Chapter 290

Up at 6:30. I tried to “cut weight” but only small nuggets came out, despite all my pushing efforts. I was still a bit stressed about my weight, and didn’t drink any water.

We got in the car and drove to the sports center. I weighed in with a good enough margin, and finally could gorge myself with raisins, nuts, granola bars and dried banana slices, washed down with water and lemonade. My scheduled match was only happening in four hours, so I stood by the barricades around the mats and watched the nogi tournament. The Eccentric Belarusian put on his rashguard with a comical drawing of a tuxedo open on a muscular hairy chest, and got in there against a young Chinese guy who bullied him around. He lost on points but it was a valiant effort. Then the gi tournament got underway, and he won his first two matches by outpositioning his foes, advancing to the semis. Good start! I was in the waiting area, and met my soon-to-be opponent. He was a kid in his early twenties, nervous as hell, and he told me he’d been training just for a few months and has an injured back. “Relax” I told him, patting him on the shoulder.

The ref summoned us, and we engaged. He pulled guard, I passed to half, and he locked me in as if his life depended on it. I couldn’t break his tight bear hug, and everytime I’d free my foot, he’d reel it back in. We stayed in that position for a while, I’d try to advance, he’d underhook my leg, I’d pull it back, he’d underhook it again, I’d free it, and eventually he swept me. I swept him back and ended up in a similar position, except I caught his neck under my armpit in the scramble. “Lâche pas son cou! Lâche pas son cou!”, I’d hear from the sidelines. Fellow Quebecer and head coach of Nanjing BJJ was there as a referee, but between his duties he coached his students and guys like me, and I heard his French instructions through the noise of the crowd. I knew I wouldn’t get a submission from that angle, but could use it to advance or at least stifle his offense. We made it to the five-minute mark, with 2 points each, so we went into overtime. Again, he pulled half-guard, and I aggressively tried to pass and get the points and the sudden victory. Maybe too aggressively... he posted his elbow on the mat and I went to push on it to flatten him, but took too big of a swing and it felt more like an open-handed hit. He protested “Fuck! He hit me!” and... got disqualified for talking during the match.

So my first victory ever, by DQ, after a dick move, against a slightly smaller and more inexperienced opponent I should have beat. Well, shit. I didn’t feel good when my arm was raised. I went to apologize to the kid and his coach, they were cool about it, though a bit bummed out.

It meant that in our 3-man bracket, he was going to fight against the third guy to decide who will be matched up against me in the finals. I watched attentively, and the match was over quickly, with the kid suffering a back injury that got him writhing in pain. He got attended to by nurses, and carried out, I hope he’ll be OK. The other guy and I met on the mat, and he got the better of me, getting side control and mount and chaining submissions that I’d defend adequately but couldn’t find opportunities to counterattack. That is, until he went for an armbar but I yanked my elbow out, shook my head in a “No!” gesture, stacked him, got out and stood up in his guard. He had good hips and stopped me from passing, and when the bastard went for an ankle lock, I grabbed his errant foot and went for an ankle lock of my own. Rewatching the tape, I feel terrible at how I squandered that opportunity, as I was in a much better position to finish than he was but didn’t place my forearm deep enough by his Achilles and didn’t use my hips to put excruciating pressure on the joint the way the Italian had taught me. Now that would have been a sweet come-from-behind victory. Instead, he disengaged from his failing leg attack, pushed his own leg out of danger, and ended up in top position. Ah well. Silver medal.

I was in great spirits, and I enjoyed the vibe there, being in a competitive but also convivial environment, and everyone was friendly. You’d be there shooting the shit with your future and former opponents, your friend’s opponents, some random guys you’d make eye contact with while waiting for your match, some people you met at other tournaments, some people wearing a t-shirt that catches your eye for some reason. There was a British guy who came to me, arms outstretched, asking “Hefei?”, and I remembered drinking with him watching a World Cup match in 2016. It was a really nice atmosphere, yeah it could get intense at times but most people there were just hobbyists united in their love of pyjama-murder-simulation.

