But I have a theory.

The younger student is often hungry for more development and more knowledge, and this is what fuels his drive to train harder. In addition to that, the younger student believes everyone is better and he strives to improve as well. As the student makes the transition from student to expert, he becomes satisfied or complacent with his skill and begins to chase other things, like higher rank, more information, and notoriety. This is inline with the saying that the moment a man becomes satisfied with his martial arts skill, he stops progressing in the martial arts. The young man is dissatisfied with his skill, and therefore he strives to improve. The older man no longer wishes to improve his skill, choosing instead to pursue other things he deems more important than how well he can punch, kick or fight.

This is the same condition that plagues so-called “naturals” in the martial arts. You know what I mean–the athletic types, the former dancers, gymnasts, and students of the martial arts. These are the guys and gals who join a martial arts, and right away are complimented on how fast they learned or developed. By the time they reach the advanced beginner level, they look like they are advanced: they are limber, they can kick high, the stances look stronger, they have more powerful upper bodies…  But by the time they reach the advanced level, they have either quit, or they are now mediocre. Why? Because while these folks were good beginners, they were actually poor advanced students. But since they could do the splits, or had nice forms, there was no incentive to train hard and improve, and their skill reached a plateau. Basically, this student–who was “good” as a beginner–thought he needed no improvement, and either he or his teacher were satisfied with their skill. This “satisfaction”, my brothers and sisters, is dangerous. There is a very thin line between satisfaction or complacency–and arrogance. Don’t allow yourself or your students to fall victim to it.

So the secret to growth in the martial arts, is to recognize a few basic truths about skill:

• regardless of how good you are, you can always improve
• there is always another level to reach: in flexibility, strength, speed, timing, and overall skill
• there is always a bigger, stronger, faster, more knowledgeable opponent out there… waiting to meet you
• failing to improve prevents you from reaching your peak in the martial arts. The question is, did you ever truly reach your peak?

I am going to close now, but I hope you find value in this article. Thank you for visiting my blog.

Comments?

LOL

But I saw many things that caught my attention:

• I have been riding my teenaged stepson about pulling his pants up. Bottom line, I forbid it–and at 14 years old, he knows that if I see underwear it will lead to a spanking (yes, I even spank the teenager). But the next time he comes to the school, I will have him spar with his pants pulled down to make a point. On the video, more than half the boys on the video (they were grown men, but due to their level of maturity, I’m going to refer to them as “boys”… nothing personal) had their pants pulled down, and a good portion of the ass-whippings I saw were due to that fact. They can’t move or even focus on the fight because they can’t move their feet. You would think that kids who fight at night clubs, parties and high school parking lots would be smart enough to wear pants that fit so they would WIN a fight or two. I know, being a former streetfighter myself, that if you are serious about fighting, you dressed a certain way to make sure you were combat ready. Anyone who has ever studied the real 52 Hands would know what I’m talking about. Screw what you see on Youtube.
• Most of the people on the video were inebriated. High, drunk, if you fight regularly, you skip drinking for this fact alone. You lose effectiveness if you can’t think. Not just because of religion–even when I was a bad Muslim, I tried not to drink in case something broke out. Some people don’t think about it, and that’s why they have a lot of lost fights in their past. It destroys your health, leads to impotence at a young age, and on top of that… you might get your ass whipped by an inferior fighter. It’s just not worth it. And trust me, women really don’t find you attractive when you drink. You just think they find  you attractive when you’re drunk.
• When outnumbered, these guys had no impromptu weapons. That just amazes me. Even at 41 years old, I carry something that can be used as a weapon. Anything. Even a ball-point pen. These guys seemed to fight a lot, but they haven’t even thought about that. So what does a guy do when he’s been beat up? Get a gun. What a coward. Level the playing field, so you can continue fighting. It’s not necessary to try and kill everyone! Someone’s been watching too much TV!
• There was no thought about targets. These guys swing wildly without a plan. No techniques, not vital shots, just swinging. They looked horrible. Once in a while, you’d see someone who has had some training, and he always dominates, even when outnumbered. It shows, but you have to prepare for it by training and fighting. The guys on the video may have worked out (some were muscular and you could tell they lifted weights) but the physiques had nothing to do with fighting success. In one clip, the fat guy beats the crap out of the muscle head with the tats and big mouth. Fat guy didn’t want to fight, but it was clear that he had once boxed, and he destroyed muscle head. It was hilarious. Preparation wins every time.
• Where they lacked in preparation, most of the guys made up for it by showing up in numbers. Pugilist #1 runs his mouth. Pugilist #2 obliges and whips #1′s behind. #1′s friend jump in and sometimes kicks ass, half the time accomplishes nothing. #1 had courage because he had friends. I noticed that the worst fighters had the most friends. Sounds like a lot of martial artists I know.

