Hey what's up people ?! There's this girl that's about my age she's into wrestling. We chat a lot and we could have a good fight. The only problem is that she lives in Argentina and I live in Canada !! It's really frustruating because we can't afford a trip to another country D: Does it happen to you guys ? Leave you answers in the comments !! see ya !!!
After this afternoons little practice and my bavk feeling less of a hindrance and also thats to Gedlutte for coming despite being busy after work. Considering he is smaller Gedlutte can with his body placement become a man mountain. He also very quick which doesnt help a novice like me who has little technical knowledge. However despite a severe choke while using his skill to keep my head low and controlled I hope I did show that I am not that easy to tap. John also for a lighter wrestler at times became immovable andmade it difficult for me to lift while he applied his leg lock. He did however try and get a submission through making me overheat. Anyway I enjoyed it and I hope I wasnt too much a disappointment. If I was I can blame my back and lack of sleep I. 36 hr period.
Good news everyone. Iain Scott has just installed a ring at his Matroom in Grove Park. I had the pleasure of using it yesterday and have to say, I absolutely loved it. Was my first time in a ring and there will be more to come. Bring it on guys!
SOlo por esta via me gustaria saber como prepararme para luchar o practicar este deporte complicado. quisiera aprender desde 0 por que tengo la iniciativa mas no el entrenamiento
This afternoon at johns. Admittedly due to the location of the pain I could not move as quickly and do not have usual power for some of the moves and holds but we gave it a go and will be looking forward to this evening. Regardless of outcome its still experience.
I like writing gut punching stories, usually with a father/son dynamic. They're completely unrealstic and extreme, but that's why it's a fantasy. Hope to find others into this kind of thing.
About two weeks had passed since the beating I received in my history class. Right now, all my friends were taking their ceremonious walk across the stage, taking their pictures with their fake diplomas. Right now, I was sitting on the couch, guzzling down my third beer.
Fuck this, seriously, fuck this. I should be done with school right now, if it wasn't for goddamned Mr. Dix....I dented the empty can I was holding as I thought about him. Looking over the bent metal, I reached a conclusion. Dix may have beaten me one time, but if I was able to challenge him again, take him down a few notches, he might let me pass the class without doing anything. I got up quickly, heading down into the basement where our makeshift gym was.
So my dad is a former MMA fighter, well, more of just a brawler, really. He had done a some underground cage fighting and had actually done pretty well It made him enough money to help him through college, at least. He liked it enough that he had a ring installed a few years ago to spar with his buddies. It was next to this that I found him, thumping his meaty fists into a sandbag. My dad is a big guy, about 6'2” 280lbs. Quite a bit bigger than my 5"9' 185lbs. Most of his weight was due to the bulging gut that stuck past his waistband, but could also be attributed to his big arms and legs which both bulged with muscle. I swallowed before calling out to him.
“Son,” my dad responded with a grunt, still working the bag.
“Um, I was wondering if you wanted to show me some fighting moves, just to help me out when me and my friends...uh...tussle.”
I couldn't tell him about the humiliating match I had with Dix, that could lead to all kinds of trouble. But dad looks back at me with a grin. His flushed cheeks and bleary eyes tell me he's drunk, and judging by the twelve cans of beer on the weight bench, he's really drunk. I hesitate as he rolls into the ring, slapping the ground as an indication that I should do the same. My dad wasn't a violent drunk, but I didn't know how it would go if he was given the chance to be.
“Come on son, I've always wanted to do this, why didn't you ask me sooner?”
I get up into the ring slowly. Dammit, he was too excited for me to back out. Oh well, just had to focus, this was about me learning, after all. I straighten up in front of him, my eyes level with his chin. He looks down at me with that stupid grin of his, pushing his big knuckles against my chin affectionately.
“You ever fought before, son?”
I look back at him, the corners of my mouth twitching as I try not to smile. “A bit, but I'm not very good.”
“Well, let's see if we can fix that, take your shirt off.”
I hesitate a second before I comply, about to leave myself in just my jean shorts and a belt. The bruises had healed by this time, but the slight gut I had made me self-conscious in front of my dad, he hadn't seen me shirtless in a while. Sure enough, as I lifted the shirt over my eyes-
“Little early to start on a paunch, eh son?”
I feel his fingers pinch the fat around my navel and my cheeks turn red as I nudge him away with my elbow.
“Hey, I had to bulk up for football. I was a defensive back, remember?” And a pretty damn good one, I fail to add.
My dad raises his eyebrows, but shrugs, “Meh, I suppose it's in the genes, not that bad anyways, I can still see your abs. Just a little bulgy, hehe.”
I glare at him, putting my hands on my hips, “You gonna teach me how to fight, or not?”
