“Hook ‘N’ Shoot” or a Lack Thereof
Two months of intense focus and preparation. Over 10lbs of weight loss, low food intake. Training and training. Sacrifice. I even got blood work done! This was to be the first mixed martial arts fight that counted on my national record. Fighting in the Hook ‘N’ Shoot event.
The Hook ‘N’ Shoot is a MMA event held in Evansville Indiana, dreadfully inconvenient to get to, in an old dilapidated coliseum. It’s also one of the oldest in the United States and many no famous and successful fighters made their record debuts in this very event. The place had a spiritual pull to it, perfect for the first tight to count on my national MMA record.
A couple weeks before the event was to be held I was in the American Top Team gym training as always, but this was the day I would get information on my opponent… and myself. A gym mate came up to me and said “What’s up, Nash Nash?” I replied with a confused look. “Just saw you in the national database, they have you listed as Nash Nash. First and last name. What’s up Nash Nash?” The head coach shot me a look as if to say “what is wrong with you? It’s always something with you!” I cut him off before he could speak: “Hey, I didn’t do that. The commissioner just put me down in the system like that. I didn’t do it… but I would have.” I said with a laugh. It was hilarious so I defiantly didn’t correct it. The head coach spoke, “Nash Nash! News on your opponent. He’s a Mexican brawler. 5’3’’, 170lbs.” Well I certainly would have a reach advantage. 5’3’’ and 170!? This guy was either a fat sphere, or a solid block of muscle. I knew given his size he would gravitate towards wrestling and jujitsu. Reconnaissance proved me right. He was 3 – 0, with wins by submission. My strategy? Well he was probably so dense (be it fat or muscle) my techniques wouldn’t penetrate, so I was left with a very fun though: literally knocking pieces of him off, like chipping away at a sculpture, until there was nothing left. Kind of like a live “test-breaking”. The thought excited me.
I thought of my opponent constantly, wondering what he might look like. I decided given his size and weight he was probably shaped like a snowman: one big sphere, with a tiny sphere on top for the head. Except he was Mexican, so no snow. I decided he would look like that but made of sand. A sandman. I didn’t like that though, because it had a connotation of putting people to sleep, i.e. a chokehold. I would give him no such ground in my mental arena. What else is there in hot and dry climates that also fits that shape? Then it hit me. My opponent’s nickname was now Tumbleweed Snowman. First and last name. I had decided it.
A few days before the fight I went about the usual weight cutting for the weigh ins. No water, no food, lots of sweat. The weigh ins came and I weighed in at 169lbs. The commission representative looked at me sort of inquisitorially; “The commission has you down as … Nash Nash ? That… that can’t possibly be right. Can it?” Oh yeah. You could put me down as just Nash though. One Nash will be just fine. “Alright, I’ll do that.”
The next day the whole gym got in multiple vehicles and we set off as a caravan to make the 4 hour drive to the fight venue. 4 of us were making our national record debuts that night, and we were all extremely excited. We stopped at Olive Garden on the way there to have a big lunch. I hate Olive Garden, a lot. I hate Italian food as well, by nature of being allergic to garlic (not deathly, just uncomfortably). My only request was that we don’t get Italian or Mexican. So, Olive Garden, all you can eat Italian! It was a good team bonding, but I still hate the place. After a couple more hours of driving we arrived at the coliseum.
The 4 of us who were fighting immediately had to go back into the fighters area and start filling gout paper work, turning in blood work, signing wavers, getting a doctor check up, ect. The rest of the team set up camp in on e of the balcony areas. A friend who came on their own (and even made a shirt for support!) joined the cheering squad later.
A huge line was already formed when we got back in the fighters room. To pass the time I looked around, specifically for my opponent. I didn’t’ see anyone who fit his description, but I did see the match ups schedule posted to the wall. There was another Nash in the event! Nash William! “How dare he?” I thought. Then I realized he was the first fight. Good, then I could get a look at this imposter Nash! …. Then I realized he was fighting my opponent. It dawned on me and I put two and two together and cleverly deduced that this Nash and myself were the same person. I was the first fight! I was getting really excited! Then, I saw my opponent.
It was unmistakably my opponent. Hispanic looking, 5’3’’, built like a cube. There was little chance that I would knock the guy out, his head and neck were one unit with the rest of his body. I started to feel jittery. Then I caught him looking at me. “Keep it together Nash!” I shouted at myself internally. I was being consumed by pre-fight doubt. I needed to pee. I went to the toilet, and when I emerged, my eyes and my opponent’s eyes met. Within that moment I could see fear, worry, and doubt in my opponents eyes. He had humanized himself. Humans are weak, fallible. In that moment I had already won. I couldn’t wait to show it to everyone else; but at the moment we were all still stuck in line.
