Damaging The Small Bones

Damaging The Small Bones

Whilst pounding an attacker through the wall with some hoofing great oki-wakka-smakka is satisfying and looks impressive, the reality is that most conflicts can be ended just as swiftly by damaging the tiniest of bones.

You’ll know by now how I’m an advocate of letting your opponent break his own hands when he tries to hit you (by simply raising your elbow up to protect your face), but sometimes you need to be a bit more proactive.

I once read that it takes 3600lbs of pressure to crush a bone down its length, but only 8lbs of sideways pressure to snap it.  This of course depends on the bone, and muscle/fat/tendon coverings naturally strengthen things up, but you get the impression – hit a bone the right way and it’s pretty easy to break it.

Punching or kicking someones hands gets good results – especially if they haven’t made a fist.  Fingers are easy to snap or dislocate, as are the bones running down the back of the hand (which are also rich with pressure points and nerves), and even the wrist itself.  Even if they have made a fist you can do serious damage, and if you damage someones hand they go right off trying to punch you, at least!

Most self-defence instructors will teach you to stomp on the tops of their feet.  It’s good, but if you miss you might jar your own leg.

The nose is an obvious small bone to go for and most will break very easily.  Take it from me that breaking your nose is not nice.  First it blinds you, and then most of the time just as the pain is kicking in you’ll go into uncontrolable fits of sneezes.  This is EXACTLY what you want when blood and bones are already hanging out of your snout, and if there is a Creator then rest assured I will bitchslap them if I ever meet them just for having put me through this several times.

Anyone who’s watched Mixed Martial Arts like UFC will think it’s easy to snap peoples arms and stuff when they’re grappling, and that’s a myth we need to bust right now!  When you’re grappling with someone – especially if it’s a streetfight where their life may depend on it – all the adrenalin kicks in and gives you both near superhuman strength.

You can’t just grab someones arm or leg and twist it until it snaps.  This is where you DO need lots of proper training to make things work.  If you don’t have a properly trained background then you’re going to look silly and waste all your energy.  Watch any live Police-type show and you’ll see just how tough it is to get a proper lock on your average Joe Pisshead.

What WILL work in grapples is the stuff that’s banned from UFC and almost all MMA sports fighting – and that’s small joint manipulations.

Grab hold of just one of their fingers or toes with all your strength and wrench that bastard until it pops off in your hands!  If you manage to get hold of two of their fingers rip them apart and split their hand in half all the way up to their wrist.  Repeat until they let you go or you run out of bits to pull off them.

So this isn’t ‘easy’ stuff to win a fight for you, but if you’re already in the heat of combat and need things to sway the odds in your favour this is the kind of stuff that they ban in sports fighting for good reason – it works.

Egging The Local Psychopath

When my brother and I were younger, we got up to all kinds of malarkey. We were generally little arsonist, trouble-making, mischievous shits.

Oh yes, we had fun!

I shall try to remember some of the things we’ve done, and some classic fights, and recount them on here. This story still makes us howl with laughter today! I think I’ve posted it before, but can’t be arsed to dig it out of the archives, so will re-write it:

Egging The Local Psychopath

One of the things we started doing was egging people.

It’s much funnier if they can’t see who’s done it, so we had A Plan. Bear in mind I was about 8 and him 10, so we could have planned it all better.

It was late on a warm Summers night, just after dark, when we grabbed a few eggs each from the kitchen.

We went out into the front garden, eyes ablaze and giggling in anticipation of what was to come. We took up positions behind the hedge at the top of the garden, and waited. In hindsight, it would probably have been much wiser not to have done this from our own damn garden, but at that age, you’re immortal, and don’t even think about the possibility you may get in Trouble… or even get caught!

There’s a service road on the other side of the hedge, then a steep grass bank that leads up to the path that runs along the main road, with a graveyard across the other side.

Yes, from the age of 5, I have lived and slept about 30 feet away from dead bodies. Before that I was just down the road in a haunted cottage. It was guaranteed that I’d turn into the sick little monkey that I am today! Anyway…

A few unknown people walked past on the upper pathway, and we lobbed eggs over, mortar-style, but our targeting wasn’t quite tuned in, and they missed the targets so badly I don’t think they even knew how close they’d come to an egging.