“Well, first of all, I wanna see how you fight. If it's a street fight anything goes, anything to put your opponent down. If I was fighting you...” He looks over my bulky form, and by that I mean just my gut, “ I'd immediately go for the keg.”
He jabs at my stomach with his right fist, his knuckles slapping dully against my bare belly. I whoofh softly at the unexpected blow, hands going from hips to middle. I bend forward a bit, grimacing. My dad stares for a second, then starts laughing.
“Really!? I barely hit you! are those even abs? Hahaha!”
I clench my teeth, anger building in my chest. Without warning, I lunge forward at him...I'm not even sure what I was trying to accomplish, I sort of just threw my chest forward in a burst of frustration and I realize that if I had landed, it would have been a sort of chest bump/head butt, which would have done jack shit considering my dad's size and weight, but the thing is, I didn't land....
With a sort of lumbering gait, my dad steps towards me and loops a heavy, deep uppercut into my oncoming breadbasket.
My cheeks puff out in an air-chuffing 'hoohooomph!' sound as my stomach first meets the fist, lets the fist sink in, then folds over it; a familiar feeling. Though it seems to try it's best, my tank isn't quite able to swallow the fist whole, as Mr. Dix seemed to so easily make it do. Dix had pretty normal sized fists, my dad on the other hand had hams that were abnormally fucking large; I could feel the expanse between middle knuckles to top knuckles stretch from my navel to just under my ribcage. But I had the gut-wrenching feeling that with just a little more power he would be able to put it to the wrist, what with the help of my thick body and if he could catch me completely unprepared.... And believe you me, he could put out that power. His bicep was right in front of my bleary eyes, flexing just slightly under my considerable weight. He may be a lot slower, but my dad's stature allowed for much more powerful attacks.
“Oof,” my dad grunted in sympathy, looking me over with raised eyebrows, “gotcha good, eh son?”
I open my maw but only manage a small gurgle in response. My knees had gone completely weak at that point and I was slumped fully over his fist.
“Sorry boy, but you just kinda flopped your paunch on my fist, what was I supposed to do?”
Not put you fist there? I wanted to respond, but I'm too busy trying to push off his bicep with my hands, my guts gurgling in protest. Dad smirks at this.
“Been indulging in my cabinets, son? Looks like we might be able to turn this into a disciplinary lesson as well!” He exclaims as he feels the beer slosh against his knuckles. I finally manage to shove myself away from him, gasping as my diaphragm finally kicked in again. I stumble back and lean forward, one hand on my knee, the other clutching my middle.
“Let's keep going, I think I'm beginning to understand what's wrong with your fighting technique.”
He doesn't give me a chance to recover rushing at me like a bull. I choke in surprise and straighten back up, throwing an awkward chop at his shoulder as he approached. My dad shrugged that off easily, smirking.
“First problem, you don't know how to hit, you threw that with the limpest wrist I've ever seen.”
He pushes that arm up so high I'm lifted to my toes then steps in closer to me, putting my bicep close to our heads for inspection.
“You got good arms, but they're useless in a fight if you don't know how to use 'em. Try throwing something more stiff, like this!”
What follows is a heavy and incredibly stiff left uppercut. Because I was pretty much helpless at the time, my dad has a lot of time to set it up, stepping forward on one foot and looping in a slow, but thunderingly powerful punch. Right as his fist connects he lets go of my wrist, ensuring that my belly was stretched out and proudly presented to receive what was to come.
The blow sinks in deep, real deep, the fist landing just below my navel and continuing to sink in so that my belly button, along with the trail of dark hair under it, elongates and dips into the sink-hole that my father had formed in my flesh, fat, abs, and organs. In my subconsciousness, I realize that although the punch was extremely hard, it didn't knock me back at all, in fact it seemed I just sort of melted onto his fist. Unlike Dix, whose punches were quick and almost stung, my father had a way of just powering past my abs with slow determination, sending vibrations through my insides and shaking me to my core. The punch angles up after a moment, pushing everything in my belly up towards my chest, crunching my stomach organ as well. A split second later, I finally react, my abs tightening around the fist in a too-late attempt to protect my insides.
“Second of all, you don't seem to be able to tense on time, felt like I got half-way to your back bone before ya did, and that's not gonna do you any good! Also, notice I targeted your lower gut, seems to be the softest part of ya.”
In the meantime I'm staring at his stern face, my eyes bugging out and drool pooling in my mouth as I feel the beer roil around in my crushed stomach. He suddenly pulls his ham out of my center, but I hold my own position, still starting wide-eyed. He looks at me, then at my stomach and suddenly laughs, crouching down. My eyes slowly swivel down to see what he's looking at. He's pointing at a bowl-shaped indent in my gut, my soft stomach having retained his fist's shape as I had flexed after the blow and continued flexing. I didn’t see what was so funny, but my dad sure seemed to enjoy it.