One cool example was with two girls I met when I went to their gym in Shanghai back in April (see Chapter 114). They were the only two purple belts there, so they fought each other, though they’re in the same gym and then fought again for the openweight contest. They got one win apiece, so they had some pretty funny pictures taken on the podium, with one getting gold, the other getting silver, and then they’d switch positions.

I had a bit of time to eat and catch my breath before the openweight bracket. My opponent was a very familiar one, the boulder I competed against two weeks ago (see Chapter 274). We smiled at one another, but obviously my confidence wasn’t at an all-time high. As always, I didn’t have much of a game plan other than avoiding being on the bottom with such a unit outweighing me by 15 pounds crushing me, we wrestled a bit standing up, trying to get grips, and he eventually pulled guard. I tried to pry it open but he kept his legs closed, and I listened to my corner’s instructions, avoiding his sweeps. I eventually opened the guard and tried to pass but he swept me first. The rest is history, he slowly advanced, went for sub attempts that I defended, and unsuccessfully tried to buck him off me.

Something happened of note, at some point we were on the edge of the mat I was clinging to a low half-guard and I heard the ref say “Paro!” (stop) so I relaxed and got ready to reset in the middle. The boulder got into mount, asked “Why did you stop?”, and only then did I see our ref give him points. Oh so he didn’t stop it? I heard the ref from the contiguous mat! It wouldn’t have changed the outcome but it’s still something to be careful with, don’t stop until the ref clearly tells you to.

So I lost, but this being a five-man tourney and having been given a bye to the semis, I still had a third place match on the horizon. I watched the other semi, featuring a tall skinny Canadian I’d talked to before. The guys fought to a stalemate, and at the end of the long overtime, the Canadian got a takedown and got awarded the win. In the period between our matches, he came to me, and said “Man, what am I gonna do against that big guy?” We talked a bit, none of us was that bummed out about losing, as long as we put a performance to be somewhat proud of and don’t get injured. He also gave me intel on the guy he just beat, and whom I was about to lock horns against.

The match started slow, and both of us got a penalty for stalling and doing mostly fuckall on our feet, trying to take the other down unsuccessfully. I reached over his back, grabbed his belt and tried to do some kind of judo throw I saw on YouTube, which ended up just being a sloppy guard pull. He immediately started spazzing to get out of my closed guard, and worryingly enough, he kept sniffling and coughing. I hope I didn’t catch Covid. I knew he’d get tired, likely still exhausted from his long match with the Canadian guy, and when I saw an opening, SLAP I threw my legs up for a triangle choke. He tried to stack me and I held on, hoping I wouldn’t burn my legs out, and we were in that position for a while, with his head and left arm stuck between my legs, and my body upside down folded in two like a lawn chair. The triangle wasn’t quite locked, more like a leg scissor, but I pulled his head down and... he tapped. He tapped!!! I won!!! My first real competition victory!!! I asked the guy if he’s OK, I didn’t think the submission was fully locked in and I was wondering if he tapped due to injury or something, but he was fine.

I watched the finals from the sideline, the tall skinny Canadian had his moments at the beginning but got manhandled by the boulder, who must have outweighed him by 40 pounds and snatched a nasty kimura shoulder lock that got him to tap verbally. Then we got our medals, and I got changed, said goodbye to my pals (the Belarusian had already left) and got in the car. I drove home, which took about three hours, and I was in a great mood, the stress of the upcoming competition replaced by a feeling of acomplishment. There was a small traffic jam due to an accident, and some fucknuggets blinding me with their high beams, but they couldn’t ruin my good spirits.

It was good to see the dog and the girlfriend, and she had cooked dinner already, some pieces of mutton baked in the oven. It was fantastic, just what my body craved at the time. I also had a can of black beer to wash it down. Thus ended my weekend.