We were still pissing ourselves, biting our tongues to stay quiet with tears rolling down our faces, when a local alky woman walked past.

We let rip and ducked back down, and heard her footsteps stop.

Our hearts stopped, and we tried to see through the hedge as she looked around wildly, shouting out: “OI!!! I know who did that! I’ll tell your Dad!!! Who did that?!”

This was even better! We were Invisible Egg Assassins! The Water Margin and Monkey had nothing on us!

Then someone else was approaching.

We dived back to our positions, eggs at the ready. As he got closer, we recognised the long black coat, boots and Evil Cloud that could only belong to The Local Village Psychopath.

My brother lowered his egg, then looked at me. I kept mine raised. His look turned to horror, as he started to furiously shake his head at me, obviously still seeing that gleam in my eye.

I waited until he got level with us, and hoofed the egg up and over…

Everything went still and quiet, save for a small eggshell breaking over something soft.

Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiit……

We suddenly weren’t invisible! Psycho was staring straight at us as if the hedge wasn’t there!

“COME HERE YOU LITTLE CUNTS!!!”

LEG IT!!!!!!!!!!

We moved just about as he started running down the grass bank. It was probably the scariest moment of my life so far! Not only had he just roared a C-Word that I don’t think I’d ever even heard then (‘fock off’ was seen as the pinnacle of swear words), but I will NEVER forget the quick glimpse I had of that coat flapping around him as he fired himself towards us!

Think Russell Crowe’s ‘Hando’ from Romper Stomper:

Hando

I was slightly quicker off the mark than my bro, and Psycho was one fast bugger when killing was on the cards!

I wasn’t even at the bottom of the garden (I was in full-on panic and just trying to get around the back of my house to hide better), when I heard the tiny voice of my brother somewhere behind me:

“It wasn’t me it wasn’t me it wasn’t me!!!”. You’ve never heard such sorrow, despair and fear in all your life!

I felt bad that my brother was now dead, but felt much better once I’d cleared the gate and huddled shivering underneath an old mattress in the outhouse.

After a while, my bro staggered up, pale faced and ill-looking, but not dead.

We never egged anyone after that.

AnnaLynne McCord Videos

It’s The Little Things That Count – Fight To Hurt Them

It’s The Little Things That Count – Fight To Hurt Them

When most people get into a fight, they’re trying to do one thing: smash you in the face with their fist so hard that it knocks your head off.  There’s rarely any more thought or skill involved than that.

This is fine if you’re a huge lummox, but if you’re unfortunate you may find that you’re the David and your opponent is the Goliath.

The chances are your little puny geek self won’t be able to take Goliaths head off with one almighty tomp – so what do you do?

You get sneaky.

Pressure points are all well and good if you have the skill (or luck!), but for most people they won’t work either because your opponent is freakily immune or because adrenalin dump has taken control and you now have all the motor skills as King Kong on ether.

So you need to hurt them or at least damage them enough that they stop pummeling you long enough for you to do your little girly run back to your Mum.

You’ll have heard before in my ‘How To Win Any Fight (without even hitting them!)’ blog about how to get your elbows up, and try to break their hands when they hit you.  If you haven’t read this blog – do it now!

If you want to be a bit more proactive then breaking their bones is always a good move to stop them wanting to hit you.  The nose is an easy target if you stop swinging big looping haymakers and fire off some open-handed hits (or punches, but you shouldn’t be using a closed fist, really – trust me, the info on that is in another blog) straight down the middle towards their face.

Some people will still come at you with their nose spread out like a squished butterfly, but it should slow them down enough to leg it away.

If you have a bit more skill then just as they step towards you, stamp on their shin/lower leg as they finish the step, and you can snap their leg.  Or stamp on their feet and toes – whack anywhere they have small bones and it’s easy to break them.  Punching the back of their hands is also good but requires much better timing.

If they’re getting in close them rake their eyes with your fingernails, or prod a bony digit into their eye socket.  Try and pull the eyeball out and the fight will go right out of them.

Testicles are an easy target, but as I’ve said before, if you give them a good smack most men will realise they’re going down and so try to murder you in the few seconds they have before the pain hits.  This is A Bad Thing.  Also don’t be shy to do the same to women – I have it on good authority that a ‘punt to the cunt’ is rather painful to the fairer sex, too!