Slowly, one by one the line moved. As the rest of us waited in line, a member of the staff made his way down collecting information from the fighters for the announcer. Then he stopped at me. “Name?” Nash. “Nash? Ah. Yeah. They warned me about you!” He said with a chuckle. “You’ve got like 10 names! What are we calling you today?” Not Nash William, that’s for sure. That’s not even one of the many names I actually use. How about just Nash? One word. “Works for me. Any Nickname you want announced?” There’s a couple I have that people use. I looked at my teammate for his thoughts. “The Wondering Warrior” he said. The collection guy said “The Wandering Warrior, you got it!” My teammates and I were giddy with anticipation.
Now it was my turn at the front of the line. The doctor checked me out. “Everything’s great.” He signed some papers. “Blood work?” I handed him the envelope of blood work results that had been sitting on the head coach’s desk for over a month. It’s necessary to get blood work done in the commission’s eyes because they want to make sure you’re not spraying Aids and hepatitis all over the place when you fight. “Fare enough” I thought. They test you for HIV, various hepatitis’s, and so forth. I had gone to the testing place over a month prior and gotten the print out of the results in an envelope and immediately handed them to the head coach.
“Where is your HIV paperwork?” The doctor’s question caught me off guard. It’s in the envelope I handed you, I said. “No, it isn’t. Look for yourself.” I frantically flipped through the other test results in the envelope; HIV was nowhere to be found. When I asked for the results at the test center and they handed me things I just assumed it was what I asked for. IDIOT! How could I have not checked? What happens now? , I asked. “You’ll need to contact the testing center right now.” My coach came over and began dialing the center. No response. It was late on a Saturday; there was no way to prove I’d tested negative for HIV in time. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach; I didn’t know what was going to happen… but I had an idea. One of the officials came up to me. I asked him what was going to happen. “I don’t even know. Normally we might be able to sneak by, but the commission is actually here tonight. We’re bound by whatever they decide.”
A commissioner came up to me, he opened his mouth, but before he could speak I said “Please don’t tell me what I think you’re about to tell me…” The mere thought caused me to get sick to my stomach. “ You cannot fight tonight.” The words echoed within the deep chasm that had instantly formed within my being. The thought of all I had done for this moment being reduced to all but meaningless was too much. It was too much. The anguish and sacrifice. I had given up St. Patrick’s Day and my spring break in order to train. The spring break was my only chance to recharge and keep the university from killing me from the inside out, and I had sacrificed it. My freedom. I was suddenly overcome with a mixture of deep depression and bitter resentment.
After a chat with the gym’s general manager I began to think. Yes, I had not checked the envelope when I gave it to the head coach; that was my fault. But the envelope had sat on his desk for over a month. He never opened it to check things were in order. The GM never checked it either. That’s part of their jobs. Everyone was to blame and I really wasn’t in the mood to be around anyone.
My coach came up to me before the fights started and told me I still had the option of fighting Muay Thai with my opponent. It turns out that while MMA is sanctioned, Muay Thai is not, so there you can basically do whatever you want, including fighting without bloodwork. I initially refused because I didn’t wan to wear a headgear. “You don’t have to. The rules are between you and your opponent to agree on.” With that I agreed. My opponent on the other hand declined. “I don’t want to fight you with Muay Thai. Look at me. I’m a grappler.” With that my opponent backed out and my fight was canceled. I couldn’t blame him too much though. It would be like me going to a Kyokushin Karate fight and they tell me instead I have to play basketball. My former opponent and I chatted for a while, since we didn’t have anything else to do anymore. I told him how I decided his name was Tumbleweed Snowman. He may have thought I was insane.
Blood work disparities with two of my teammate’s opponents resulted in them getting demoted to Muay Thai as well, though their opponents didn’t back out. Since I wasn’t fighting, it was now my job to inform the rest of the team that had come to watch about what was actually happening. I told them about two of the fights getting changed to Muay Thai, and that my fight was canceled. One of them said “I think everyone here actually came to just watch you fight…”. I felt like an even bigger loser then. I refused to abandon my team or fighting brothers though. I cheered all three fighters on, and all three won. American Top Team went 3 for 3 that night, but it should have been 4 for 4.
After the fights we went out to eat to celebrate our clean sweep. An Italian place. Like salt in a wound. At least everyone was jovial. After diner some of us went out for drinks, and as the night wore on people started squabbling. This was my que to leave, and I hitched an uncomfortable 4 hour ride back with my buddy at around 3am.