So this leads me to a point. I have a good friend back in DC who I grew up with on the Karate circuit. He did traditional martial arts, entered tournaments, won some and lost some, trained hard and sparred harder, and went to college, got married and had a mostly non-martial artist’s life. When we were younger, he was a good guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but fortunately never engaged in fights–even when we fought, he was on the sidelines. I had wondered about him. He wasn’t scared; he was smart. I recognized that. But I wondered how he would do if he ever needed those skills for the real thing.

So back in the early 90s, when we were in our 20s, at the King Kong Discoteque (yes, I was into salsa merenge) an old boyfriend approached his wife on the dance floor. My friend let him know that she was with him, and the guy left. Later, while we were sitting down eating, ex-boyfriend approaches with two friends and tries to get her to dance again, snubbing my friend. Before I got the chance to ask him what he wanted to do, my friend jumped up and clocked all three guys, leaving me nothing but rug scraps to clean my shoes with. It was beautiful.

I know what you’re thinking… he didn’t have to attack them. Oh, yes he did. Those guys were planning to fight, it was that obvious, and they thought my friend was a marked target, being one of the only white guys in the club. There would be no way–short of brandishing a weapon–that we would have been able to stop that from happening. Liquor, jealousy, machismo, a little racial hostility, and plain old stupidity make fighting unavoidable. I had always teased Bill because he only fought (as I put it) when it counted. I was proud of him! And guess what, we went to King Kong a lot after that, even seeing those guys many times and never received so much as a glare from them. Talk about fighting without fighting! Sometimes, you save up for the “real thing”, and you never have to really engage in “the real thing”.

And this leads me to the major point of this article:  Sometimes, you have to fight to avoid really having to fight. A man who has fought a lot–simulated or otherwise–is more confident when confronted with the possibility of an impending fight. And if you actually go to blows, you will be more effective and efficient. AND, should you end up with one of these fights, you may avoid a serious fight just by demonstrating that you are the wrong guy to be fucked with. But many martial artists would rather avoid all fighting at all costs, saving up “for the real thing”. But the “real thing’ will most likely be a dismal failure if you have not truly prepared. And preparing in concept only–drills, demonstration of “what if he throws a punch/grabs you/blah blah blah”, and “well-thought out strategies”–but you have not simulated the actual unpredictability of a fight by having some good old fashioned sparring, you will most likely end up looking like one of those guys on the video. No difference between the ones who fight all the time, and the ones who are doing it for the first time.

Saving up for the real thing is a good idea… it’s smart. But you have to prepare. You must have a combination of good concepts AND hands-on live practice–whether it’s in a tournament, sparring with strangers, or in live fights. But you must have both. And hands-on fighting must be done outside of your comfort zone. It cannot be accomplished in the classroom, or your Guro’s garage, or your homeboy’s backyard. Get both, and then save up for the real thing.

Thanks for visiting my blog.

One of the qualities I have seen in a few of the Masters I have met, is a quiet, reserved man who can turn into a killer at the drop of a dime. Kung Fu movies have led to many people to think that the martial artist must be humble and quiet and never fight unless he is provoked or backed into a corner. While this ideal is valid, it is not the quality of the Filipino fighter. Our philosophy is more of the Roaring Lion, who emits his fighting prowess through his speech, his swagger and his reputation. Bragging, in the FMAs, is okay—even encouraged—among our fighters and Masters. However, it is not the only approach to humility and confidence in the Filipino arts. Many a great fighter has quietly solidified his reputation by staying to himself, and unleashing his skills on unsuspecting doubters at the right time. What a concept!

