Serrada Escrima, as taught by GM Angel Cabales, emphasizes simple, direct movement. This is especially seen in the footwork, which focuses on linear heel-toe alignment with an opponent’s centerline. Angel eschewed things like cross-steps or twisted body positions, though in fact examples of these can be found within the system. His “punch block” for angle #3 is an example of the latter. Cross-stepping, however, was not formally taught, at least in my experience. However, as with kicking, which Angel used sparingly and with just a couple of simple variants, he would tell students with experience in other systems to use what they knew from there too. While the basic concept taught is to learn to hold your ground with that linear alignment, in fact Angel understood movement, sometimes saying we weren’t born where we stood, so we knew how to move already. In practice, it isn’t always practical or possible to remain directly in front of someone, in their line of fire, and so lateral movement is necessary to find more advantageous positioning. Of course the first technique usually taught is the outside block for angle #1, which involves moving off-line without a cross-step, but are there times when the cross-step is a valid or even necessary option? I would argue yes. For instance, in backpedaling in a circular manner vs. a #2 (high strike to one’s right side), as opposed to the classic technique of facing the attack in place, one has the option to step ito the outside first with the lead right foot, which opens one’s centerline, or with the rear left foot, which will be a cross step. Of course either option is a brief transition, as we typically re-align into the linear centerline alignment. One clear example of cross-stepping from Angel himself, as captured on video, was a powerful #1 slash (high downward diagonal right forehand) while cross-stepping back to the left with the lead right foot. It’s a finishing type power blow, but as Serrada teaches constant vigilance against a persistent opponent, we don’t pose in that posture but continue to step through to re-establish our “spot”. Now on a personal level, given my background from Kenpo, Aikido, and especially Sonny Umpad’s “Visayan Style Corto Kadena”, I will sometimes in free flow carenza (form) utilize more cross-stepping and low stances compared to classic Serrada. Sometimes I’ll use these as well in sparring. After all, Serrada wasn’t designed to fight other Serrada fighters, but to deal with any style, and so I will simulate other methods as a way to give students or training partners a different look, as well as do practice deceptive ways to move in and out of range. Ultimately combat is free-flowing and unpredictable, as Bruce Lee famously preached, and so exploring various methods has value. In this I like to quote the famous artist Pablo Picasso, who said “Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist.”
Monday, September 11, 2017
Many martial artists have at least some glancing knowledge, if even only from YouTube, of Wing Chun’s chi sao exercise where partners face each other and interlock hands, each with one in a palm up position (tan sao) and the other in a downward hooking position (fook sao) … and hopefully I recalled those correctly. The hands are then rotated back and forth between these positions in the basic form of the exercise.
Less well known is the “lock-and-block” position used in Serrada Escrima, and perhaps some other FMA (Filipino Martial Art) systems as well – GM Hortensio Navales’ system from Panay comes to mind. In this position, the main weapon, be it a stick or blade, is in the primary hand, which generally and for this description we’ll assume to be the right. The hand is palm down (pronate), with the weapon basically parallel to the front of the body, pointed at a downward diagonal angle towards the left. In this manner it essentially can cover the torso defensively from about the right armpit to the left hip. The other (left) hand, holding a shorter weapon, generally a knife or dagger (daga), is basically on the same level as the right hand, so that it is above the longer primary weapon, but held back closer to the body, in reserve, and also so as not to impede any upward movement of the primary weapon. The shorter weapon generally points forward towards the opponent, so that the two weapons essentially form an x and y axis, or two sides of a box (your torso being a third side).
Now, take away the weapons, and what you see looks like one position from Wing Chun’s chi sao, with the left in tan sao and the right in fook sao. Conversely, put those weapons in the hands of a Wing Chun practitioner doing that and you pretty much can’t miss the similarity!
