#Gordon Ryan

[theanticool]

Gordon Ryan and Halfthor Bjornsson training together

If you’d like to see the best grappler in the world out grapple the strongest man on the planet, here you go.

[jeanmetabolictrainer]

American Grappler GORDON RYAN expuesto su uso de esteroides Los daños po...

[meep-meep-richie]

They are so unserious😭

[randomrainman]

why jiu-jitsu will never be mainstream

I will preface this by saying that I absolutely love jiu-jitsu. Aside from debilitating and potentially permanent injuries from zigging instead of zagging, a perpetually bruised ego, and constant gasps for life from training partners using you as a sentient, pyjama-clad Bosu ball, it can be a beneficial fixture in one's life: it can allow for a (relatively) healthy form of stress relief, foster a cult environment in which people can learn from each other, and pressure-test difficult scenarios to achieve optimal results. Jiu-jitsu will also let you know, often in the most miserable ways possible, just how much you don't know.

In a sense, it is its very own Petri dish, complete with its own set of infections.

My Beginnings

The last-known picture of myself (with my 1SG) while I was still in the Army. Notice how perfectly our uniforms blend with the grass.

My jiu-jitsu journey could be classified as an accident, much like me. After I returned from Iraq in 2009, I was scheduled to attend Level 1 of the Modern Army Combatives Program, or MACP. Mandated by Army for NCO development, the week-long course purports to familiarise participants with the bare essentials of hand-to-hand combat, to include strikes and grappling. Though I had a few conflicts in earlier times in my life, I could hardly consider myself a "fighter", and, despite having an above-average PT score, my thorough unfamiliarity with combat techniques sapped my energy like a hungry mosquito in the middle of a blistering Philippine summer.

During live training on one of the final days of the course, I was partnered with someone who was much smaller than my 225-pound self; he could not have been much heavier than 170. This shouldn't be so bad, I thought nervously. What's the worst that could happen? The timer rang.

From the go, I deferred to the tried-and-true, time-tested, culture-spanning methodology utilised by many an untrained individual: the classic hnnngh. I huffed, heaved, and hnnnghed around this dude's short legs for 30 desperate seconds trying to get past them, and just as soon as I thought I was getting somewhere, the last thing I saw was a crotch fly toward my face.

My left arm and my head were suddenly incapacitated and trapped in a vise made entirely of human limbs. I saw every constellation in the known universe in those three long seconds, and it was then that I pulled out my trusty ace in the hole, a technique I had learned earlier to escape any position, no matter how dangerous -- furious and repeated taps. I stared at him with incredulity as he released me from the impending throes of unconsciousness. "What in the hell was that?" I asked laboriously, still struggling to regain my faculties. "A triangle," he responded. "I do jiu-jitsu." Neat.

A few months before my ETS in 2010, a friend and fellow Soldier I originally met in Korea, Larry, told me about a Brazilian jiu-jitsu gym near our home base of Fort Hood (now Fort Cavazos), and proposed that we both go. Why not, I thought, reflecting on my dismal MACP experience. I clearly have a lot to learn.

So I made my choice.

Myself (as a purple belt) and some new friends I had the privilege of training while in Afghanistan.

American Fight Company. Hardcore, I thought. But makes sense. A large, hand-painted mural of Royce Gracie's logo loomed over the gym's white mats, which teemed with students in equally white robes conducting warm-ups. I would apparently require one of those silly garments to train; to that end, I purchased my first "gi", as I learned they were called, and an accompanying crispy white belt. Ripping the plastic packaging open, I examined my new training apparel: the pants' stitching appeared to be quite tough, especially in the crotch area, and the collar on the jacket was extremely thick, especially when compared to my ACUs, which were made of one-ply toilet paper. Flowery embroidery enveloped the upper left of the gi top, whose black threads elegantly trailed down to a bold monochromatic patch on the lower lapel. "BREAKPOINT", it read. Gnarly.

Jarrod, a rugged Texan and veteran with a grizzled, grey-speckled beard, demonstrated a technique on a student. The tattered brown sash which encircled his waist danced through the air like ribbons in the wind as he floated from position to position, methodically settling into an armlock submission at the sequence's conclusion. Now it was our turns to try, and it went about as well as expected for me: I flopped all over my training partner, a much more experienced white belt, with all the grace and finesse of a disoriented three-legged deer, narrowly avoiding clobbering him in the dome with errant knees or heels as I practiced getting to the submission.

Then we had to go live.