8 hours of driving that day. 2 months of sacrifice. 1 hard earned lesson: Check your paperwork!
-Nash
The Hook ‘N’ Shoot is a MMA event held in Evansville Indiana, dreadfully inconvenient to get to, in an old dilapidated coliseum. It’s also one of the oldest in the United States and many no famous and successful fighters made their record debuts in this very event. The place had a spiritual pull to it, perfect for the first tight to count on my national MMA record.
A couple weeks before the event was to be held I was in the American Top Team gym training as always, but this was the day I would get information on my opponent… and myself. A gym mate came up to me and said “What’s up, Nash Nash?” I replied with a confused look. “Just saw you in the national database, they have you listed as Nash Nash. First and last name. What’s up Nash Nash?” The head coach shot me a look as if to say “what is wrong with you? It’s always something with you!” I cut him off before he could speak: “Hey, I didn’t do that. The commissioner just put me down in the system like that. I didn’t do it… but I would have.” I said with a laugh. It was hilarious so I defiantly didn’t correct it. The head coach spoke, “Nash Nash! News on your opponent. He’s a Mexican brawler. 5’3’’, 170lbs.” Well I certainly would have a reach advantage. 5’3’’ and 170!? This guy was either a fat sphere, or a solid block of muscle. I knew given his size he would gravitate towards wrestling and jujitsu. Reconnaissance proved me right. He was 3 – 0, with wins by submission. My strategy? Well he was probably so dense (be it fat or muscle) my techniques wouldn’t penetrate, so I was left with a very fun though: literally knocking pieces of him off, like chipping away at a sculpture, until there was nothing left. Kind of like a live “test-breaking”. The thought excited me.
I thought of my opponent constantly, wondering what he might look like. I decided given his size and weight he was probably shaped like a snowman: one big sphere, with a tiny sphere on top for the head. Except he was Mexican, so no snow. I decided he would look like that but made of sand. A sandman. I didn’t like that though, because it had a connotation of putting people to sleep, i.e. a chokehold. I would give him no such ground in my mental arena. What else is there in hot and dry climates that also fits that shape? Then it hit me. My opponent’s nickname was now Tumbleweed Snowman. First and last name. I had decided it.
A few days before the fight I went about the usual weight cutting for the weigh ins. No water, no food, lots of sweat. The weigh ins came and I weighed in at 169lbs. The commission representative looked at me sort of inquisitorially; “The commission has you down as … Nash Nash ? That… that can’t possibly be right. Can it?” Oh yeah. You could put me down as just Nash though. One Nash will be just fine. “Alright, I’ll do that.”
The next day the whole gym got in multiple vehicles and we set off as a caravan to make the 4 hour drive to the fight venue. 4 of us were making our national record debuts that night, and we were all extremely excited. We stopped at Olive Garden on the way there to have a big lunch. I hate Olive Garden, a lot. I hate Italian food as well, by nature of being allergic to garlic (not deathly, just uncomfortably). My only request was that we don’t get Italian or Mexican. So, Olive Garden, all you can eat Italian! It was a good team bonding, but I still hate the place. After a couple more hours of driving we arrived at the coliseum.
The 4 of us who were fighting immediately had to go back into the fighters area and start filling gout paper work, turning in blood work, signing wavers, getting a doctor check up, ect. The rest of the team set up camp in on e of the balcony areas. A friend who came on their own (and even made a shirt for support!) joined the cheering squad later.
A huge line was already formed when we got back in the fighters room. To pass the time I looked around, specifically for my opponent. I didn’t’ see anyone who fit his description, but I did see the match ups schedule posted to the wall. There was another Nash in the event! Nash William! “How dare he?” I thought. Then I realized he was the first fight. Good, then I could get a look at this imposter Nash! …. Then I realized he was fighting my opponent. It dawned on me and I put two and two together and cleverly deduced that this Nash and myself were the same person. I was the first fight! I was getting really excited! Then, I saw my opponent.
It was unmistakably my opponent. Hispanic looking, 5’3’’, built like a cube. There was little chance that I would knock the guy out, his head and neck were one unit with the rest of his body. I started to feel jittery. Then I caught him looking at me. “Keep it together Nash!” I shouted at myself internally. I was being consumed by pre-fight doubt. I needed to pee. I went to the toilet, and when I emerged, my eyes and my opponent’s eyes met. Within that moment I could see fear, worry, and doubt in my opponents eyes. He had humanized himself. Humans are weak, fallible. In that moment I had already won. I couldn’t wait to show it to everyone else; but at the moment we were all still stuck in line.