Some martial artists are content to remaining in obscurity. They do not need for the world to know who they are and what they can do. These men train their skills in private, and had done enough fighting in another life that there is no need to spar regularly to cement their fighting ability. (I have a philosophy about the use of prior fighting experience in today’s skills, but that is the topic for another post)  This is a quality usually found in older men, but is sometimes taken on by younger, less experienced fighters. Naturally, I do not feel this is best for the young man, as he must have had some kind of fighting career for this to be useful to him. Yet there is an exception:  Young men who do not wish to fight unnecessarily and are among weaker non-warriors should adopt this technique. I would recommend it for adolescents who are seriously training in the fighting arts, as they have other, more important goals—like completing their high school education.  But for the young adult who has decided to make the martial arts a way of life, it is best to sow one’s oats on other fighters and hone his combat ability on the path of fighting mastery. And you can’t do that while hiding in the shadows; you must put your name out in the air and at the same time search for opponents. Even when traveling, a young fighter should introduce himself to local martial artists and look for places to train and people with whom he can “exchange ideas with”.

At the end of the road of young martial artist lies the first few steps of the next road:  the teacher. If you find yourself at the age of too-old-for-fighting-but-not-yet-a-teacher, especially as a newcomer to a martial arts community, it may be a good idea to play the background for a while in order to observe your surrounding and formulate a plan for introducing yourself to the community.

Wait. What about paying one’s respects to the local Masters and building a reputation, you ask?

I am not saying to skip paying one’s respects. This is a necessary custom that has been long lost over the generations, and is even looked upon with a suspicious eye. What I am recommending here is to carefully put yourself out into the open, and seize the right opportunity. Just don’t “bum-rush” the community by hanging your shingle immediately and handing out business cards. That is for fools. The careful master observes from the sidelines and tries to understand the members of his new community because this will help him choose a good strategy in how he will present himself and which position in the community he will assume.

You probably have to hang around me a little longer in order for this to make sense. So let’s move on to the next point.

As a martial artist, it is not imperative for every person around you to respect or like you as a fighter. But it is important for you to maintain your skills and to believe in them. This is why some fighters will play stupid (including me) in order to get the next guy to open himself… in other words, to show his hand. My Dad use to say, “It is better to keep your mouth closed and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.” There is a healthy lesson in that. We will keep our weapons sheathed in the effort to keep from having to use them, and that is the method of the quiet, Sleeping Lion. He does not need to project who he is or what he can do. In a way, you can say that the Sleeping Lion is actually “playing possum”, waiting for the curious antelope to come and poke and prod him, and foolishly attempting to show his courage. When Sleeping Lion sees the chance, he shows his cards and by then it is too late to turn back. And this reminds me of a story.

My Grandfather had traveled south to look for work. Because his goal was to make money, he did not want to engage in any fighting because he was not there for his martial arts. There was a much younger man who was seemingly knowledgeable in Eskrima and Karate. Every day my grandfather heard this young man brag about the training he had been receiving and fights he took part in. And every day, he fought the urge to tell the men he worked with that he was a martial artist. Being a fighter, my grandfather was borderline arrogant, and refraining from bragging was a struggle for him. The young man taught some people techniques after work, and occasionally would have matches—which really whet his appetite to test his skills. One day he got his chance.

