You never forget your first. It's something special because there can only ever be one. Rather than be romantic though, I'm going to talk about my first cauliflower ear.
What's a cauliflower ear? I hear no one ask. Well, considering you're on the internet to begin with, have you tried google? If you're still reading then I'll assume you haven't. Thanks for staying on this page. A cauliflower ear is when the skin separates from the cartilage of the ear and blood, along with one or two other fluids, gush into this newly acquired space. If this blood clot isn't removed in a little over a week, then you run the risk of greater damage to the ear. With the skin separated from it, the cartilage is deprived of nutrients and it will eventually die, meaning that nothing is in place to keep the ear in shape and causes the ear to shrivel. Also, apart from turning your ear into vegetable, there's always a chance of infection, which is another reason to get it fixed. Fixing it is a simple matter; drain the blood and apply pressure. Get the hematoma out of your ear, so the cartilage won't die, and apply pressure by wrapping it up, stopping anybody else from moving in before it heals.
There are two possible ways for you to get a cauliflower; you either get smacked in the ear or there's alot of friction on the ear. Despite my sub-par boxing skills, it was the latter for me. Simply pulling my head out of a guillotine choke in training is what did it. Something I've done before and definitely something I'll have to do again, only this time, as I pulled my head out, I felt a burning sensation in my ear. The minute I finished sparring I reached up and found a bubble of skin just above my right ear lobe. "Well, at least I'm starting to look more like a wrestler now," I thought. After finishing up the session I'm not having too much of a problem, but that was just the start of it. I had two more days of training and a match on the weekend. I couldn't afford to get it fixed before my match because you're suppose to allow the ear to recover for a week after draining it, so my only choice was to grin and bear it, and it got a little worse each day. Before my match on the weekend, it had doubled in size from training. I managed to make it through my match without it popping or causing too much damage, although a headlock prompted the quickiest counter I think I've ever performed.
Now it needed fixing.
I grabbed a few books I'd been meaning to read and checked myself into A and E (accidents and emergencies). After getting through a short book or two, I was called in to get my egg shaped ear deflated. Now here comes the part I'd been fearing, needles. I hate needles. They're the second worst thing in the world. I know no one likes needles, but let me reaffirm, I hate them. I think it stems from my childhood, because everything that's wrong with a person is usually blamed on something from their childhood. Anyway, I knew that the ear was either going to be lanced or drained with a syringe, then stitched, which means I was going to get at least one injection. Turns out, you get more than one. I got about four. From the bottom of my ear to the top, little injections intended to numb the whole thing. Despite what the doctor told me, it felt like more than a sting. After my nerve ends were out for the count, I lay on my side and had my ear sliced open. I didn't dare look over my shoulder and see what they were doing, because I'd had a week of dealing with that ear and I knew how much blood it had in it. I left with stitches in my ear, pain killers, and an order to comeback next week and have the stitches taken out. The annoying thing was I was told not to exercise too heavily in the coming week, for fear that the ear would fill back up with blood, or simply go for the more direct approach and bleed. My gym has showers, but I don't think they'd take too kindly to me spilling blood all over them. So I had to take the week off.
Over the week I had to take anti-biotics to make sure that the ear didn't become infected. I wasn't told that the painkillers would be necessary, so they were given as a precaution. They were deffinitely needed. After I came home from the hospital, and the ear started to gain some feeling in it again, it started the throb. Not from the newly acquired scar running across it, instead behind my ear, where they'd injected the anesthetic, was on fire, meaning if I wanted a good nights sleep I needed to rely on medication for a few days. That's another thing I hate, putting loads of foreign chemicals into my body. I don't mind protein shakes, or supplements like omega 3 oils and glutamene, because they're isolations of things you can find in food. Something that numbs your pain receptors isn't really something I get from eating fish. Anyway, that might just be me.
So a week passes and I'm back at the hospital. I'm sat in a new room with the same doctor, who's taking the thin threads out of my ear. He inspects my ear and after a brief pause says "your going to hate me in a mintue." I think I know where this is going (nowhere sexy you dirty buggers), my ear is going to need draining again. This time it's not getting cut open, but it does require a whole new set of stitches, and a whole new set of stitches means a brand new series of injections. So they take another needle to my ear and drain the remaining blood from it, numb it, stitch it, and tell me to come back in a week. This is where I'm starting to get a little worried. I had a match the next week. I was due to wrestle for Grand Pro Wrestling (GPW) in Wigan, who primarily run their shows on a Friday. I was getting my stitches out on Friday, which ment I had one of two options; the first was ring the promoter and tell him I won't be able to compete because of my ear, the second was getting my stitches out, get on a train, and wrestle the same night. I'm an fool, so I chose the second option.
Luckily, as my ear had healed a significant amount from the first week, I was allowed to exercise a little more intensely, and, although I was not allowed to push myself as much as I would've liked, it did mean I could stay in good enough shape for the show. Another stroke of luck came mid-week when I realised that, for the first time in years, GPW were running a show on a Saturday. What a difference a day makes to your nerves. I would've had the stitches out for a whole twenty four hours longer than I originally thought. That calmed me a little, but then the next thought in my mind was "Oh god, what if they look at it again and it still needs further draining and stitching?" I hadn't mentioned to the promoter that I could've potentially missed the show and now it was so close I didn't want to panic the man over maybe having to replace me at the last minute just because of my paranoia playing up.