And that’s it.  As ever – KEEP IT SIMPLE!  No fancy complicated moves – cause as much damage or pain as it takes to stop them and then get out of there!

Remember that it might take a 300lb hoofer to the head to knock out some people, but around 8lb of pressure in the right place on a small bone (nose, fingers, toes etc) will be enough to disable an attacker just as effectively.

School Fights Part 3: Behind The Bike Sheds

School Fights Part 3: Behind The Bike Sheds

This was probably the biggest fight I ever had with anyone at school.

It was rather different to fighting Chompy The School Bully.

I think this one was a direct result of people knowing that I was fighting in tournaments and stuff, because the only reason he’s given to this day as to why he wanted to fight was: “I dunno, I just wanted a fight.”

Let’s call this one ‘Tompy’.  He was one of those ‘almost a friend’ type people – in the same class, we got on pretty well – but were never best friends or anything, nor had the will to be.  He was a known ruffian and fighter, and I guess considered one of The Hardest in the school.  He certainly was in his High School the year after we fought, anyway!

So I got the message sometime during the school day that “Tompy wants to fight you behind the bike sheds after school!”.

“Umm… why?”  I asked, thinking how I didn’t particularly want to have my brains bashed in.

“Dunno.”

“Err… OK then…”  Well, I could hardly find fault with his reasoning, could I?

People spent the rest of the day helpfully informing me how hard he was, and started to avoid the Dead Man Walking again.

After school I went to the bike sheds and he was there already, with an even bigger crowd than when I fought Chompy the year before.

“Are you ready?”  He asked me, as I put my bag down on the floor.

“Well… yeah…”  I told him, getting ready to get into all the “COME ON THEN!!” stuff again…

*WHACK*


What the fuck was that?

It was him, smacking me with a right hook before I’d even finished speaking!

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Ok then.  We got straight into it – both dancing about, much to the joy of the crowd.  I didn’t really want to be fighting still, but that first punch told me I either had to fight, let him kick the shit out of me, or cry like a baby and call it off and never live it down.

I was a hell of a lot better fighting by this stage, and was getting much nastier, having got into some more brutal styles of martial art.

Unfortunately, I was still shitting myself about fighting him, so I was holding back, and more fighting just to stay even and stop him killing me.  I don’t know why – guess it was just our good buddies Fear and Adrenaline Dump.  Street fighting is a whole new world away from organised competitions, and I was still pretty inexperienced about dealing with my own fear in a ‘real’ fight.

It was an impressive fight – we were using punches and kicks and everything else, and unlike Chompy, Tompy was hitting me hard and I was feeling it.

The fight is still a bit hazy to me, but I remember certain parts of it, either because I’d done something awesome, he’d hurt me, or something surreal was happening.

Now, in competitions, I was a kick specialist, and even to this day I’m an excellent kicker – even though, as back then, I prefer to use hand techniques.  He made the mistake of trying to take me on with kicks early on in the fight.  I remember after fielding a few of these (and this was probably the first time my sixth sense had kicked in during a fight), he tried a kick, but somehow I not only saw it coming, I actually jumped in the air over his leg and kicked down on top of his kick.  He never attempted another kick, and my confidence soared from that point.

A few times, we had to stop fighting because a Teacher was walking past on their way home, and we’d all wander off slowly then leg it back when they’d gone, and it was straight back to the fight.

I managed to grab his hair, intending to pull his head back and drop a hammer fist on his face (my current favourite Nasty Move), but couldn’t quite get his head back so the move failed.

He got me in a head lock, and was smacking me right in my mush with his other hand – fuck knows how he didn’t have my teeth out or break my nose!

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Then he tried to throw me on the floor, and I got a hold and took him down but landed hard on my shoulder.  We both jumped back up and carried on.

Then, I remember clearly that I was stepping back for a bit of a breather, and threw out two super-fast left jabs.  Both connected with his nose, which spread out all over his face and gushed blood.  A few punches that I thought were gentle taps and all that damage from them!

He was still fighting, and seeing the damage to him, I’d gained total confidence in myself.  This was MY fight.  I was in control.  The fear had gone.

I asked him if he wanted to stop, to which he quickly said (just like Chompy had) “He wanted to stop – you all heard that!”

Fine by me – but I really was going to go for it after that!