To say that I learnt valuable lessons that day was an understatement: while I proved tough and indubitably capable of sustaining a lot of pain, it also made clear that I knew absolutely nothing about grappling, even if I was already pretty sure of that fact before. The trifecta of sheer top pressure, staving off innumerable submission attempts, and overall physical exertion filled my muscles with lactic acid and caused my lungs to burn with the intensity of a thousand thermonuclear explosions.

Despite my exhaustion and ineptitude, I was lauded for my perseverance, and that alone was enough to keep me returning to American Fight Company for more knowledge (and, of course, punishment). I received my first stripe on my white belt from Jarrod before accepting a contract in Korea, where I continued on the pathway of martial arts development in the realms of muaythai, jiu-jitsu, and eventually, mixed martial arts. Jarrod earned his black belt shortly after I departed.

Before my fight in Korea, during which I expertly tore nearly every ligament in my left knee (photographer unknown).

As of this post, I am a three-stripe brown belt, and by all measurable metrics, the world's most awful: I have two herniated cervical discs, including one fusion; my knees are shredded beef, and, in addition to being deconditioned, I experience a myriad of inexplicable, and often sharp, pains throughout my body. Nevertheless, my time around jiu-jitsu, both as a participant and a photographer, has afforded me the opportunity to make a variety of observations and criticisms about my beloved sport, which brings me to my point:

Jiu-jitsu will never be a mainstream spectator sport.

I can hear it already. "Hold your horses, buddy! It's more popular than ever!" Well, actually, you would be 100% correct. It is more popular and practiced than it ever was at any point in history, if only due to the fact that, as a standalone martial art, it is only a century old. An ever-growing list of celebrities, including Meta founder Mark Zuckerberg and actors Tom Hardy and Mario Lopez, have embraced the grappling art and have even competed in it.

If your martial art can make it into a popular show that is definitely not about your martial art, then something is working, even if no one has a clue what's happening. And yes, even if you're black, I will not call you "master".

The appeal to training it is in its relative ease of access: there is no real bar for entry for anyone regardless of sex, age, or previous martial arts experience, and it is possible for a practitioner to train indefinitely and (mostly) without injury so long as you are doing so safely and intelligently (which I did not, hence my injuries). While competition is encouraged as a test of skill and willpower, it is not a requirement, and a practitioner can advance up the ranks if deemed appropriate by a "professor", as we call sometimes call black belt instructors in BJJ. That said, there is an obvious distinction between popularity as an activity and ubiquity and appeal as a spectator sport, hence this article.

Jiu-jitsu is cursed. No, as far as I know, there aren't any warlocks hidden deep in the forest conjuring hexes specifically to sabotage the community, but it suffers from the same inherently self-limiting handicap as its ancient, much more established, and slightly more naked and action-packed grappling counterpart, wrestling. For all the cartwheels, blast doubles, and the plethora of exciting techniques at a grappler's disposal, its appeal to an audience pales in comparison to striking arts, whose concussive forces produce emphatic impacts and easily discernible and *ahem* striking results. When a precisely placed punch slips through an opponent's guard and leaves them splayed lifelessly on the canvas, relieved of consciousness, there is very little doubt as to what happened and how: somebody just got knocked the fuck out.

The aftermath of Muhammad Ali vs. Sonny Liston II, as captured by Neil Leifer, a sport photojournalist, in 1965. It is likely the most famous shot in all of sporting.

Rulesets such as those of the Abu Dhabi Combat Club (ADCC) and UFC Fight Pass Invitational, itself a derivative of ADCC rules, encourage excitement by penalising grapplers for inaction, but, while these parameters effectively force activity, it must be noted that such constant movement is not necessarily endemic to and can even run contrary to the essence of jiu-jitsu, which emphasises control. Scrambles and chaos do indeed ensue when neither player has control over the other, but what happens when a person has passed their opponent's guard and is working toward a submission? I recall a particular scenario during the 99kg finals 2022 ADCC Worlds in Las Vegas.

With no lack of effort, Kaynan Duarte, the 2019 ADCC's +99kg champion, had just passed fan favourite and 2019 ADCC silver medallist Craig Jones' nearly impenetrable guard, securing the mounted position as the exhausted Mexican Ground Karate grandmaster attempted one of his infamous bottom-side Ezekiel chokes on the powerful Brazilian. The ten-thousand-strong crowd in attendance at the Thomas & Mack Arena erupted in what sounded like a peculiar mix of awe and disappointment. Craig spammed his usual array of unorthodox submission attempts from bottom as Kaynan sought to secure a finish of his own without undoing any of his previous endeavours.