Friday comes around and the stitches are out. There's a quick inspection of my ear and it passes the test. I 'm given a good bill of health and sent on my way.
"Oh, and avoid contact spots for about six week," says the docter as I get up to leave.
"Okay, no problem, but I can still exercise and stuff?"
"Sure, just no rubbing or impact on the ear or it'll fill up all over again."
"Alright, thankyou," I say, trying to sound as unguilty as possible. "It's alright, you can exercise. All you have to do is keep moving and avoid any chancerys, headlocks, and general punching of the ear," I thought to myself. As I did so that bubbling feeling in my stomach started; the feeling that tells me what I'm about to do should be thought out more, but if you did that you probably wouldn't do it. In other words, I knew this wasn't the best plan.
This is where the story concludes because, although the ear recieved a little bit more physical attention than I would've liked, I didn't get smacked in and it didn't decide to fill back up. Somehow I got through twenty or so minutes of wrestling fine and dandy. Then again I doubt this will be the last time I'll have to deal with this problem. Although, as much of an annoyance as it was, I realised in those few healing weeks that even if I never do anything else in wrestling, I've got at least one trophy.
Sunday 19 June 2011
Saturday 19 March 2011
SLC Volume 5: Jack Gallagher vs. The Sundance Film Festival
SLC - Day 4 (Continued)
I've got one and a half days left in America to enjoy, there's no wrestling left to be done, and I've managed to save quite abit of money, despite the food shopping and going out to eat nearly everynight. I'm being driven by Jake Shannon (of scientificwrestling.com (one day I'll be paid to advertise)) and after one final goodbye and thankyou to Billy, we headed towards my hotel. On the way, the sundance film festival is brought up. Why? Because it's taking place in about three days and was being held within driving distance of where I was staying. On one hand I'm glad I didn't know this prior to booking my flights and hotel because I didn't end up spending all my money and staying in America for the festival, on the other hand a part of me wished I'd ended up spending all my money and staying in America for the festival. I wasn't going to dwell on this though because Jake suggested going up and looking around, with the day I had left in America, to see if I could find any actors or directors who'd turned up early. This sounded appealing. Although I hadn't commited the date and location of the festival to memory, I did know a film called Red State was opening at Sundance. Written and directed by one of my favourite writer/directors Kevin Smith (or as some people know him, Silent Bob). I didn't think there was a huge chance I was going to bump into the man himself, but if I didn't at least give it a go I'd always wonder, wouldn't I?
At my hotel I give another final thankyou and goodbye, this time to Jake. Grab a much needed shower and go out for what was to be my last dinner in Salt Lake City. Don't worry I'm not going to blab on and compare the food to the stuff in Manchester, because this time I had something I'd never seen on a menu in England, sweet and sour tofu. Quick review: amazing. Name of the restaurant: Thaifoon. There, a quick and painless amatuer review to end day 4 with, because after eating there really isn't anything worth of note, unless you want me to start a book review section in this blog too.
SLC - Day 5
I've got the whole day to myself, money in my pocket, and an ipod playing The Beatles. Time to hunt for Silent Bob.
Park City has a very strange mix of tourist gimmicks. First, there's this big theme of skiing and snowboarding on the majority of souvenirs. Okay I get that, it's a pretty logical idea considering the snowy mountains. The second thing you'll notice is alot of new age merchandise e.g. dreams catchers, books on tarot cards, etc. Still on track, I suppose. Being one with the land and the land being quite beautiful around here. The third and final thing really doesn't fit when you consider the first two. Cowboys. Specifically alot of shops selling boots, hats, jackets and belt buckles, all designed to make the statement "No I don't like to ski or have my palm read and yes John Wayne is my hero. " Every shop sold something to do with one of the above, or was a bookshop. This ment that if you visit four shops, you've pretty much seen the majority of what's on sale in Park City. Unlike Salt Lake, this place obviously relied on tourism as a main source of income.
Apart from the repetitive shopping experience, there was a good selection of cafes and restaurants, as well as a sweet shop that looked like something from Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory (the first and easily superior film, incase there was any confusion). I did still need to grab a gift or two for my parents, because I knew the first thing my dad would say would be something along the lines of "Did you get me anything?" So a quick trip to the local sweet shop seemed like a good idea. Although I did toy with the idea of getting him a ridiculous looking cowboy hat for awhile, I think the price difference between a selection of treats and a hard wearing hat might've been key in how I made my decision.
After grabbing some sugar I was pretty much stuck for things to do inbetween lunch and dinner so I ended up spending time in a cosy cafe, eating banana bread, drinking coffee, and reading a book. There was no sign of anyone famous to harass for pictures and autographs, but I was glad to have made the trip down, even if it did inspire me to formulate and disregard a plan that'd allow me to stay in Utah for Sundance. It'd been a miniature adventure within the large one I was already having and, if nothing else, I got visit sushi bars for lunch and dinner. There was plently of them, so much so I felt spoiled for choice.