“Hahaha! Looks like I put a crater in your paunch, son! Think it'll ever come out? Hehehe!”
I have time to feel a little indignant before I finally chuff out, muscles relaxing as my diaphragm releases its spasm. I fall forward at the same time, but my dad is there to catch me. Having still had his eyes on my front porch he didn't miss the change in its consistency; he tight, indented muscle suddenly turning into a puffed out globe of flesh as I took in a massive breath. Not wanting to miss his chance, he smoothly, but firmly thwumps his massive hand into my inflated belly. He puts his other hand on my shoulder and continues the motion, angling the palm upwards so that I'm sort of bent over it, intent on flattening my stomach again.
The only sound is air leaving my lungs as it's literally pushed out of me. The blow wasn't harsh enough to really paralyze my diaphragm like the previous one, but his all-encompassing hand really left no room for air to hide in my poor belly. Once I stopped making sounds similar to that of a deflating tire...literally a spare tire, I suppose...he stops and we both stare at the image of his hairy hand pressed deeply into my center, in between both sides of my ribcage which were jutting out quite a ways past his hand. He slowly relieves pressure, chuckling as that same hand begins to make massaging motions.
“Breathe, son, that's another thing we need to work on. You stand there gaping like a fish out of water for way too long.”
My head droops forward and my chest leans into his upper arm. My shaky knees gratefully bend and relax, though I'm a bit concerned due to the fact that he's got my entire gut in the palm of his hand. His fingertips actually dip a few centimeters under the waistband of my boxers, resting against the edge of my fat line, and the heel of his palm ending right at the edge of my sternum.
He continues to work my entire belly, kneading the muscle and fat until he feels my stomach relax again, feeling the first breath inflate my midriff.
“There ya go, now wh-”
He pauses, suddenly feeling a gurgle deep in my pit. I feel it too and the next thing I know I'm heaving myself off his hand then stumbling haphazardly toward the metal bucket at the side of the ring before retching mightily into it, all the beer I had drunk in the past hour pouring out. I remember wondering where three can-fulls had room to go in my belly when a hand of that size was pressed so deeply into it...I guess upwards.
I sense my dad is in silent mirth as I finish up, wiping my mouth with the rag next to it. Once again, I had been completely humiliated. I stared down at my bulging stomach, which had now taken on a pinkish hue. Stupid thing, it was its fault I was getting my ass beat. With my dad drunk like this, he wasn't teaching me anything. I glare at the bucket,
“Alright...ugh...you had your fun, I'm going back upstairs.”
As I shift to move out of the ring, I hear thundering footsteps behind me. I roll over from my hands and knees, my back against the corner post, slightly reclined in a sitting position. The first thing I see is my dad in a lunging position, a grin on his face, belying his age with the leap he had just taken. Then I see his fist, pointed out like a comet, headed for...you guessed it...my slightly bulging, reclined stomach, looking as vulnerable as ever, the abs visibly relaxed.
My stomach takes it in sloppily, his fist punching into my core without any resistance. Air I had just recovered builds up behind my lips, inflating my cheeks before the pressure is too much and I expel my wind. It happens in such a way that my lips flap, making a raspberry pbbbbttt sound. That gets an even bigger smile from dad.
Then, we both watch in mutual fascination and surprise as my belly first takes in his knuckles, then further up the top of his hand and over the thumb underneath. Then, slowly, agonizingly slowly, my thick gut closes around his wrist. Hell, I didn't think it was possible, my dad's entire massive fist was able to fit between my ribs and my pelvis, guess it was the three cans of beer that were just preventing it earlier, now there was more room.
I look back up at my father and he looks back at me. He's looking a bit more sober now, the flush on his face more likely due to exertion rather than booze at this point. The loopy look he had earlier was replaced with a more disciplinary, but affectionate expression.
“Let's do this again tomorrow, I'll take it serious next time, alright?”
I, of course, can't respond, due to the fact that there's practically a bowling ball inside me, compressing my guts. I croak instead, eyes unfocused, seeing double.
“Though if you get into the beer again...you can expect a similar lesson. It adds to your paunch, you know. And since you're not a 'defensive back' anymore, you don't have any excuses Mr. Johnny Football.”