Only one person I can think of will attempt to submit you while you have double unders in mount. Also, if you flip this image, Craig is mercilessly strangling Kaynan from inside his guard, and also in thin air. Photo by Clayton Jones Images (me).

Then something strange happened.

Unsurprisingly, there were warnings for inactivity, but as more time passed without a submission from Kaynan, the penalty points started racking up -- and very quickly. At one time, the negatives were so high that they were equal to the positive points Duarte accumulated from successful passes, which would mean that, had the match ended at that time, the score would have been tied, and it would go into overtime; had he not relented and maintained the position, Craig would have actually gone on to win the match by negatives. Kaynan did go on to score additional points to win and cement himself as the 2022 99kg ADCC champion, but it was nonetheless one of the most bizarre things I have ever witnessed in combat sports.

While absolutely no one wants to see two heavily perspiring people lying motionlessly atop each other for 15 entire minutes like the world's worst attempt at coitus, it is patently absurd that someone who is being controlled can become the victor in a contest primarily dictated by superior control -- that is, unless the dominant player is deliberately stalling and making zero attempts at finishing. The onus should ostensibly lie on the controlled player to facilitate their own escapes and counterattacks.

Furthermore, while strength and conditioning are quintessential elements of any combat athlete's regimen, gratuitous stalling calls put the "art" in "artificial"; they distill the essence of what makes jiu-jitsu formidable in self-defence by overly emphasising physicality and athleticism over technical prowess and forcing competitors to take unnecessary risks, often costing them matches (and however many pennies are being offered) in the process. Of course, competitors are free to go absolutely bananas at their own discretion (and spectators' delight), but that should not be mandatory.

Even after many years of training, I simply cannot fathom how Floyd can so deftly dodge a flurry of lightning-fast punches and fire off perfect counters all in one motion.

Let's take an example from boxing's Floyd Mayweather. Widely regarded as one of the greatest boxers of all time and known largely for his finely tuned defensive acumen, his style has been decried for being "boring" and too conservative. He was derided for "running" during fights due to what people perceived as fear or an attempt to avoid action, when, in actuality, neither were true: he had incredible ability to avoid punishment in the pocket and proved to be a very effective counter-puncher. More importantly, he embodied what it means to be a boxer: to hit and not be hit. He understood that being consistently clobbered in the noggin for brownie points is stupid, and developed a method which allowed him to remain both relatively unscathed and undefeated as a professional. And winners get paid.

You know who usually doesn't get paid? Losers, and especially jiu-jitsu people who lose. There are certainly outliers in that regard, to be sure, but ultimately, if you are not running a major YouTube platform and/or creating entertaining monetised content, doing seminars, selling loads of instructionals, heading an association or major gym, or competing and winning a lot (or a combination of some or all of these), you really aren't making much, which, when considering that top competitors are professional-level athletes who, more often than not, dedicate their livelihoods to jiu-jitsu, is rather pathetic.

One of the very few people who have managed to make it using only jiu-jitsu, which says a lot. Photo by CJI (me).

The sport is plagued by a glass ceiling and is largely a closed circuit in which, generally, the only people who generate income for jiu-jitsu people are other jiu-jitsu people or combat sports entities and enthusiasts. Almost no one, perhaps aside from ultra-hardcore BJJ enthusiasts, would care to purchase a pay-per-view of IBJJF Pans or Who's Number One like they would a UFC event, and the attendees of the most prestigious events, such as the ADCC World Championships, are almost entirely composed of jiu-jitsu people, many of whom possess only a rudimentary understanding of the rules of the contests they watch.

...and the rules are always changing. Is back control worth three points? Four points? Will I get an advantage for this near-takedown? Is this EBI overtime or sudden death? Nearly every organisation has its own individual ruleset, typically geared toward action, some sort of decisive conclusion, or an amalgam of the two. For example, some submission-only rulesets will call a draw if no finishes occur, and other sub-only entities such as the Eddie Bravo Invitational have three overtime shootout rounds in which competitors start in common finishing positions. The International Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu Federation, or IBJJF, utilises a position-based point system, and the ADCC ruleset emphasises wrestling and rewards action by strongly penalising inactivity or deliberate stalling, and features overtime rounds in the event of an even score or no submission.

Emma Reusing executes a head-and-arm throw at the 2021 IBJJF Worlds. Photo by CJI (me).