Super Sushi Boy Section:
Lunch
Restaurant: Yaki Arashi
Dinner:
Restaurant: Oishi
Dish of the Day: Tamago Sushi (Yaki Arashi)
SLC - Day 6 - The Journey Home
My time in Utah and the US of A had come to an end. It was time to head home. I'm terrible at wrapping up stories, but this blog has taken far too long to write (because of real life) so I must try my best. In short, the trip back was good, great, and other tautologies. It was two plane trips, as opposed to the three I had taken getting there, and without the fear of flying I actually quite enjoyed the whole experience. There is one finally little story that, if nothing else, justifies me actually adding a Day 6 to these blogs, rather than just saying "and I got home safe and sound." Before my second flight, the one that would take me back home sweet home, I picked up what my mum would describe as a "healthy portion" of chicken and rice. This, of course, in no way reflects the quality of food, merely quantity. I brought this onto the plane with me, as either a pre-dinner or a post-dinner meal, depending on how I felt, due to the flight being so long. I get settled in my seat and just as I'm opening the styrofoam lid a stewardess asks me "Excuse me, are you having a vegetarian meal?" I'm not a vegetarian, but I do diet. When you're traveling and you're being given your food, there's no guarantee it'll be something you can eat according to your diet. Two things I don't have is cows milk and red meat, so when I was sorting out my tickets online I made sure to choose the vegan meal option, which essentially means the healthy option. However, if the stewardess had been five seconds later with her question, she'd have found me tucking into sweet and sour chicken, making my airplane dining choices seem like a very strange one. Luckily I shut the lid in time, smiled, and told the kind lady I had indeed ordered the vegan meal. However, after she had gone, I was left wondering if I'd get strange looks from my fellow passengers, who'd just heard that I don't eat meat, if I started to do the exact opposite. This is when I realised I don't know any of these people and they don't know me ("yet!" added my narcissism) so who cares if I get strange looks, at least I'll have a full stomach.
The rest of the flight went perfect. The plane wasn't full so I was offered to move to a pair of empty seats and enjoy the rest of the flight away from strangers and strange glances at the man who orders vegan food and snacks on chicken. I fell asleep after dinner and woke within a few hours of landing. I'd gained six hours on the flight back which ment that I'd left on a Tuesday and landed on a Wednesday, and Wednesday was the day I went to Wigan to train. "What better oppotunity to practise the moves I'd been taught this weekend?" I thought. I arrived home, unpacked my case, packed my training bag, and headed out to Aspull. When I arrived I told Roy (my coach) that I'd just been to see Billy Robinson and Roy replied, with a smile, "Did he show you any suplexes Jack?"
Too bloody right he did.
I've got one and a half days left in America to enjoy, there's no wrestling left to be done, and I've managed to save quite abit of money, despite the food shopping and going out to eat nearly everynight. I'm being driven by Jake Shannon (of scientificwrestling.com (one day I'll be paid to advertise)) and after one final goodbye and thankyou to Billy, we headed towards my hotel. On the way, the sundance film festival is brought up. Why? Because it's taking place in about three days and was being held within driving distance of where I was staying. On one hand I'm glad I didn't know this prior to booking my flights and hotel because I didn't end up spending all my money and staying in America for the festival, on the other hand a part of me wished I'd ended up spending all my money and staying in America for the festival. I wasn't going to dwell on this though because Jake suggested going up and looking around, with the day I had left in America, to see if I could find any actors or directors who'd turned up early. This sounded appealing. Although I hadn't commited the date and location of the festival to memory, I did know a film called Red State was opening at Sundance. Written and directed by one of my favourite writer/directors Kevin Smith (or as some people know him, Silent Bob). I didn't think there was a huge chance I was going to bump into the man himself, but if I didn't at least give it a go I'd always wonder, wouldn't I?
At my hotel I give another final thankyou and goodbye, this time to Jake. Grab a much needed shower and go out for what was to be my last dinner in Salt Lake City. Don't worry I'm not going to blab on and compare the food to the stuff in Manchester, because this time I had something I'd never seen on a menu in England, sweet and sour tofu. Quick review: amazing. Name of the restaurant: Thaifoon. There, a quick and painless amatuer review to end day 4 with, because after eating there really isn't anything worth of note, unless you want me to start a book review section in this blog too.
SLC - Day 5
I've got the whole day to myself, money in my pocket, and an ipod playing The Beatles. Time to hunt for Silent Bob.
Park City has a very strange mix of tourist gimmicks. First, there's this big theme of skiing and snowboarding on the majority of souvenirs. Okay I get that, it's a pretty logical idea considering the snowy mountains. The second thing you'll notice is alot of new age merchandise e.g. dreams catchers, books on tarot cards, etc. Still on track, I suppose. Being one with the land and the land being quite beautiful around here. The third and final thing really doesn't fit when you consider the first two. Cowboys. Specifically alot of shops selling boots, hats, jackets and belt buckles, all designed to make the statement "No I don't like to ski or have my palm read and yes John Wayne is my hero. " Every shop sold something to do with one of the above, or was a bookshop. This ment that if you visit four shops, you've pretty much seen the majority of what's on sale in Park City. Unlike Salt Lake, this place obviously relied on tourism as a main source of income.