For some fucked up reason, most people said he’d won that fight, and it wasn’t until a few years later when I spoke to those same people that they admitted I absolutely battered him!  I guess they were his mates, or wanted to stay on his good side as they went to his High School, and I went to mine.

All I know is that I was the one cleaning his blood off me that night, and I’d found out this time that I really could fight – and I was good!  Although that fall totally fucked up my shoulder, so it was probably good that the fight ended there, rather than not long after when I found I couldn’t raise my arm!!!

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School Fights Part 2

School Fights Part 2

A few times, everyone had to very slowly walk away from the school, as a teacher left. As soon as the teacher had rounded a corner, the crowd eagerly rushed back to Ground Zero.

Finally, the Lollipop Lady left, and it was Fight Time.

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Having never done this before, I wasn’t really sure what happened to get things moving. We faced off against each other, and we took it in turns saying “COME ON THEN!!!!” at each other for a few minutes.

Neither of us was seemingly going to ‘come on’. Frankly, everyone else seemed to be getting a bit bored.

Some helpful soul in the crowd gave me a hearty shove in the back, propelling me towards Chompy like a hang-glider heading towards a mountain.

I got my hands in the way and gave him a good old shove. He returned the favour, asking me to “COME ON THEN!!!!!!!” even louder than before.

Another few long minutes of this passed.

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It was becoming clear that this big hard bully who’d called me out for a fight, didn’t actually want to START the fight!

I decided to take the initiative. My Karate Competition Winning Move (yes, I had one, and it changed every few months – no, it was never the Crane Kick) at the time was a hefty old reverse lunge punch to the gut.

I dropped down and my lightning-fast fist went into the folds of flab on his belly, sinking deeper and deeper… and deeper… and deeper… and….

Surely I should have hit SOMETHING solid by now?

I must have been almost shoulder deep in the fuckers belly, and I still hadn’t hit anything solid! Usually people would be crumpled up and spewing on the floor, and the Judges would wave flags in my direction and yell “Point!”. All I got here was a muffled “Oomph!” from Chompy as I retrieved my hand!

He didn’t look happy about the whole affair though.

He came at me, making little “Uss! Uss!” noises every time he threw a punch. Ah – that would be his Boxing training! Whatever it was, it was fucking irritating, and something he had the piss ripped out of him for years afterwards… I suppose at least I hadn’t yelled out a bloodcurdling “KIAI!!!” when I punched him, or I may have got the same!

It’s funny how when you’re younger, you can smash each other in the face multiple times and cause no damage. There’s a line you cross somewhere between 16 and 21, when all of a sudden one smack in the mush is enough to end the fight in a shower of blood and snot. I guess fighting when young was more fun in that respect.

We both danced around – me doing the gay Karate freestyle bob, him wiggling his Station-from-Bill-&-Teds humungous ass and ‘Uss! Uss!’ing his little heart out.

The crowd was all excited, as we harmlessly bashed each others brains out with our fists.

I dropped down low to deliver my trademark sweep, when he gave me an opening… and promptly fell off the curb into the road.

He ‘uss’ed me with an uppercut right on my jaw just as I was struggling to get out of the path of the car that was coming down the road! The cheek!

I gave him a quick tomp on the side of the head as I got back out the road, and we reached a lull.

Big Ole Chompy was looking a bit worse for wear – not because of battle damage, but he was obviously only used to collecting other kids’ dinner money, not having to ‘uss!’ more than a few times.

“Do you want to stop?” I asked him.

“You heard him! He wants to stop!” He cried to the crowd, picking up his bag and waddling off up the street.

I blinked a few times, rubbed the tiny bruise on my jaw, accepted the pats on the back from everyone, and never got bullied again!

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School Fights Part 1

School Fights Part 1

Believe it or not, even though I first started Martial Arts when I was 8 years old, I’ve only had two ‘real’ fights at school.

You may think this is because they all knew I was winning competitions and kicking ass, so they were all to scared to give me any hassle – but in actual fact I kept it all pretty quiet. Sure, I could have been bragging about it to everyone, but if you do that eventually someone will come along and say “I’m harder than you” and proceed to tear off limbs and other appendages and beat you to death with them.

It’s always better to let the Hard Guys get on with it – deep down they know that if they get beaten by a snotty nobody then their reputation is in tatters – and if they win it’s only to be expected.