While washing up for lunch, the young man noted my grandfather’s large forearm (his right forearm was much larger than his left—the effect of years of single stick Arnis practice) and the condition of the knuckles on his hands, and asked if he had martial arts training. He answered in the affirmative, and the young man asked him why he had not said anything. To this my grandfather answered something that is now a regular part of my everyday speech:  You and I are not in the same business, nor are we at the same level in the martial arts. This shook him and a combination of fear, anger and embarrassment welled up in him, but he did nothing. In the next few days, the young man would glance at him while talking about the arts, tease him about demonstrating his art, and even ask his opinion. But he never challenged him, which is what my Grandfather wanted. Papa always answered with sarcastic comments or laughed off the things the young man said. These things were always unanswered the way he wanted them to be, yet the young man became more and more emboldened. Finally, perhaps a week later, the younger man did it. He stated that surely, my grandfather was not well-skilled in the art because he was as quiet as a mouse. My grandfather told him that the empty can made more noise than the full can, and that if he played with the younger man, he might hurt him so he should go back to his friends. He issued a challenge, and Papa brushed him off, saying that he was making a mistake, but welcome to try. The young man insisted, and so my grandfather agreed to spar him, but only with the small thin reeds that grew nearby. If he were convinced after that, they could then progress to the sticks. (The reeds they used were green, hollow and very thin; sturdy enough to sting but not hard enough to injure.) After a very short match, which my Grandfather easily won using only our basic strikes and basic trapping technique, the young man conceded and became a student of his for the duration of his stay in that town. I apologize for not remembering the name of the town or the gentleman.

When I came to Sacramento , I did not advertise the fact that I was also a teacher of Kung Fu. In fact, the only two people I told of my Kung Fu training was the late Grandmaster Vincent Tinga and Wing Chun/Bak Mei Master Eddie Chong. To both men, I actually demonstrated my kung fu skill. Master Chong and I actually exchanged notes with a White Eyebrow form called Gow Tow Bui, 9-step push. But for about 5 years I publicly downplayed my Kung Fu knowledge while training a small group of students, until my then-student, now assistant Instructor—Charles Azeltine—convinced me to go public with it. So we added Jow Ga to our website, and I began to advertise Kung Fu. In doing this, I had those who doubted my knowledge. Some even called my classmates on the East Coast to verify my lineage (LOL), and one asked me for a demonstration when I encountered him in a restaurant. Not only was this advantageous for me to have 5 years of obscurity, it was actually pretty fun. Our presence in the same community, but now revealing a Kung Fu lineage has actually made waves here. Men who pretended to be knowledgeable in the Chinese arts are now acting as lambs—even asking me to teach them. One Kenpo teacher who invented his own “Kung Fu” style is now uneasy around me.

But my reason for doing so is not as calculating as it may sound. I simply did not want to teach Kung Fu to the masses, so I did not advertise it. When I began meeting Kung Fu people, I found many of them to actually be novices in the Chinese arts, and did not wish to waste time discussing CMAs as equals when we were not. I was here to promote my Filipino martial arts, and build its reputation—that’s all. This experience, though, taught me a lot about why some older masters remain in the shadows when we want them in the open. Not being a part of the mainstream community allows you to be an observer and engage only when you want to. It lets you focus on your own art and avoid distraction. It gives you time to reflect without ego and the dynamics of having counterparts to contend with. At the same time, it requires that you choose the right moment to end your hiatus. However, you must be content to being thought ignorant of a subject you enjoy discussing; you must even be satisfied not being recognized as an expert. You must resist the doubter as well as welcome him, because—if anything—you always have the option of dealing with him by uttering the words a doubter hates to hear most:  You’re welcome to try. And this requires you to keep your fighting ability sharp, yet the ego in check:  a combination of skills that are extremely necessary in the making of a master.

Thank you for visiting my blog.

I have long told my students that they should surround themselves with people who feed them, rather than people who feed off them.

One of the characteristics of a great martial artist is that he has friends who are just as skilled as he is, or better. These friends are not workout partners, as much as they are sparring partners. Ask the old Masters who they hung around as young men. Rarely will you hear of the old Manong talk of training with their friends. More often than not, his compadres are referred to as sparring partners. These men challenged them often, and the most valuable of these friendships fluctuated between rivalry and hostility, and brotherhood. The result of this type of friendship is a true Martial warrior friendship. This is not the kind of friendship we find non-warriors holding. This is the kind of friendship where true respect among the fighters is found; where there is no ego remaining, no held-back thoughts that “I think I can beat him.” It is the kind of friendship where you can truly attest to a man’s skill and really say that you would go into battle with him (something too many American martial artists like to fling around without really meaning it). With this type of friend in the arts, you have beaten him many times, and he has beaten you many times. So, perhaps one of you is the superior fighter, but one could not improve without the other, and as one improves, the other improves.