Whereas Wing Chun rolls the hands between these positions, Serrada does not …. but it can and sometimes should. Why? The lock-and-block position is designed for the primary weapon to jam and trap the opponent’s arm, allowing the opposite hand to strike targets. That sets up perfectly if you are outside of the right arm, or even inside of the left, but other positions can be trickier and possibly force you to have to cross yourself in less optimal manner. However, using that Wing Chun chi sao roll, we’ve now reversed the position of the weapons, where the short weapon takes on the role of checking while the primary weapon in the right hand does the dirty work.
So which position do we use? The right hand in the lock position, as first described above, is the main and most common position. One of our primary concepts, however, is directness, and so in checking, we try to utilize the hand closest to the limb being checked as it can orient more quickly and efficiently. This means there are times when we’ll need to check with the off-hand, which is where this rolling switch comes into play. GM Angel Cabales utilized this daga checking from time to time, though it wasn’t stressed in the curriculum and he always finished back in the primary position. That being said, we always want to have versatile options that meet the needs of a given situation.
Monday, November 21, 2016
It is with great sadness I learned this morning of the passing of my friend, grandmaster Ron Harris, who died suddenly yesterday of heart failure. Ronald was an amazing person, a university professor who championed conservative values while promoting the economic success of black Americans. As a martial artist, he trained with the best, from Dan Inosanto to Leo Gaje, with whom he traveled to many seminars. Ron held a 7th Dan in Kajukenbo and was once tapped by Sijo Emperado to create an escrima system specific to that art, though it never caught on due to lack of qualified instructors at the time. He taught "Classic Eskrima", as well as Muay Thai, Boxe Francaise/Savate and Taekwondo. He contributed articles to Black Belt and Inside Kung Fu and other publications, and sponsored seminars around the country, first coming to my attention with tournaments he threw in San Diego in the 1990's. He was well-versed in BJJ, and his younger brother Russ trained the first American to beat the Brazilians in the Octagon. Ron trained Marines in hand-to-hand over the years (he currently has a son at Annapolis) and just this summer I designed a training dagger for his program, which I was showing to folks at the MACE seminar just two days ago. Through Ron I've met some amazing martial artists, like Jan Miernyk and Dan Medina. I'm still in shock over this news, and I'm sure he will be missed by many.
Saturday, August 27, 2016
Today I received the second email I've had of someone saving their life with one of my lightweight plastic flutes. This is the kind of thing that really makes my day!
"I'm writing to let you know that the wonderful shakuhachi flute I purchased from you about one year ago finally failed, but despite being a beloved possession and a joy to train with and play it broke while saving me from hospital bills or my life. I was walking to my car after my HEMA class that I supplement with FMA when I observed a disheveled man swinging a bat at someone's car screaming obscenities. I called the police but he observed me doing so and started swinging his bat angrily on the ground screaming. All I had in my hand and not my bag was the flute. He swung at me as I rushed in with a guard and I heard a crack as his bat struck my flute. Had the flute not been there the bat would have hit the back of my ribs cleanly but the flute STILL HADN'T broken. THe break instead occurred when I redondoed the flute around and began beating him hard about the head. One of the strikes sent the top of the flute flying leaving me to punyo and knee until the cops arrived. Had your flute not been there, I could have been hurt severely or killed by a dangerous man. It may be a while before I can get another one of your beautiful pieces to play and train with. But I am grateful for your weapon and hope I never have to use one again in earnest. Between the flute, FMA, and HEMA, I'm in one piece today."
Tuesday, April 05, 2016
The Three T's
The "three t's" are a basic progression of learning, which can apply to a broad range of physical skills, which I'll reference here to the pursuit of skill in martial arts. They are tools, targets and timing.
The first T is tools, and these are primary. Can you imagine going to a carpentry class to learn to build things, and not be taught the safe and proper use of the various implements before starting to use them, or driving a car without first knowing basic controls? In karate, for example, among the first things taught will likely be a horse stance and how to throw a basic punch. From there one branches out into other stances, blocks, parries and strikes, and how to combine them. In styles that feature footwork, one may start with a on-guard position and a simple step or two, combined with related hand movements. Eventually both methods ought to achieve similar goals.