Apart from the repetitive shopping experience, there was a good selection of cafes and restaurants, as well as a sweet shop that looked like something from Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory (the first and easily superior film, incase there was any confusion). I did still need to grab a gift or two for my parents, because I knew the first thing my dad would say would be something along the lines of "Did you get me anything?" So a quick trip to the local sweet shop seemed like a good idea. Although I did toy with the idea of getting him a ridiculous looking cowboy hat for awhile, I think the price difference between a selection of treats and a hard wearing hat might've been key in how I made my decision.
After grabbing some sugar I was pretty much stuck for things to do inbetween lunch and dinner so I ended up spending time in a cosy cafe, eating banana bread, drinking coffee, and reading a book. There was no sign of anyone famous to harass for pictures and autographs, but I was glad to have made the trip down, even if it did inspire me to formulate and disregard a plan that'd allow me to stay in Utah for Sundance. It'd been a miniature adventure within the large one I was already having and, if nothing else, I got visit sushi bars for lunch and dinner. There was plently of them, so much so I felt spoiled for choice.
Super Sushi Boy Section:
Lunch
Restaurant: Yaki Arashi
Dinner:
Restaurant: Oishi
Dish of the Day: Tamago Sushi (Yaki Arashi)
SLC - Day 6 - The Journey Home
My time in Utah and the US of A had come to an end. It was time to head home. I'm terrible at wrapping up stories, but this blog has taken far too long to write (because of real life) so I must try my best. In short, the trip back was good, great, and other tautologies. It was two plane trips, as opposed to the three I had taken getting there, and without the fear of flying I actually quite enjoyed the whole experience. There is one finally little story that, if nothing else, justifies me actually adding a Day 6 to these blogs, rather than just saying "and I got home safe and sound." Before my second flight, the one that would take me back home sweet home, I picked up what my mum would describe as a "healthy portion" of chicken and rice. This, of course, in no way reflects the quality of food, merely quantity. I brought this onto the plane with me, as either a pre-dinner or a post-dinner meal, depending on how I felt, due to the flight being so long. I get settled in my seat and just as I'm opening the styrofoam lid a stewardess asks me "Excuse me, are you having a vegetarian meal?" I'm not a vegetarian, but I do diet. When you're traveling and you're being given your food, there's no guarantee it'll be something you can eat according to your diet. Two things I don't have is cows milk and red meat, so when I was sorting out my tickets online I made sure to choose the vegan meal option, which essentially means the healthy option. However, if the stewardess had been five seconds later with her question, she'd have found me tucking into sweet and sour chicken, making my airplane dining choices seem like a very strange one. Luckily I shut the lid in time, smiled, and told the kind lady I had indeed ordered the vegan meal. However, after she had gone, I was left wondering if I'd get strange looks from my fellow passengers, who'd just heard that I don't eat meat, if I started to do the exact opposite. This is when I realised I don't know any of these people and they don't know me ("yet!" added my narcissism) so who cares if I get strange looks, at least I'll have a full stomach.
The rest of the flight went perfect. The plane wasn't full so I was offered to move to a pair of empty seats and enjoy the rest of the flight away from strangers and strange glances at the man who orders vegan food and snacks on chicken. I fell asleep after dinner and woke within a few hours of landing. I'd gained six hours on the flight back which ment that I'd left on a Tuesday and landed on a Wednesday, and Wednesday was the day I went to Wigan to train. "What better oppotunity to practise the moves I'd been taught this weekend?" I thought. I arrived home, unpacked my case, packed my training bag, and headed out to Aspull. When I arrived I told Roy (my coach) that I'd just been to see Billy Robinson and Roy replied, with a smile, "Did he show you any suplexes Jack?"
Too bloody right he did.
Saturday 26 February 2011
SLC Volume 4: Jack Gallagher vs. The Double Wrist Lock
SLC - Day 4
It's my second and final day with Billy. I'm picked up at the same time as yesterday and we train for a little longer than we did the day before. Like I said previously, describing training is never fun, so instead I want to write about Billy, because he's a character and he made a lasting impression on him.
I must have talked his cauliflower ears off over the weekend. Asking him every question I could manage. "Do you have any stories about Verne Gagne, Billy?" "Have you ever met Danny Hodge?" "Do you still speak to the Destroyer?" Honestly I would've been happy listening to him talk for a weekend, I'm just not sure if he'd have the patience to answer every question a twenty year old could think up about All Japan Pro Wrestling, though. That doesn't mean to say he didn't have stories. He had plently and gladly indulged me in my curiosity. Although the thing that stands out most about Billy, is that he's funny. He can make you laugh with a story or a phrase, my favourite of the the whole weekend being "grab the bastard, I mean the opponent and..." It was nice to meet someone you look up to and actually find they don't ruin the image that's built up in your head. He was a gravelly voiced coach who knew so much about his sport and how to teach it. It's all I could've asked for. The fact he was so gracious in showing me his actual signature moves was move than I could've asked for.
It was only at the end of the day that everything really hit home for me. We were spending the last hour or so focusing on the double wrist lock. The first catch wrestling move I ever saw and the signature hold of my hero Kazushi Sakuraba. At one point Billy used me as a dumby to explain the finer points in the application and it was only as I was getting back to my feet I realised that a few years ago I was watching Billy Robinson teach that hold and mention how his "boy Sakuraba beat the Gracies with it," and now here I was having the same man apply that hold to me. It felt like a fitting end to the weekend and motivation for me to continue training hard.