While there are certainly merits to facets of these rules, such as the need to keep score and to encourage finishes, the fact remains that, for as much as grappling has grown, there is no real cohesion, regulation, or sanctioning entity in jiu-jitsu. The oft-criticised IBJJF long sat atop the heap as the governing body of all matters jiu-jitsu, but as the sport evolved and outgrew its competitive and regulatory confines, its influence has weakened, although it maintains an iron grip on yes-gi matters. While uncertainty regarding rules can be a recurring theme throughout sports, the lack of parity between the various jiu-jitsu rulesets in addition to the relative absence of a central administrative entity for athlete matters sows confusion amongst viewers and even causes doubts about its legitimacy as a sport to be taken seriously.

The Silver Lining

A select few individuals' attempts at pouring money into grappling may have bolstered the sport's profile, yet few entities have provided a decent payout for participants or winners, even if backed by nearly unlimited resources, and, in some cases, the vast majority of the resources spent have largely gone to every aspect of the grappling event except the athletes, which are the entire reason your event exists.

We don't have the broad appeal of team sports like basketball and soccer or the visceral impact of striking arts, and dorks who wear profanity-laden, dubiously labelled, or flamboyantly coloured clothing articles (or lack thereof) and hug each other aggressively for up to hours at a time in a niche sport that no one understands can hardly afford to take themselves seriously, so it stands to reason that someone has to get top-level competitors a decent chunk of change in lieu of spectatorship.

Some second thoughts, if you will.

Enter Craig Jones, the knight in silver armour, wielding duffle bags full of duckets and plans to upend the status quo via an eponymously named invitational, commonly referred to as CJI (like me, but with more value), and frequently mispronounced "CGI". The Craig Jones Invitational, which occurs concurrently with ADCC 2024, boasts a $3 million budget, most of which goes to athletes, and promises $1 million for winners of each division. Hosted in the Thomas & Mack Arena, CJI competitors will battle it out in a Karate Combat-inspired depression dubbed "The Alley", and will debut MMA-influenced rounds and an open scoring system. High-profile legends are also rumoured to be participating.

Marcelo Garcia explains a technique at the ADCC "Super Seminar" prior to the 2022 ADCC world championships. Photo by CJI (me).

And it's all streaming on YouTube.

Craig makes several valid points, namely, regarding venues and production. Ultimately, while marketing is certainly paramount in terms of fostering interest, if the sport as a whole is to grow, it must be organic in nature. Grandiloquent displays of pomp and circumstance alone don't bolster the profile of a sport -- people must also be curious about the sport itself. Being "the best" of a thing is useless if no one cares about the thing, and you cannot artificially fill shoes you are not currently capable of wearing.

However, an increased payout will inevitably attract more competition and competitors, which has a net benefit for the sport.

Except by some miracle, jiu-jitsu will indefinitely drift along down the river of obscurity, discovered and embraced by a select few, but never truly understood or even recognised by the general public, who still think judo people kick and that we do some form of weird extraterrestrial taekwondo. I would love nothing more than to be proven wrong regarding the future of this art we have come to hold dear, but at the very least, the professionals who have become the face of this game through years of steroids hard work and sacrifice should be able to afford to make a decent living from their passions.

|the kid|

[mieczyslawn]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ★ . . . my boyfriend’s pretty cool

[sarahsainttea]

I see no difference

[rubbish78]

UNCENSORED Gordon Ramsay, Ryan Reynolds & Hugh Jackman Chimichanga Cook-Off (x)

[dixxiemaegraphics]

Posting about the gay little apprentices again.

[adrian-sheppy]

battlebots night

[konnosaurus]

and there are enough for a second (YES, A SECOND!!!!) compilation of the teeny tiny engines!!! another fun selection of colours- a little more variety this time as well! i'm so happy to be able to share these little guyswith you all- they really are just so fun to draw for me, and i'm so pleased you all seem to enjoy them so much!!

FIRST SET HERE!!!!

[warren-keplers-funk-band]

the funniest thing to me about the saw series is that lawrence is still just like. alive

[hellish-cruelty]

Who are you callin' busted, buster?

Blade Runner 2049 (2017), A Clockwork Orange (1971), Hereditary (2018), The Darjeeling limited (2007), Chinatown (1974), Breaking Bad (2008 - 2013), Titane (2001), After Hours (2020), L.A. Confidential (1997), Brick (2005)

[brainrotcharacters]

WHY IS LOGAN HOLDING DOGPOOL LIKE THAT

[ikoarts]

Gresley family moment

+ bonus Ryan bc he is a cutie patootie golden retriever boy

[kittycatcorner]

it wouldn't be a kitty joke if i didn't put way too much effort into the execution (hi i'm the person who cares a lot about brad and ryan from saw 3D)