Another is that you keep those who are more knowledgeable and experienced around you. I have always gravitated towards older, wiser men. One of those men for me was Guro Billy Bryant. A great fighter and martial artist, I have learned more from him than many of you have learned from your teachers. He was also a great sparring partner; although I had some things I could hit him with, I could never beat him. But you’d better believe that without knowing him I would be inferior to who I am today. Another of these men was Marty Kakavas (could be misspelling his name), who I met in 1990, after fighting him for a Grand Championship on the East Coast. He was a self-declared Black Belt from Buffalo , New York , and could whip most fighters, including Billy. By the way, the day I met Marty, he beat the both of us at that tournament. Billy ended up disliking him; I asked for a rematch and became a friend. Marty was so open, he would show you the techniques he used to defeat you and challenge you to get past it the next time he fought you. This was unlike many fighters who reacted as if you asked them to undress, if you asked them for their techniques. Another fighter I met who was this way was Billy Blanks (yes, that Billy Blanks) who would oblige you with not just a technique and advice, but a short sparring match, if you asked.

Sometimes, martial artists like to hang around what I call “Butt-Boys”, some of you call them “yes-man”. These are hang-ons who compliment you and talk about how great you are, and serve nothing but the ego. I see plenty of them on the internet as well as in the martial arts community. You know what I mean:  followers. These guys swear that you are the greatest thing since sliced bread, and they never question you or your art. And if anyone questions your art, they jump all over it like you just called their church pastor a child molester. These men add nothing to your martial arts knowledge, but to your martial ego. They feed off who you are, and the only things they feed you are things that the martial artist needs least:  popularity, money, superficial reputation, and the lustful pull of pride. In other words, they are nothing more than martial arts groupies.

The martial artist, if he is ever to grow, doesn’t need groupies. He needs doubters and questioners. He needs people who will force him to put his theories, ideas and skills to the test. He needs people who challenge his way of thinking and give him alternative ideas. He needs people who will feed his mind and his martial education, not feed off what he possesses. Put the right people in your life and you will grow as a martial artist. Put the wrong people in your life and you will regress.

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Arnis, Eskrima, Escrima, Kali, FMA, Filipino Martial Arts, Silat, Kuntaw, Kuntao, Philippines, blogs, blog, blogging, FMA philosophy, martial arts training, sparring, FMA training, FMA empty hand, panuntukan, panantukan, panatukan, kintomutai, dumug, dumog, Sinawali, Self Defense, Streetfighting, Guro, sikaran, Martial Arts Mastery, filipino martial arts books, fma books, super techniques, pananjakman, tadyakan

1. they aren’t seeing results
2. they’re bored
3. it’s too expensive
4. they’re bored (no, this isn’t a typo)
5. classes are too hard
6. classes are too easy (see #’s 2 and 4)
7. they don’t see the end of their journey on the horizon
8. maybe… they’re bored

Lately, Mani and another student—Bry-Bry—had asked to focus on Kung Fu forms (which is really not my forte, but I’ve spent close to 30 years learning and practicing them). So, to accommodate this request, I started a forms-only program at my school, and opened my curriculum to those who wish to be a part of it. In this class, students don’t have to follow the forms list the way I prescribed it in my curriculum. I am teaching whatever comes to mind, but students must follow my directions, and take what I offer—I am not taking suggestions. It’s something very similar to what my teacher offered certain students; that he taught what came to mind, and much of it was not on the curriculum posted on the wall of the classroom. In the last 6 months, I have taught the following Jow Ga forms:

• Faa Chune (Flower Fist)
• Siu Hung Chune (Small Hero’s Fist)
• Siu Fu Darn Do (Small Tiger Broadsword)
• Mui Faa Cheung ( Plum Blossom Spear)
• Sern Tao Gwun (Double Headed Staff)
• Teet Sid Chune (Iron Wire Fist)
• Fu Hok Sern Ying Chune (Tiger – Crane Combination Fist)
• Gung Lik Chune (Building Power Fist)
• Je Ma Dao (Horse Cutting Lance)
• Ng Long Gwun (Fifth Son Staff)

Some of these forms are over 100 years old. Some are unique to Jow Ga ; some are self-contained systems-in-one.  But the lessons that I am imparting at this time is not the deep lessons contained within the forms because that would take more time than I have allotted for my students. We are studying the “ma pi” (hair and skin)… that is, the performance, of the forms. So, today, while working with Mani, I was giving her some easy-to-remember tips for the performance of forms (not that I’m an expert at it, but I have learned a thing or two over the years) that I would like to share with you, while documenting what she and I discussed. If you perform forms, I think you will find this article very helpful and informative.