Billy made sure we all had his email address and number incase we needed his advice or just wanted to contact him. He made sure I had a spare buisness card for me to hand to my coach, Roy, back in Wigan. Although as I write this I still haven't messaged him. I think I'm still looking for something meaningful to ask him (you never want to come across like the village idiot to someone you respect, do you?). I'm sure I'll think of something. If not, you can never say "thank you" too many times, can you?
Although this was a short one the next post will be much longer as it's the final one of the SLC series. We'll cover what I did after training that day, how I spent my final full day in America, and the trip back home. Amatuer food reviews aplenty.
Jack G.
It's my second and final day with Billy. I'm picked up at the same time as yesterday and we train for a little longer than we did the day before. Like I said previously, describing training is never fun, so instead I want to write about Billy, because he's a character and he made a lasting impression on him.
I must have talked his cauliflower ears off over the weekend. Asking him every question I could manage. "Do you have any stories about Verne Gagne, Billy?" "Have you ever met Danny Hodge?" "Do you still speak to the Destroyer?" Honestly I would've been happy listening to him talk for a weekend, I'm just not sure if he'd have the patience to answer every question a twenty year old could think up about All Japan Pro Wrestling, though. That doesn't mean to say he didn't have stories. He had plently and gladly indulged me in my curiosity. Although the thing that stands out most about Billy, is that he's funny. He can make you laugh with a story or a phrase, my favourite of the the whole weekend being "grab the bastard, I mean the opponent and..." It was nice to meet someone you look up to and actually find they don't ruin the image that's built up in your head. He was a gravelly voiced coach who knew so much about his sport and how to teach it. It's all I could've asked for. The fact he was so gracious in showing me his actual signature moves was move than I could've asked for.
It was only at the end of the day that everything really hit home for me. We were spending the last hour or so focusing on the double wrist lock. The first catch wrestling move I ever saw and the signature hold of my hero Kazushi Sakuraba. At one point Billy used me as a dumby to explain the finer points in the application and it was only as I was getting back to my feet I realised that a few years ago I was watching Billy Robinson teach that hold and mention how his "boy Sakuraba beat the Gracies with it," and now here I was having the same man apply that hold to me. It felt like a fitting end to the weekend and motivation for me to continue training hard.
Billy made sure we all had his email address and number incase we needed his advice or just wanted to contact him. He made sure I had a spare buisness card for me to hand to my coach, Roy, back in Wigan. Although as I write this I still haven't messaged him. I think I'm still looking for something meaningful to ask him (you never want to come across like the village idiot to someone you respect, do you?). I'm sure I'll think of something. If not, you can never say "thank you" too many times, can you?
Although this was a short one the next post will be much longer as it's the final one of the SLC series. We'll cover what I did after training that day, how I spent my final full day in America, and the trip back home. Amatuer food reviews aplenty.
Jack G.
Sunday 13 February 2011
SLC Volume 3: Jack Gallagher vs. The Double Underhook Suplex
SLC - Day 3
I wake up early because there's no chance in hell I'm waking up late today. Go through the motions of getting breakfast, mailing friends and family to keep them updated, and exercising, before I'm out infront of the hotel waiting to be picked up. I'm about half way through Hey Jude by the time the van rolls up.
"Jack?"
"Yeah."
"Hop on in."
From the videos I've seen online I know it's Jake. I jump into the backseat with two other guys who're planning on training this weekend. We get the introductions out of the way before settling into some wrestling related banter. We're only talking for a few minutes before the person in the passengers seat speaks and I nearly jump out of my skin when he does. It's Billy. He has a very distinctive voice so there was no mistaking him. I didn't even realise he was in the car because as I was picked up, I looked past him to speak to Jake. Luckily I didn't jump out of my skin, or in my seat. We make it to the gym shortly after, get changed, and wait for training to begin. The first day is going to be based around stand up wrestling. In other words, taking the opponent down to the floor as well as getting back to your feet from the ground. After one or two familiar moves, we get into some not so familiar territory. This training was worth the travel.
We break around the three hour mark to eat lunch and note down what we'd gone over (because the camp was more about introducing you to the moves and you drill them at a later date, that way we covered more ground with the same amount of time). It's during this time Billy comes up to me and tells me to grab a partner so he can teach me a move that might've been worth this whole trip alone, the double underhook suplex. For anyone not familiar with wrestling, why are you reading a blog entitled Grapple Days? (I'm kidding, please keep reading) No, for people who aren't so acquainted with wrestling, the double underhook suplex is Billy's signature move. His "finisher," to use the modern vernacular. Taught to him by an Greco-Roman wrestling gold medalist, who actually used the throw to win the gold medal. Needless to say, there's a pedigree to this move and I was so appreciative to be shown it because I'd mentioned it to Billy in passing, and never thought twice that he'd actually teach how to do it. I get my hands in the right position, step in, and over the guy goes. Okay, that felt too easy for me to be doing it right. Billy says that's it, but he got it as good as he did because he drilled it for a week, on all different body types, tall guys, short guys, wide guys, thin guys, etc. Just that move, over and over for a week straight, and if I want to get good at it, I'm going to have to practise it in a similar fashion. I make a mental note of that for when I get back to England, and ask "Billy, what's the heaviest I should be looking at to suplex?"