The second T is targets. Without these, we're simply dancing. Targeting brings specificity to our action. Tools teach "how"; targeting teaches where and why. For instance, the various applications of finger jabs, claws, chops and punches. This engages the imagination by creating external focus and takes us through the various stages of mechanical development of skill.
The third T is timing, which is knowing "when" to do what is needed. Initially it is a mechanical process as our conscious mind struggles to control all the details. When we learn techniques, it is an internal dialog about coordinating information. As we progress, it becomes relational to external circumstances. Just like learning to drive a car, what feels awkward at first eventually becomes unconscious and automatic. Without timing, we have a pile of pieces from which to assemble a puzzle. It is the difference between "dead" (self-involved, unresponsive) and "live" (fully responsive and aware) martial arts. No longer do we try to figure out which technique corresponds to whatever confronts us; our action is innate and appropriate. Bruce Lee described this using water as a metaphor; it has no shape but simply fills whatever vessel into which it is poured. Circumstances are our container through which our actions now flow accordingly.
In application, these three elements tend to come into play in reverse. For example, when someone throws a punch, we need to move inside or outside of the opponent's body structure to avoid the blow and set up counters. Our entry is timing. Once we have position, targets become accessible, to which we apply various tools (strikes, grapples, takedowns, etc). Our goal is to become un-self-consciously proficient in the mechanics involved, freeing our conscious awareness to monitor and evaluate what is appropriate and necessary.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Well, today was mission accomplished. A wild idea that popped into my head about my 60th birthday was today brought to fruition. On October 12th I suddenly thought "my birthday is exactly in one month. What should I do to mark it?" and then the idea of doing 600 push-ups appeared. At first I tried to dismiss it as ridiculous. After all, I could be doing fun stuff, and this sounded like work. But the idea hung around persistently, waving at me from the edges of awareness, and soon I came to embrace the idea of this as a worthy challenge, a kind of quest. A friend from the aiki side of martial arts turned me on to a Japanese term, shugyo, for a similar type of disciplined spiritual endeavor.
I'd probably gone years without doing 600 push-ups, and with some shoulder injuries, I'd only begun doing them somewhat regularly about a year ago for rehabilitation. If I was going to make this happen, I'd have to train for it, and so I set a secondary goal of 3000 push-ups in the one month run-up to my birthday. That meant averaging 100 push-ups a day, which I broke up into numerous sets of 10 or 20, logging every set in my notebook. Exercise can be addictive, and I quickly realized that 3000 was too low a goal, so within the first few days I refocused on 4000 pushups for the month. Sundays were my big days, doing upwards of 300 push-ups during football game commercials, getting ahead on the count so I could rest on another day during the week.
I reached 4000 Monday evening, giving me Tuesday to rest up before the big day today. Ironically, I'd been pain free all month, but the last few days one of my shoulders was sore from working so hard. Now the underlying goal of this quest was to strengthen deep muscle and connective tissue. The push-ups were varied to hit muscles from different angles to support the shoulder joint, incorporating inclines, declines, close grip, wide grip and uneven grip push-ups as well as traditional flat ones. Some were done for explosiveness, others on slow count to feel the burn deeply. This was pure volume work, more like the 6x daily Bulgarian power lifter workouts than fatigue-and-rest body building. It was harder to start these last few workouts because of the soreness, but once I'd done a couple of sets to warm up, everything felt fine. I also supplemented the push-ups with yoga stretches, Indian clubs, kettlebells, squats, pull-ups and planks.
After the focus and consistency to get ready, today almost felt anti-climactic. Last night, waiting for midnight, I meditated and examined my mental state of readiness. In my mind, I felt I had already accomplished my goal. After the stroke of midnight I did 7 sets of 20 before going to bed, so that I wouldn't feel pressured for time when I awoke. By noon I'd finished half, 300, and then late in the afternoon I did the rest. Almost. I got to 580, only one more set of 20 to go, and couldn't just do it. I felt the distance I'd come, all the emotional and mental energy driving the physical work, and had to let the moment marinate awhile. Finally, as with every other set, I felt the time was right, and then it was done.
