. (For context, most of my fight experience has been in what would be best described as schoolyard fights. Also, I am not including sparring during training as fighting.) In the maybe six or seven fights—I know it’s not much experience, but it is my experience—I’ve had in my lifetime, in only one did I basically give up. And the reason why was because the guy hit me with such heavy blows—on my body—that I felt like I was, well, getting the hell knocked out of me every time he made contact. Basically I felt like I was being hit with a hammer. Interestingly, I don’t think this guy, who was a classmate in high school, had ever had any formal combat training. He just naturally hit with his whole body.

In all my other fights, which in some cases included guys formally trained in a variety of arts, I got hit (including on the head), tripped, and taken down, but I never felt that I was in serious trouble. In fact, in some cases getting hit and even bloodied just pissed me off even more. But when I got hit with that heavy blow from my classmate, I was done—physically and psychologically.

Also, based on my experience on both the giving and the receiving end of martial contact (e.g., a punch, a block, or a grappling maneuver), I find that what gets the recipient’s “respect” the most is when they get hit harder or controlled easier than they expected. Put another way: speed may get the attention of spectators, but a heavy blow will get the attention of your opponent.

Now let’s look at combat sports including boxing, modern MMA, wrestling, judo, etc. Except for the old-school MMA fights back in the 90s and “underground” competitions, notice that all combat sports have weight divisions—but that that there’s no such thing as speed divisions. Why divide competitors into weight classes instead of speed classes? Because whether it’s a striking art or a grappling art or something in between, a big difference in weight between participants is generally considered unfair (and more dangerous) to the lighter competitor. Who would you take the majority of the time in these some-of-the-greatest-of-all-time bouts in boxing, MMA, and freestyle wrestling, respectively: Heavyweight Muhammad Ali versus welterweight Sugar Ray Robinson? Heavyweight Fedor Emelianenko versus middleweight Georges St. Pierre? Super heavyweight Aleksandr Medved versus bantamweight Yojiro Uetake?

I know some people will say that in real-life self-defense situations, speed plays a much bigger role because all it takes is a relatively light hit to the eyes or groin or windpipe to maim or kill. I won’t completely disagree with this—just press on your own windpipe with your finger to see how fragile the area is. But there is a reason why women and children, who are generally smaller and weaker (but can often flail their arms with a good amount of speed), have self-defense classes geared specifically for them, while men, who are generally heavier (and stronger), do not.

I would also add that although it is true that for vulnerable areas and pressure points you only need a modest amount of force, I find it also true that hitting those targets on a moving, reacting opponent can be challenging. Being in a stressful situation can reduce your fine motor skills, making you less accurate. And when we’re talking about vulnerable areas and pressure points, you must be not only fast but also accurate. Don’t believe me? Try angling your finger while pressing on your windpipe and note how just a few degrees of deviation from pressing directly against the windpipe make a substantial difference in the pressure, pain, and ultimately the efficacy.

Thus, I train and teach with an emphasis on being heavy because I think it’s a heavy blow that hurts an opponent more physically and psychologically. And it turns out I can even go back to the blinding-fast Bruce Lee to support my argument. About a year ago, I came across a YouTube video in which James DeMile, one of Lee’s more well-known students, said that when he first met Lee, he was thoroughly impressed at how fast Lee was. Lee, he said, seemed to punch like 50 times a second—but they felt like bee stings and didn’t necessarily keep him from coming forward and continuing to fight. He noted that Lee himself quickly realized that blinding speed might not be enough to stop an opponent in a fight, so Lee began working with his students to figure out ways to add mass to the equation. I only wish I had been as fast as Lee in realizing that.