Friday night the air inside Titan Combat Academy was thick with body spray and nervous energy. The open mat exhibition had pulled in a crowd of regulars, local tough guys, a few girlfriends holding plastic cups of beer. I walked in wearing a plain gray shirt, sweatpants, barefoot. No wraps, no mouth guard. I walked with a slight limp favoring my bad knee.
The room went quiet as people noticed me. I didn’t belong there and everyone could tell. I looked exactly like what I was, a tired suburban husband who sells air conditioners. Tyler was already on the mat pacing, wearing black and red shorts with the wolf stitched across them. His wrists were taped bright red.
When he saw me a wide hungry grin spread across his face. Erin stood near the front desk holding a water bottle wearing a top I’d never seen. When our eyes met she looked away first. “Well, well, well,” Tyler announced over the music clapping his gloved hands together. “He actually showed up. Give the man a hand for having a pulse.”
Scattered mocking applause rippled through the room. I stepped onto the mat stopping 10 feet from him. “5 minutes,” Tyler said to a guy holding a stopwatch, then looked back at me. “Ready to earn that equity old man? Or you want to tap now and save yourself the dental work?” “Start the clock,” I said.
Tyler didn’t waste a second. He closed the distance fast, hands up, and threw a sharp jab to test me. I didn’t move my head. It caught me clean on the cheekbone. My head snapped back. The crowd let out a collective ooh. I tasted copper. He smirked and circled, landing a hard leg kick that lit up my thigh with pain.
He was fast. He was conditioned. If this had been a real match with rules, I’d have already been behind on points. He stepped in for a follow-up combination looking to end it fast and impress the room. That’s when I flipped the switch. I didn’t try to block his punch. I slipped my head just enough that the glove grazed past my ear, and instead of backing away, I stepped straight into him, closing the distance completely.
Fighting for sport is about managing distance. What I know is about closing it. I drove forward, controlled his head and one arm, and swept his base out from under him. He hit the mat hard, the air blowing out of his lungs in one gasp. I came down with him, not to posture and throw punches. That gives an opponent room to move, but to stay flat, heavy, controlling.
