The Long Muh-WAH-Shee: Part 3

The Long Muh-WAH-Shee was my set up kick. American Karate prided itself on kick combos. The Long Muh-WAH-Shee was supposed to finish off a kick combo that made your opponent back up and respect your leg power. If he/she didn't, they'd be eating the mat through their nostrils. However, when combined with my scream I could quickly take my opponent off guard.

The Long Muh-WAH-Shee was way too easy to telegraph for a guy as weighted down with muscle as I was (220 lbs). But I was quick enough such that my opponent didn't have time to dodge. All they could do was stand there and absorb it in a block. By then I was already coming with the backfist over their guard. My sensei would actually tell my opponents about it and they'd still get caught. Especially if they screamed.

When I went to throw it against The Cop, I didn't even try to disguise it. I even telegraphed it a little extra by quickly spreading my feet a little before I went for it. However, instead of using my uber-deadly right leg, I used my left. Clearly I wanted this fight over since I didn't even use my ace technique to finish him off.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE-YYAAA!!!!!!!!!!!

My left foot was always more accurate, but not as powerful. But The Cop was prepared. Both arms up on his right side he absorbed the blow. I wanted to come in for the backfist anyway just to see what he would do, but The Cop had his own trick up his sleeve.

The Cop knew I couldn't throw punches for contact. He also knew that I couldn't throw any hand techniques whatsoever unless they were obvious. But what I didn't see coming is the overhand ridgehand blow. Once I planted my left foot forward I was out of position for my right-handed backfist. The Cop never gave me a chance. I saw it coming like a screwball pitch from Willie Hernandez. Legs to chest to shoulder to elbow to wrist to my face. It was coming. Hard.

Inside, quietly, I laughed. We both knew he was using a technique I wasn't allowed to use. We both also knew he was using this technique to beat me. So not only was he beating me, he was bullying me; using the merits of his rank to trump a young upstart. As the hand came down directly on the ridge of my nose I did the only thing I could do. Flinch, yet again.

The blow came down on my face and it did connect. But the fact that I was moving so fast towards the floor saved me a broken nose. Instead, I just hit the mat hard. The Cop had his cheap victory and kept his bitchass gaggle of groupies and I lost. However, Rick pulled me aside afterwards and shook my hand. He knew what was up. Thankfully, so did I.

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A month later, I threw The Long Muh-WAH-Shee again. I was a freshly christened blue belt. He was a green belt. It was clear from the start that I had him beat. I was harder, better, faster, and stronger than he was. Average Mike was probably your proto-typical accountant-type with a wife, a couple kids, and a hard on for chop-socky flicks. Instead of learning what martial arts was about, he signed up at the closest place he could find where they did a lot of kicking and screaming like in that one Karate Kid movie 'cuz his doctor'd told him he needed to get in shape or have a heart attack and he was too lazy to take up jogging.

Mike and me were the only two guys that ever showed up to the gym in the afternoon. So instead of running a full class with just two guys, Rick decided to point-fight us. Since my last go around with The Cop I was not too eager to take out anymore black belts. For a bunch of macho dudes, they got to be some SERIOUS bitchasses when they lost. All the whining and complaining got to be a bit much so I just avoided it altogether. Rick usually let me go ahead and do what I wanted. Not so much with Mike.

Unlike me, Mike had more profit potential. If he jumped belts fast enough he could probably tell his friends. His friends would come in and start training. In between weight training and workout sessions they'd shoot the sh*t and go out for beers afterwards. With Mike they could create another little hamlet of American Karate culture, the kind that keeps membership fees coming in the door. I was too young to understand this then. So while I wanted to train with Rick, I was instead being made to work with this soft lump of male.

Mike was at least 6'2" and we probably weighed about the same. But where I was refined in the fires of white hot youth he was lingering in the donut aisle. Point-fighting was made for situations like this.

I resented Mike for being soft. I resented Mike for interrupting my training. Most of all, I resented Mike for being average. So...why not just go ahead and make him better.

Trial by fire anyone?

Rick: HAJIME!!!
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE-YYAAA!!!

The boxer Roberto Duran once described hitting a man so hard it's as if he could feel the man break.

Rick told me several times that when the body is properly conditioned and positioned, the strike doesn't come as an extension of the body as must as you become an extension of the ground.

All I know is...

It wasn't supposed to connect.

When I throw The Long Muh-WAH-Shee, I throw it directly into the man's guard. If he's got a proper side stance it should go right into his blocking left arm. If he's smart and read the telegraphed notice of the oncoming slaughter he brings up both arms to absorb the blow. That's when my backfist is going to be the next thing he sees.

Unfortunately for Mike he was too tall and his block too high. It was a monster of a kick, even by my standards, but I was totally expecting to test his block. Instead, I tested his ribs. I even pulled back on it some towards the end when I realized what was about to happen, but to no avail. The kick connected as if the heavens themselves had come for him. So perfect was the kick I didn't even feel it. I followed through his body like it was so much air.

The response was immediate. Mike couldn't shout or cry out 'cuz he had no breath to give. Instead, he crumbled to the floor. By the looks of his writhing it was as if I'd kicked a black hole into his guts as his entire body seemed determined to fold right into the place of injury.

Laughing, Rick helped Mike to the locker room. His day was done. I went back to kicking the devil out of the heavy bag. Mike and Rick sat up front by the lobby's main office talking for a great while. Realizing I wasn't gonna get anymore training with Rick I skulked into the locker room and changed clothes.

I came out to muffled laughter between Rick and Mike.

"Show him!" Rick bade Mike. Chuckling, Mike lifted his shirt. What appeared to be the front four inches of my foot was painted on the bottom of his rib cage, down perhaps even to the veins.

Back at college that fall I let my membership lapse. I paid off the year, but I barely went back. I don't know why as I'd had a good time learning there. But the campus gym had a heavybag that I used to spend at least an hour a week kicking. At one point I do believe I'd kicked the bag enough times to deaden the nerves that I could kick a tree trunk at full strength and feel no pain. But I never used The Long Muh-WAH-Shee on another human being. It's probably just as well.