He gives his fist a little wiggle, shaking up my giblets. I lost track of the amount of time I had been pined to the post against my back, but that doesn't matter as I give a final hic! sound, my dad's smug face getting blurry before fading to black. Only then does he finally tug his fist from the embrace of my belly. My last thoughts are about how much I don't wanna train with my dad anymore, how much I'd actually just rather face Dix instead...
i will be having my operation on mac 11 (brunei time) where i'll be having my hip bone put in my upper jaw space
why am i having this operation? many people always ask this.. cause i was born with cleft palate where i had a hole on my face and its hard to explain further details lol
after my operation, i can't do any contact sports for 2 months so i might as well just accept safe n sane matches
i will be in malaysia maybe in may for further studies.. i'm still waiting for my offer from the uni :)
due to this operation, i had to cancel my training camp at malaysia in april.. which i was really looking forward to lol
now i just feel sad.. but still trying to feel happy i guess lol head thinking nonsense these past few days after being ask to make decision between the sport i love and this operation... and so.. i chose health over sport... :/
this is my first blog entry.. my english is broken sorry.. i talk nonsense lol
The nature of a superheavyweight is that you tend not to be as athletic as smaller guys. What you lack in speed you can make up in strength and, if you work at it, tactics.
Work on your stamina, walk, swim as well as lift heavy, wrestle as much as you can. Wrestle anyone, the little guys will make you work, other big guys are great to test your strength against.
Have a few signature moves and holds, strong arms? bearhugs, headlocks, strong legs? scissors head and body. Work on your cross buttock throw, front chancery.
"Make those big guys work for it!"
What is it in for the heel that makes wrestling smaller guys so much fun? It must be the fact that you can lift them, carry them, put them into all kinds of holds and you even look good while doing that. Maybe even pose some biceps on the way!
It must be the combination of "I will because I can and I just want to do it". Insert here any painful hold and move you can imagine.. and it will be great fun.. because you can do it so easily! And you want some more as they are practically begging for it! But why is it fun for the jobbers, too? Why do they come back for more?
Essexwrestler and Swolf talked about it. Why do they like to wrestle bigger and muscular guys? Because they get a great workout. Or just for the fun of it? In order to see what kind of holds they have in their sleeve.. And then Essexwrestler said it. "But I won't be just lying on the mats. I'm going to make those big guys work for it!"
There you go. Small vs big gets interesting when the small one challenges the bigger for a tough match, making sure that unless you watch your guard all the time they will be jumping on your back and clawing your balls! Not to mention an occasional nipple squeeze!
Uganda has passed a law making it an offense to talk about homosexuality without condemning it. Life sentences are passed on those engaging in homosexual sex. We can be sure that gay men and lesbian women in Uganda now find themselves living in a state of abject terror and despair.
The international community has reacted with disapproval. Financial aid is being delayed and reconsidered.
Why has this happened in Uganda? The American Christian Right has actively and consciously made it happen on a platform of malicious libel; "the LGBT international agenda plans to corrupt your national morals and destroy the fabric of African family life by introducing its own unnatural perversions into your innocent culture..gays deliberately infect you with AIDS and they want to have sex with your children". IN fact there has been very little LGBT activism in Uganda and all was quiet. This phenomenon is called "Anticipatory Homophobia"; homophobia that precedes any attempt to secure gay rights on the part of local gay and lesbian people. These same bigots reject all scientific understanding of the nature of homosexuality in favour of a tendentious reading of scripture.
Comparison with the Nazi libels against the Jews would be too easy here.
There is more. Uganda has a particular historical event that is very relevant. The "Uganda Martyrs" were Christian converts who were murdered for their faith in the historical kingdom of Buganda, now part of Uganda. The main reasons for their murder were refusal to offer sacrifices to the traditional gods and objection to and resistance to King Mwanga's homosexual practices. Their killings seem to have been tied to specific resistance to Mwanga's attempts to engage in homosexual practices with those killed immediately before the killings.
This appears to indicate two things. One is that homosexuality, contrary to the claims of the American religious extremists, has a long cultural significance in this part of the world and that claims of it being a western import are fatuous. The second is that Christianity and virility are already associated in the local culture in a way that is sensitive and easily inflamed by those whose global agenda is to fan the flames of homophobia in parts of the world where reason has not prevailed (rather in the same way that tobacco companies sell their product to countries with less developed health education programs).
In the UK Archbishop John Sentamu - the Archbishop of York - is of Ugandan descent. As Bishop of Stepney, he was one of four English bishops who refused to sign the Cambridge Accord: an attempt in 1999 to find agreement on affirming certain human rights of homosexuals. His comments on the Ugandan laws seem equivocal to me.
Tuesday 3rd June is the feast day of the Uganda Martyrs. I will be in York Cathedral on that day. I plan to sit there in silent protest at the people who I believe will now be martyred by the evil fascism of the American Christian right and by all who permit a this bigotry and libel. If anyone cares to join me I will be delighted to see you.
If men and women are condemned to appalling judicial treatment for being themselves and loving another, they are surely the new Uganda Martyrs.