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I was always very skinny, and just above average height. I was good at sports, had a bit of a brain, liked a laugh, and so generally avoided the attention of Bullies.

Until the third year of Middle School (or Year 7 for you young whipper-snappers).

The biggest, fattest kid in the school – let’s call him Chompy, because he can’t have had time for many other activities – must have been bored with his current crop of cattle, so turned his attentions onto me.

He started pushing me around, and making threats, and generally trying to make my life as miserable as he could. It worked quite well, because behind my happy-go-lucky front, I was just another scared, insecure kid.

I told a few people he was bullying me, and had the usual advice of  ‘stand up to him’!

OK, I had the skills (probably), but this guy was about three times my size, and I was used to being the biggest in my weight category for competitions, so wasn’t too happy at the prospect of Chompy sitting on me. Plus the fact that Chompy had been taking Boxing lessons, and thought himself tastier than a lard sandwich.

I put up with it for a week or two – which seemed like an eternity at that age, before it finally came to a head in the middle of a classroom.

The teacher was out of the room, but the class was full, and Chompy said something to me to try and get the other scared kids to laugh at me, and I turned and walked away, across the middle of the classroom.

Suddenly I felt one of this big fuckers hooves whacking me in the back of the leg!

My expected thought of “Ow! Fetch Mummy!!!” didn’t come.

Rage did.

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I’d had enough of that shit, so I turned back to face his huge moon-like sneering face, and as I did, brought my fist around in a right hook.

It connected hard with his temple. I’d hit a lot of heads by this time, but NONE like his. I swear my fist bounced back off his protective blubber as if I’d just hit a stack of tyres with a rubber mallet!

Time stood still, as all the air was sucked from the room by everyone watching.

I thought “Uh-oh!”.

He went a bit cross-eyed and sat on a desk behind him, going bright red like some kind of big bullying angry tomato. His whole body seemed to throb like a cartoon thumb that’s been hit with a hammer.

After what seemed like time to take at least three much-needed bowel movements, he spake thus:

“You’re dead you are, Cater!”

Thunder boomed and lightning lit the side of his face in a fun-house show of Doom (well, ok – I may have made that part up, but it may as well have).

The air came back into the room, to be replaced by lots of “Oooh”s and “Ahhh”s.

And so word spread, and everyone spent the rest of the day in eager anticipation of the David & Goliath Fight which was to happen after school…

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Losing It

Losing It

Everyone feels like they’re losing it sometimes.

It doesn’t matter what you have – sometimes… well it’s not just that it’s ‘not enough’ or ‘not what you want’.

We all have an ideal plan for life and that never happens.

It’s so easy to fall off.  So easy to twist everything that you hear.  So easy for what you feel to be twisted in your own head so you’re not sure if it IS what you feel anymore, or even if you DO feel.

We hit the lowest points even when we should be flying high – when to some outsider it should look like we have everything.

Life is kind-of about slipping off this comfort zone and questioning yourself and how others perceive you.

If you can’t say you’ve been there then you’re lying.  If you’re not lying then you just haven’t been here yet (you lucky bastard).

You WILL be there because it’s human nature, and a sign that you’re paying attention.  Maybe too much attention?  It’s easily done if you have half a fucking brain – and sometimes I envy those who don’t.

Fear is natural, and that’s not just part of a direct conflict but an ongoing thing.

You can be living well and suddenly The Fear hits you: Your job could be taken away and you’d be fucked…  They don’t love you…  The past you’ve forgotten is catching up to you… Just plain scared that it’s all falling apart!

Well it’s the past and it’s the future so why the Hell do you give a fuck?  You can’t change one and the only person in charge of the other is YOU!

I recently attended a course as a pre-cursor to a Pass Plus course.  To you foreigners that’s a bit like an advanced driving course telling you to slow the fuck down, stop trying to impress, and not to listen to peer pressure.  Not to crash.  Every day loved ones are taken from us, and do you want your last words to them to be something you’ll always have on your conscience, or do you want it to be “I love you”?

People slip every day and I’m scared for them more than I am for myself…

G’wan!  Tell someone you love them and tell someone else who’s taking the energy and trust from your life to go fuck themselves.

There are a lot of people in this world and a lot of those who think they’re losing it are precious in the biggest way to someone.

Don’t let them go without letting them know, and don’t be the one who goes…