Rule #1:  You are practicing a FIGHTING skill

And don’t you forget it! It is not dancing. It is fighting. Forget the guys who question the validity of Kung Fu (or Karate, blah blah blah) forms. Train as if it were. Too many people get so much into the performance of the form, it becomes a dance. But when these forms were created, they were to document the techniques of a system. So rather than hand down a book (as many teachers did) that listed the names of techniques (Twin Serpents Searching for Pearls>>Grabbing the Opponent’s Collar>>Breaking the Collar>>Tiger Recoils to Strike Again>>Lifting the Sky… names of the opening of our first form, Small Tiger) that read like a poem—they could pass down a routine (called a Chuan Tao) with coded sequences that contained all the techniques. You would still need a teacher to decipher the movements, but at least the system could be passed to the next generation pretty quickly.

Lately, forms under many teachers have become diluted with meaningless technique that looked good in performance or in theory, but had no deeper levels of wisdom buried in them. I have seen famous systems take on a mysterious aura, but the teachers truly had no wisdom or ability. And the main problem is that they have forgotten that these techniques are for fighting, not performance. Much of what is contained in my own Jow Ga system was not meant to be demonstrated in public. But recently, I have seen much of it on Youtube. Youtube! A FREE outlet! Anyway, another topic for discussion….

Just remember that what you are doing is for fighting, and your performance will have to reflect that fact. If you are performing for judges, they will recognize (if they know what they’re doing) the fighting spirit of a form, and will respect it as such. Forget trying to do it faster. Forget wanting to add tumbling and jump kicks. Forget points for difficulty—this ain’t gymnastics or performance aerobics, Fancy Boy—you are practicing an art which was created to enable you to cripple opponents, crush their windpipes, dislocate a hip, hyperextend an elbow. A fight. Visualize your enemy while performing, and then do the darn thing as if he were right in front of you.

Rule #2:  Practice until you no longer have to think about your next move

This holds true for any art or skill in the art. We must train until the strikes, hits, blocks and parries, kicks, and Chin Na attacks happen thoughtlessly. There is a saying, that mastery is the level where you have forgotten what you learned. It is in line with the saying that one knows a skill so well he can do it in his sleep or do it with his eyes closed. There is no way around this requirement. You must know the form like you know the back of your own hand. This can only be accomplished with an infinite number of practices. When you have achieved this level of ability, only then will your form be considered “good”. Other than that, you are merely dancing, and have an equal chance as the next competitor of winning. Back-flip means nothing if you can’t keep your chambered hand stuck to your rib cage. Practice alone won’t help you. We need perfection.

Now, this isn’t to say that simply practicing will make one perfect.

Come on, kids, say it with me:

Practice does not make perfect. Perfect practice makes perfect.

You must learn and commit to habit all the small details and finer points of your form. Doing your form 500 times is ineffective practice if each of those times is performed with high stances and the back hand flopping around. It is the reason many of the so-called “champions” must add acrobatics to their routines:  they are not skilled enough to impress with solely the strength of their martial arts ability, so they must wow audiences with breath-taking jumps and displays of athleticism. Sorry, but only cheerleader wannabes and soccer moms believe that XMA performers can fight (along with 9 year olds). But display strong technical skill, with flawless footwork, stances, crisp and sharp strikes and blocks, and good speed and power—and you will win over the champions. That is, of course, unless you have judges who don’t know what good martial arts looks like. And that is what turned me off of open competition. We have former 12 year old black belts who are now 30 year old shopping center dojo owners trying to judge a form of a 100 year old system he’s never heard of, and awards “difficulty points”, as if this was some type of cheerleading competition. Ridiculous. But if you have solid Black Belt judges, even if he is unfamiliar with your system, he should recognize flawless technique. This is how you win with skill. It is the reason I prefer Chinese-only style tournaments over shopping center dojo competitions that actually think Polynesian is a martial arts genre, and all Chinese martial arts, like Wu Shu and Hung Gar belong in the same division.