Slowly, one by one the line moved. As the rest of us waited in line, a member of the staff made his way down collecting information from the fighters for the announcer. Then he stopped at me. “Name?” Nash. “Nash? Ah. Yeah. They warned me about you!” He said with a chuckle. “You’ve got like 10 names! What are we calling you today?” Not Nash William, that’s for sure. That’s not even one of the many names I actually use. How about just Nash? One word. “Works for me. Any Nickname you want announced?” There’s a couple I have that people use. I looked at my teammate for his thoughts. “The Wondering Warrior” he said. The collection guy said “The Wandering Warrior, you got it!” My teammates and I were giddy with anticipation.
Now it was my turn at the front of the line. The doctor checked me out. “Everything’s great.” He signed some papers. “Blood work?” I handed him the envelope of blood work results that had been sitting on the head coach’s desk for over a month. It’s necessary to get blood work done in the commission’s eyes because they want to make sure you’re not spraying Aids and hepatitis all over the place when you fight. “Fare enough” I thought. They test you for HIV, various hepatitis’s, and so forth. I had gone to the testing place over a month prior and gotten the print out of the results in an envelope and immediately handed them to the head coach.
“Where is your HIV paperwork?” The doctor’s question caught me off guard. It’s in the envelope I handed you, I said. “No, it isn’t. Look for yourself.” I frantically flipped through the other test results in the envelope; HIV was nowhere to be found. When I asked for the results at the test center and they handed me things I just assumed it was what I asked for. IDIOT! How could I have not checked? What happens now? , I asked. “You’ll need to contact the testing center right now.” My coach came over and began dialing the center. No response. It was late on a Saturday; there was no way to prove I’d tested negative for HIV in time. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach; I didn’t know what was going to happen… but I had an idea. One of the officials came up to me. I asked him what was going to happen. “I don’t even know. Normally we might be able to sneak by, but the commission is actually here tonight. We’re bound by whatever they decide.”
A commissioner came up to me, he opened his mouth, but before he could speak I said “Please don’t tell me what I think you’re about to tell me…” The mere thought caused me to get sick to my stomach. “ You cannot fight tonight.” The words echoed within the deep chasm that had instantly formed within my being. The thought of all I had done for this moment being reduced to all but meaningless was too much. It was too much. The anguish and sacrifice. I had given up St. Patrick’s Day and my spring break in order to train. The spring break was my only chance to recharge and keep the university from killing me from the inside out, and I had sacrificed it. My freedom. I was suddenly overcome with a mixture of deep depression and bitter resentment.
After a chat with the gym’s general manager I began to think. Yes, I had not checked the envelope when I gave it to the head coach; that was my fault. But the envelope had sat on his desk for over a month. He never opened it to check things were in order. The GM never checked it either. That’s part of their jobs. Everyone was to blame and I really wasn’t in the mood to be around anyone.
My coach came up to me before the fights started and told me I still had the option of fighting Muay Thai with my opponent. It turns out that while MMA is sanctioned, Muay Thai is not, so there you can basically do whatever you want, including fighting without bloodwork. I initially refused because I didn’t wan to wear a headgear. “You don’t have to. The rules are between you and your opponent to agree on.” With that I agreed. My opponent on the other hand declined. “I don’t want to fight you with Muay Thai. Look at me. I’m a grappler.” With that my opponent backed out and my fight was canceled. I couldn’t blame him too much though. It would be like me going to a Kyokushin Karate fight and they tell me instead I have to play basketball. My former opponent and I chatted for a while, since we didn’t have anything else to do anymore. I told him how I decided his name was Tumbleweed Snowman. He may have thought I was insane.
Blood work disparities with two of my teammate’s opponents resulted in them getting demoted to Muay Thai as well, though their opponents didn’t back out. Since I wasn’t fighting, it was now my job to inform the rest of the team that had come to watch about what was actually happening. I told them about two of the fights getting changed to Muay Thai, and that my fight was canceled. One of them said “I think everyone here actually came to just watch you fight…”. I felt like an even bigger loser then. I refused to abandon my team or fighting brothers though. I cheered all three fighters on, and all three won. American Top Team went 3 for 3 that night, but it should have been 4 for 4.
After the fights we went out to eat to celebrate our clean sweep. An Italian place. Like salt in a wound. At least everyone was jovial. After diner some of us went out for drinks, and as the night wore on people started squabbling. This was my que to leave, and I hitched an uncomfortable 4 hour ride back with my buddy at around 3am.
8 hours of driving that day. 2 months of sacrifice. 1 hard earned lesson: Check your paperwork!
-Nash