Monday, September 08, 2014
Disputes between martial artists are like disputes between academics. It's as though a geology professor in Montana were to declare exclusive purview over the entire field, and declare those credentialed professors at other institutes of higher learning to be unqualified in the discipline all have studied from the same sources. Outside a narrow group of initiates in the field, does anyone take that seriously or even care?
At best titles reflect achievement; our society is a meritocracy, where pieces of paper declare worth. At worst they feed the ego, all too often poisoning a person's self-inflated sense of importance. Introducing oneself as a grandmaster might raise an eyebrow in an elevator, as much because of the esoteric reputation it connotes than any real appreciation. It's no different than a lawyer introducing himself as a senior partner in some law firm of which you've never heard. You may appreciate the long climb it took to reach such a position, but even if you are interested in services offered, which will probably be a narrow field of specialized expertise, you would probably be wondering how much coin he would charge, and in reality much of the work on your behalf would be done by much less exalted, and certainly less expensive, low-level "associates" grinding their way through the corporate hierarchy.
When I was starting my journey in martial arts nearly half a century ago, actual grandmasters were as common as real dragons. If you were to meet one, it would probably be at a distance. Even if it was in a seminar, the actual hands-on mentoring would almost undoubtedly be from lower ranking instructors. That may be less true nowadays, especially in some arts, but that is because rank, like the dollar, has inflated. I can meet more grandmasters at a party now than I encountered in my first 30 years on the mat. Does this somehow diminish the value of what was learned from those other teachers? Certainly not. If anything, without developing a background and depth, encounters with the higher ranks would be no more significant than that introduction in an elevator.
My Tai Chi teacher, the late John Wong, held rank of 5th degree or higher in at least 4 systems. He trained under William Chow, was a trusted associate of Adriano Emperado, and taught his grandfather's system of Tai Chi at his Wu Shing Academy. He told me that my knowledge was like a PhD in martial arts, but to a novice, little of that matters. It is the basics that they need, and it takes years to pour so much information into those just starting their journey.
Back when I was a freshman at Cal Berkeley in 1973, it was explained why that university had more winners of the Nobel Prize and other high honors than almost any other school on the planet. It was because professors there had teach classes for underclassmen, unlike other institutions where tenured professors could reside in their ivory towers amongst their peers and learned journals. What this meant was they had to constantly ground themselves in the fundamentals of their discipline. It's a lesson that applies to many areas of life.
Aikido, an art in which I spent some time back in the 70's and 80's, has one of the most logical ranking systems I've seen. First and second dan black belts assist more senior instructors. By third dan their skills are more clearly evident, but it generally takes a fourth dan to teach at one's own school. Fifth and higher were quite rare, generally encountered in seminars or as visiting teachers, a practice I truly appreciated in that style. It was a rare privilege if you trained at a school where such presided, but again, much of the hands-on monitoring and correction came from those under the head instructor.
Back around 1990 I met an elderly Taekwondo teacher who held a fifth dan in that art. He flatly stated that ranks beyond that were for politics, not skill. In truth, by the time most get to such a level, their physical skills are diminishing with age. Their value is what they can pass on to those below them. In my own chosen art of Escrima, my teacher, the late grandmaster Angel Cabales often said that his Master's certificate was "for politics. While rank such as that is generally reserved for the closest and most dedicated students, the truth is much of the art will be passed on by the much larger pool of instructors and even advanced but uncertified students. some of whom might be as skilled in the art despite lacking a piece of paper.
This is not to denigrate those who rose to high rank, but simply to point out the pyramid structure of hierarchy. Much like an iceberg, what is seen is only the tip, supported by the vast mass often undetected beneath the surface. In truth, what rises to the top once was below; do not presume those who toil without recognition are less worthy than those who once were such themselves.