But stick to your guns and master this skill and it will take you a long way, even if you have to leave the open circuit and do specialized ones. Even if the only thing you do with your skill is to share them with the few Masters you may meet later in life. But every martial artist who learns forms must have mastered the basics in their lifetime.

Rule #3:  Stance and footwork must always look like practice

When you first learned your stances, you strived to get them perfect. What happened to that? You have good stances when you were standing still, maybe even when practicing some movement. But chances are that eventually you would learn more complex (so you thought) and “advanced” skills, so those “basic” skills were relegated to things you only did when you showed another beginner how to do them. Wrong answer.

Stances should always be apparent, visible, and present. Every move while performing a form, must look like a different pose. If we took a picture of you at any point while you performed a form, you should look as if you posed for it. We should never catch you out of position, and you should transition smoothly from stance to stance. Smoothly and quickly. That camera should be exhausted trying to catch you between moves. If I can watch a picture at any point, and I don’t know what stance you are in, your form is not a good one. There should be a clear difference between horse and forward (or bow). A cross/hook stance, and a forward stance. A crouch and a horse stance. Every single movement has a corresponding stance. Make sure that happens, kiddo.

We achieve this by practicing most of the time, one movement at a time. For me and mine, I call cadence. For other teachers, they will choose 4 – 6 techniques in sequence, and have you do just those techniques for 20 minutes. Either way, however you do it, make sure that you have mastered the stance, as it is integrated into your form’s footwork.

Does any of this sound familiar, folks? FMA people? Heard me say this before?

Yes, it is because this is one of those universal truths of martial arts that transcends style. Learn it, commit it to memory. Tattoo it to your forehead…

Rule #4:  Every strike must be thrown hard enough to injure; every block executed with enough power to stop a real punch

Every punch, strike, hit, kick, grab, pull, push, block and parry MUST be executed in a way that it would injure a real person if they were hit by the one you just did in the form. Every block must be thrown with enough intent that it would stop a real attack.

If that sounded redundant, it was meant to. I won’t insult your intelligence by explaining it any further than that. If you need clarity, print this article and take it to a teacher, and ask him to elaborate. This rule is so self-explanatory; it is amazing that almost every forms competitor I’ve ever seen on the open circuit violates it. I would have to say that most of the teachers and sifu I have witness violate this rule as well. But it needs no clarification if you guys have half a brain.

So, there you have it. thekuntawman has just given his 2 cents worth on the subject of forms. Mark your calendars, people! This won’t happen for a long, long time. If you follow and implement these four rules, I guarantee your success on the circuit for forms competition.

And none of it involves screaming at the top of your lungs, wearing sequin, or landing in a split. Thanks for visiting my blog.

He attributed much of this to his lack of pickiness in his youth.

I often laugh with my students at these know-it-all arnisadors who sometimes come by my school to buy sticks (I sell them for $5 a stick, btw. A good weight and quality) and they try to show their “experience” by rolling the stick across the floor (to see how balanced the stick is) or holding the stick at an angle (to see how straight the stick is). They will twirl the sticks, run through a few sinawali and then ultimately “reject” a few and choose a few. I can imagine the McGuro going back to his guys to brag about how he chose the best quality sticks for them, as an “experienced” Arnisador.

Have you ever seen the old Masters choose a stick? I have. And they take their machetes, hack off a branch—any width—trim the extra limbs, throw a few strikes to “learn” the stick, and get right to work. This is how I was taught to choose my sticks…you just go and get one.

I learned how to pretend to be stick-saavy at Arjuken, by watching my older brothers at the market choosing sticks. They would lecture me on how to get a “good” one, how to tell if the stick had a good balance, the correct measurement (tip of the pinger to the armpit por close range, tip of the pinger to the solar por long range), and the right weight for me and my level of strength. Fortunately, I outgrew this right away when I visited my Uncle Vincente and he laughed at me for trying to find a straight one in the back of his house. Boy! Don’t you know God doesn’t make his sticks straight???  Just heard a good echo of a laugh.