"About twice your bodyweight," he says. Okay, that's over three hundred pounds... no wonder the suplex felt so easy on someone my own weight.
After being taught two more, equally nice, new suplexs, we're back in the full group and going over more moves. Honestly, me trying to describe and breakdown why this training was good, will become tedious and unreadable, so you'll have to take my word for it. It was very good training.
I'd done about 8 to 9 hours of training by the time we wrapped up the first day. I made an arrangement to hang out with a couple of the guys and got drove back to the hotel. I'm tired, primarily because I woke up earlier than usual and I'd been lacking a source of coffee all day. I flick the coffee maker in my room on and jump into a much needed shower. Clean and armed with caffine I sit at the table by the door and begin to write up notes from today. I fell asleep on the table after the first page.
I wake up to a knock at my door. Thank god I got dressed after my shower. It's the guys from training. We head out and look downtown for somewhere to eat, which ment we walked around looking for a place that does good ribs, quit, and went to the nearest place that sold something appealing. Over chinese food and sandwiches, I acted like the moron of a tourist I'd become these last few days and asked how much exactly is a dime (because there's no number on a dime to actually tell you how much it's worth. It's not like a quarter, where it's obviously a quarter of a dollar). My ignorance was not taunted but it did lead us onto all the other uses of dime in American slang, which brought us to British slang and swears too. I'd just like to state now, that cockney rhyming slang is hilarious when you have to explain the concept out loud.
"So, you rhyme what you mean with something else. Dog and bone becomes phone, right? But only dog and bone can mean phone, you can't just rhyme phone with anything."
What kind of country comes up with a concept like that?
In the next post it's back to the mats with Billy for some ground work.
Jack G.
I wake up early because there's no chance in hell I'm waking up late today. Go through the motions of getting breakfast, mailing friends and family to keep them updated, and exercising, before I'm out infront of the hotel waiting to be picked up. I'm about half way through Hey Jude by the time the van rolls up.
"Jack?"
"Yeah."
"Hop on in."
From the videos I've seen online I know it's Jake. I jump into the backseat with two other guys who're planning on training this weekend. We get the introductions out of the way before settling into some wrestling related banter. We're only talking for a few minutes before the person in the passengers seat speaks and I nearly jump out of my skin when he does. It's Billy. He has a very distinctive voice so there was no mistaking him. I didn't even realise he was in the car because as I was picked up, I looked past him to speak to Jake. Luckily I didn't jump out of my skin, or in my seat. We make it to the gym shortly after, get changed, and wait for training to begin. The first day is going to be based around stand up wrestling. In other words, taking the opponent down to the floor as well as getting back to your feet from the ground. After one or two familiar moves, we get into some not so familiar territory. This training was worth the travel.
We break around the three hour mark to eat lunch and note down what we'd gone over (because the camp was more about introducing you to the moves and you drill them at a later date, that way we covered more ground with the same amount of time). It's during this time Billy comes up to me and tells me to grab a partner so he can teach me a move that might've been worth this whole trip alone, the double underhook suplex. For anyone not familiar with wrestling, why are you reading a blog entitled Grapple Days? (I'm kidding, please keep reading) No, for people who aren't so acquainted with wrestling, the double underhook suplex is Billy's signature move. His "finisher," to use the modern vernacular. Taught to him by an Greco-Roman wrestling gold medalist, who actually used the throw to win the gold medal. Needless to say, there's a pedigree to this move and I was so appreciative to be shown it because I'd mentioned it to Billy in passing, and never thought twice that he'd actually teach how to do it. I get my hands in the right position, step in, and over the guy goes. Okay, that felt too easy for me to be doing it right. Billy says that's it, but he got it as good as he did because he drilled it for a week, on all different body types, tall guys, short guys, wide guys, thin guys, etc. Just that move, over and over for a week straight, and if I want to get good at it, I'm going to have to practise it in a similar fashion. I make a mental note of that for when I get back to England, and ask "Billy, what's the heaviest I should be looking at to suplex?"
"About twice your bodyweight," he says. Okay, that's over three hundred pounds... no wonder the suplex felt so easy on someone my own weight.
After being taught two more, equally nice, new suplexs, we're back in the full group and going over more moves. Honestly, me trying to describe and breakdown why this training was good, will become tedious and unreadable, so you'll have to take my word for it. It was very good training.
I'd done about 8 to 9 hours of training by the time we wrapped up the first day. I made an arrangement to hang out with a couple of the guys and got drove back to the hotel. I'm tired, primarily because I woke up earlier than usual and I'd been lacking a source of coffee all day. I flick the coffee maker in my room on and jump into a much needed shower. Clean and armed with caffine I sit at the table by the door and begin to write up notes from today. I fell asleep on the table after the first page.
I wake up to a knock at my door. Thank god I got dressed after my shower. It's the guys from training. We head out and look downtown for somewhere to eat, which ment we walked around looking for a place that does good ribs, quit, and went to the nearest place that sold something appealing. Over chinese food and sandwiches, I acted like the moron of a tourist I'd become these last few days and asked how much exactly is a dime (because there's no number on a dime to actually tell you how much it's worth. It's not like a quarter, where it's obviously a quarter of a dollar). My ignorance was not taunted but it did lead us onto all the other uses of dime in American slang, which brought us to British slang and swears too. I'd just like to state now, that cockney rhyming slang is hilarious when you have to explain the concept out loud.
