Read Online A Fighter's Heart: One Man's Journey Through the World of Fighting by Sam Sheridan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sam Sheridan
Tags: United States, General, Biography & Autobiography, Biography, Sports & Recreation, Sports, Martial Artists, Boxing, Martial Arts & Self-Defense, Sheridan; Sam, Martial Artists - United States
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hook a guy’s mouth with a finger or two), punching the back of the head. Other than that, it’s pretty much all fair game; you can knee and elbow, you can choke, you can crank his ankle until he submits.
For weeks, trapped in the deep midwinter freeze that gripped New England like an immense, airy python, I kept coming back to the idea of an MMA fight. I’d had my taste of fighting in Thailand, but it hadn’t been enough; it was over too quickly. I hadn’t learned enough; my fighting was still weak and flawed. Training and fighting in MMA would be a chance to round out my skills as a fighter. I was still afraid that there was so much I didn’t know and wasn’t comfortable with. I had just sold the Thailand story to Men’s Journal, and I realized there was a way I could maybe get someone else to finance my training: by writing about it. I decided to approach an editor with some ideas to see where it got me, and surprisingly, he was enthusiastic. He asked me why I was so interested in learning enough to fight in a cage. I told him I wanted to learn the skills, to learn how to fight without rules, but there was more.
MMA fighters are scary in a way that boxers and kickboxers aren’t. They are savage. When you go to the ground, there is a desperation in the struggle for dominance that fuels a ferocity that you don’t get in other sports. I find these fighters frightening in a “monster-under-the bed” scary way. Shaved heads, bulging muscles, and, above all, anger, eyes snapping with anger. There is no letup; you pour it on until you win. You hit him, he falls back, and you swarm him. And whoever wins the fight, the unspoken signifier of victory is I could have killed you . There are no excuses in the rules. If we were alone, in some back alley or on a deserted island, and we fought without all these people watching, then I could have killed you.
I was lured by the siren song of violence, the dark-faced coin of masculinity. Could I find my own rage? Could I tap into it?
The co-owner and trainer at Amherst Athletic was an African expatriate named Kirik Jenness, a tall, lean white guy who has made MMA his life. He runs the largest MMA Web site in the world and has been training and fighting for thirty years. He had a long list of contacts, but when I asked him where the best place to train might be, he said, “Probably Pat Miletich’s place in Iowa. He’s got some of the best fighters in the world there, and there’s nothing else to do in Iowa but fight.”
I called around and thought about Florida, and Oregon, and some other teams; but what I kept hearing about was Team Miletich in Iowa. I spoke with the legendary Pat Miletich on his cell phone. I was nervous, talking too loud, and he was unconcerned and enthusiastic. “Of course, it’d be fun, bro,” he said. Unhesitating.
So I went.
I drove out to Bettendorf, Iowa, across a snowy wasteland and crashed in a no-frills motel in the middle of town. Bettendorf is one of the Quad Cities, four little towns that sit on the Mississippi in eastern Iowa and western Illinois: industrial and blue-collar, with the Big Muddy flowing frozen and brown and sluggish as molasses down the middle.
The next morning, I found the Champions Fitness Center. Right as I walked in the door I exchanged nods with a medium-height, broad-shouldered man. He had a wicked set of neatly cauliflowered ears and a pleasant, battered face that maintained a boyish air. Pat Miletich.
Pat Miletich, the “Croatian Sensation,” was born and bred in Iowa (there’s nothing Croatian about him but his name) and became one of the most successful fighters in the UFC—winning five titles at 170 pounds—by being the most technically proficient fighter in the game. He understood before anyone else the need to diversify and borrow from different disciplines, and as a result he is now widely recognized as probably the best MMA trainer in the world.
Pat also has a reputation for being a
For weeks, trapped in the deep midwinter freeze that gripped New England like an immense, airy python, I kept coming back to the idea of an MMA fight. I’d had my taste of fighting in Thailand, but it hadn’t been enough; it was over too quickly. I hadn’t learned enough; my fighting was still weak and flawed. Training and fighting in MMA would be a chance to round out my skills as a fighter. I was still afraid that there was so much I didn’t know and wasn’t comfortable with. I had just sold the Thailand story to Men’s Journal, and I realized there was a way I could maybe get someone else to finance my training: by writing about it. I decided to approach an editor with some ideas to see where it got me, and surprisingly, he was enthusiastic. He asked me why I was so interested in learning enough to fight in a cage. I told him I wanted to learn the skills, to learn how to fight without rules, but there was more.
MMA fighters are scary in a way that boxers and kickboxers aren’t. They are savage. When you go to the ground, there is a desperation in the struggle for dominance that fuels a ferocity that you don’t get in other sports. I find these fighters frightening in a “monster-under-the bed” scary way. Shaved heads, bulging muscles, and, above all, anger, eyes snapping with anger. There is no letup; you pour it on until you win. You hit him, he falls back, and you swarm him. And whoever wins the fight, the unspoken signifier of victory is I could have killed you . There are no excuses in the rules. If we were alone, in some back alley or on a deserted island, and we fought without all these people watching, then I could have killed you.
I was lured by the siren song of violence, the dark-faced coin of masculinity. Could I find my own rage? Could I tap into it?
The co-owner and trainer at Amherst Athletic was an African expatriate named Kirik Jenness, a tall, lean white guy who has made MMA his life. He runs the largest MMA Web site in the world and has been training and fighting for thirty years. He had a long list of contacts, but when I asked him where the best place to train might be, he said, “Probably Pat Miletich’s place in Iowa. He’s got some of the best fighters in the world there, and there’s nothing else to do in Iowa but fight.”
I called around and thought about Florida, and Oregon, and some other teams; but what I kept hearing about was Team Miletich in Iowa. I spoke with the legendary Pat Miletich on his cell phone. I was nervous, talking too loud, and he was unconcerned and enthusiastic. “Of course, it’d be fun, bro,” he said. Unhesitating.
So I went.
I drove out to Bettendorf, Iowa, across a snowy wasteland and crashed in a no-frills motel in the middle of town. Bettendorf is one of the Quad Cities, four little towns that sit on the Mississippi in eastern Iowa and western Illinois: industrial and blue-collar, with the Big Muddy flowing frozen and brown and sluggish as molasses down the middle.
The next morning, I found the Champions Fitness Center. Right as I walked in the door I exchanged nods with a medium-height, broad-shouldered man. He had a wicked set of neatly cauliflowered ears and a pleasant, battered face that maintained a boyish air. Pat Miletich.
Pat Miletich, the “Croatian Sensation,” was born and bred in Iowa (there’s nothing Croatian about him but his name) and became one of the most successful fighters in the UFC—winning five titles at 170 pounds—by being the most technically proficient fighter in the game. He understood before anyone else the need to diversify and borrow from different disciplines, and as a result he is now widely recognized as probably the best MMA trainer in the world.
Pat also has a reputation for being a
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