My grandpa use to say that a good fighter doesn’t need conditions to fight effectively. He can fight in any circumstance, in any situation, against any opponent, whether in his Sunday shoes or barefoot, regardless of whether there were rules or not (because we all know, EVERY fight has rules, even streetfights). A fighter who limits himself and his surroundings will have limited options when it counts. If you can’t pick up a stick, regardless of what kind of stick, how crooked, how light or how heavy, even however awkward, you can’t call yourself an “expert” stickfighter. The expert is the guy who can fix a car with a roll of duct tape, a screw driver and a pair of pliers. We want to be like that; the kinda guy who wins gun fights with a knife.

So, in training my students, I will take them out the school to train. We will end up on a hill, on uneven ground, with obstacles—sometimes potholed parking lots, sometimes groundhog hills or tall grass. And baby, you’d better be able to move without missing a beat! I don’t want them so spoiled that they need completely flat ground to train on. After all, the only thing God mad flat was bad beer and butts.

I apologize, that one was mine.

When you train on uneven ground, you are making yourself stronger, don’t cha know. You are forcing your body and legs to adjust to the variations in the terrain in a split second, and to be able to move effectively. You are relying not on the stability of the ground upon which you are standing, but solely on the skill of your footwork and the sense of balance in your mind. In this, nothing is a surprise, and you are able to maneuver without having to look around at your surroundings; to let your feet do the walking and to let your feet determine what move you need to make next. Your feet sense where you are, determine how your weight should be distributed, and in what way you will move next. And you can’t develop this kind of footwork dancing around some darned triangle.

It’s the same way with the Eskrimador who preaches that if you “know” Eskrima, you can pick up anything and work with it—a belt, a bottle, a rolled-up newspaper… you know the spiel. But is this truly an “impromptu” weapon? After all, you learned these improvised weapons on the Inosanto/Presas/Sulite/you name it video, or in some seminar somewhere. You’ve rehearsed your Sinawali with that newspaper so much your Dog shivers every time you look to see who won the game last night. Yeah, but I’d like you to try that crap with a briefcase or a bag of White Castle burgers. Man, I told you… a stick is a stick, is a stick. So, you can use an umbrella like a stick on demand, but you won’t work with a stick if it’s a little curved? Thank God for those DeThouars! The rattan suppliers now have a way to get rid of all those L-shaped sticks they keep hauling in with the day’s catch. And now, the JKD/Kali guys can teach something that’s got the Indonesian masters wondering, “What tha???”

Ah, business is good. But how do they check them sticks for quality? Hold em up against their elbows? LOL

The idea behind this skill—the true skill of improvising and working with what you’ve got—is to work with what you’ve got, for reals (as my 10 year old would say). Train any and everywhere. And just be damned good at it. There’s no way to prepare for a fight while holding a can of tuna, unless you train with, well, cans of tuna. But what if it’s a can of tomatoes? Do we need drills and videos of drills with tomato cans?

They already have those. Half the damn Panther Video line-up has that covered. Not to mention Don “the Dragon” Wilson ’s opponents in his straight to 99-cent video movies!

My point is, just don’t be so picky. Train with a lot. Cover a lot of bases. And be really basic with how you practice—just learn to hit and to counter-hit, and how to move. Do that, and you will have a nice set of functional movements to work with. The more unfamiliar ground you cover, the less awkward everything will be. Remember, an expert fighter is functional regardless of the circumstances he finds himself in. If you refuse a point match because you don’t like rules, you’re limiting yourself. If you roll your sticks before training with them, you’re limiting yourself. If you have to have a clearing to practice outside, need to have the right shoes or uniform, only practice certain forms of the art, reject certain weapons because of preference, you are limiting your ability to do whatever arises when it’s time to do it.

So, if the Master is teaching in a bullet-riddled building with pimps, prostitutes and drug dealers walking around out front, you are missing the opportunity to train on uneven ground. And the unfamiliar is what we strive to get to know.

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