"So, you rhyme what you mean with something else. Dog and bone becomes phone, right? But only dog and bone can mean phone, you can't just rhyme phone with anything."
What kind of country comes up with a concept like that?
In the next post it's back to the mats with Billy for some ground work.
Jack G.
SLC Volume 2: Jack Gallagher vs. The Sushi
SLC - Day 2
"This isn't my bed. Oh yeah, I'm in America. Weird."
It's about half seven in the morning and, as per usual, I'm hungry. I remember that the hotel did a free breakfast until eleven, so I swing myself out of bed, slip on my jeans and go out to see if anything decent was on offer. There was. The breakfast consisted of a humble range of breads, bagels, coffee, fruits, and juices. I grab abit of everything I pull out my mental to do list. First I had to contact my parents and let them know I'm safe (because my mobile doesn't work internationally and I couldn't figure out how to make the pay phones call Manchester either), second I had to get a general idea of what was within walking distance of my hotel i.e. food, and finally, I had to make a phone call to Jake Shannon, the guy who ran scientificwrestling.com, and double check all the details for training tomorrow.
After something whole grain, I slipped into the lobby to see if I could use the computer set up there. Somebody was already on it. Great. So rather than stand there, staring at the guy at the guy like a stalker, I figured I'd just head out and see what kind of food I'd be living on this week. My first impression was alot of fast food. I'd walked up the main road, for about twenty minutes, to see what shops there were and apart from the numberous fast food places there was a dollar store and everything else was car centric. Everything apart from one 7-11. Which ment there was one place I could use to stock my fridge (I made sure to get a room with a fridge). I grabbed some supplies and trekked back through the snow to the lobby to see if the computer had freed up. Oh yeah, snow. I'd traveled hundreds of miles from a land whose weather consisted of regular showers and cold temperatures, to one that I had assumed would be a little warmer. It turns out Salt Lake City was just as cold as England, but they have snow instead of rain. Anyway, I got back to the lobby and used the now free computer to tell everyone not to worry and to reframe from planning the funeral.
Back in my room to stock the fridge and finish my up with my to do list. Double check training is still happening (because I'm always paranoid of things being elaborate practical jokes) and how I'm getting there. "Yeah we'll pick you up from *such and such a time* in the morning. Your hotel is on the way to Billy's," says the voice down the phone. "That's cool," I think "I'll be able to meet the man himself before we have to train." Sorted. Actually a problem did develop. With my to do list done, I had nothing to do (obviously) until tomorrow and I had plenty of the day left. Then again I'd yet to look downtown. I'd walked up and down the main road but I hadn't ventured into downtown yet because the bridge, that would've ment it was a straight walk, wasn't there and I'm not the best at finding my own way. It's always best if I get directions first and a map. I got both and set off.
I won't bore you with the what essentially me browsing shops for a couple of hours, instead it's time to introduce a new section to these blogs:
The Adventures of Super Sushi Boy
Yeah, I like sushi. Scratch that. I love sushi. It's easily my favourite food on the planet. So when I saw there were a bunch of japanese restaurants in SLC I knew where I'd be eating every night.
In Manchester visited I've pretty much every japanese restaurant there is, so I'm a pretty decent judge of the stuff even if it is only in comparison to my hometown favourites. So let's get ready for:
Manchester vs. SLC *Round 1*
Representing the Salt Lake, in this round, will be the Happy Sumo. The contest will be fought with nine pieces of spicy tuna and a miso soup.
The first restaurant of the trip was a good one. You could sit and watch the food being prepared at the bar, or attempt to distract yourself with the sports channel. Since watching the sports would've been like attempting to understand japanese, I decided to focus more of the food infront of me.
First up was the miso soup, and it was in a very friendly sized bowl, meaning large, which automatically gained the place some points. That, and the soup being really good, ment the Happy Sumo was off to a good start. The problem was the tuna wasn't anything special. It tasted good, nay great, but then again all sushi tastes great to me, so the main meal didn't really stand out. Where Salt Lake fell short though, was in the lack of inarizushi and red bean mochi.
Inarizushi is sushi rice wrapped in fried tofu and it's a must for any sushi place because it is nothing short of amazing. Something else that equals amazing is mochi. Mochi is a rice cake that can be filled with numberous things to add flavour, red bean paste being the best. With both of these key components of anyones sushi experience missing, I'm giving this round to Manchester.
I pay my bill and head back to what had quickly become a home for me. I'd decided the best way to spend the rest of my day was reading and day dreaming about double underhook suplexs.
In the next post I finally meet the man himself, Billy Robinson
Jack G.
"This isn't my bed. Oh yeah, I'm in America. Weird."
It's about half seven in the morning and, as per usual, I'm hungry. I remember that the hotel did a free breakfast until eleven, so I swing myself out of bed, slip on my jeans and go out to see if anything decent was on offer. There was. The breakfast consisted of a humble range of breads, bagels, coffee, fruits, and juices. I grab abit of everything I pull out my mental to do list. First I had to contact my parents and let them know I'm safe (because my mobile doesn't work internationally and I couldn't figure out how to make the pay phones call Manchester either), second I had to get a general idea of what was within walking distance of my hotel i.e. food, and finally, I had to make a phone call to Jake Shannon, the guy who ran scientificwrestling.com, and double check all the details for training tomorrow.
After something whole grain, I slipped into the lobby to see if I could use the computer set up there. Somebody was already on it. Great. So rather than stand there, staring at the guy at the guy like a stalker, I figured I'd just head out and see what kind of food I'd be living on this week. My first impression was alot of fast food. I'd walked up the main road, for about twenty minutes, to see what shops there were and apart from the numberous fast food places there was a dollar store and everything else was car centric. Everything apart from one 7-11. Which ment there was one place I could use to stock my fridge (I made sure to get a room with a fridge). I grabbed some supplies and trekked back through the snow to the lobby to see if the computer had freed up. Oh yeah, snow. I'd traveled hundreds of miles from a land whose weather consisted of regular showers and cold temperatures, to one that I had assumed would be a little warmer. It turns out Salt Lake City was just as cold as England, but they have snow instead of rain. Anyway, I got back to the lobby and used the now free computer to tell everyone not to worry and to reframe from planning the funeral.
Back in my room to stock the fridge and finish my up with my to do list. Double check training is still happening (because I'm always paranoid of things being elaborate practical jokes) and how I'm getting there. "Yeah we'll pick you up from *such and such a time* in the morning. Your hotel is on the way to Billy's," says the voice down the phone. "That's cool," I think "I'll be able to meet the man himself before we have to train." Sorted. Actually a problem did develop. With my to do list done, I had nothing to do (obviously) until tomorrow and I had plenty of the day left. Then again I'd yet to look downtown. I'd walked up and down the main road but I hadn't ventured into downtown yet because the bridge, that would've ment it was a straight walk, wasn't there and I'm not the best at finding my own way. It's always best if I get directions first and a map. I got both and set off.
I won't bore you with the what essentially me browsing shops for a couple of hours, instead it's time to introduce a new section to these blogs:
The Adventures of Super Sushi Boy
Yeah, I like sushi. Scratch that. I love sushi. It's easily my favourite food on the planet. So when I saw there were a bunch of japanese restaurants in SLC I knew where I'd be eating every night.
In Manchester visited I've pretty much every japanese restaurant there is, so I'm a pretty decent judge of the stuff even if it is only in comparison to my hometown favourites. So let's get ready for:
Manchester vs. SLC *Round 1*
Representing the Salt Lake, in this round, will be the Happy Sumo. The contest will be fought with nine pieces of spicy tuna and a miso soup.
The first restaurant of the trip was a good one. You could sit and watch the food being prepared at the bar, or attempt to distract yourself with the sports channel. Since watching the sports would've been like attempting to understand japanese, I decided to focus more of the food infront of me.
First up was the miso soup, and it was in a very friendly sized bowl, meaning large, which automatically gained the place some points. That, and the soup being really good, ment the Happy Sumo was off to a good start. The problem was the tuna wasn't anything special. It tasted good, nay great, but then again all sushi tastes great to me, so the main meal didn't really stand out. Where Salt Lake fell short though, was in the lack of inarizushi and red bean mochi.
Inarizushi is sushi rice wrapped in fried tofu and it's a must for any sushi place because it is nothing short of amazing. Something else that equals amazing is mochi. Mochi is a rice cake that can be filled with numberous things to add flavour, red bean paste being the best. With both of these key components of anyones sushi experience missing, I'm giving this round to Manchester.
I pay my bill and head back to what had quickly become a home for me. I'd decided the best way to spend the rest of my day was reading and day dreaming about double underhook suplexs.
In the next post I finally meet the man himself, Billy Robinson
Jack G.
Monday 31 January 2011
SLC Volume 1: Jack Gallagher vs. The Sky
As I've mentioned before, my style of wrestling stems from the Lancashire style of Catch Wrestling and I regularly train with Roy Wood (not the lead singer of Wizard). I have failed to mention previously, due to a terrible slip of the mind, that the first real exposure I had to the style was through a wrestler by the name of Billy Robinson. A few years ago, before I'd stepped a foot in Aspull, I happened across a video on youtube of an old pro wrestler (Billy) torturing two poor MMA fighters with what he called "the double wrist lock." He broke every part of the move down into such detail, knowing what to do and what not to do, as well as why. I was amazed. During the whole video "scientificwrestling.com" was shown at the bottom. I typed it in and found an American based site, which ment the training was American based and there wasn't much chance that the old wrestling coach would be wandering down my street anytime soon. Too bad. Although not long after that I rediscovered UWFi and that lead me to Kazushi Sakuraba, which is what finally got me on a train to Wigan.
It all started with Billy Robinson and that double wrist lock.
Flash forward about 2 years and you've got me, sitting at my laptop, fresh from a flight back from Salt Lake City Utah. Head filled with a gravelly voice shouting "Do it again! Do it again!" I'll be waking up for weeks hearing that voice. I've just got back from seeing Billy.
SLC - The Preliminaries
Whenever I have to make a decision which takes me out of my routine, and therefore out of my comfort zone, I have to make it as soon as possible otherwise I'll procrastinate and over think the situation and it'll never get done. I was spending some of my, increasing sparse, free time watching wrestling videos. Specifically watching Antonio Inoki get belly to belly suplexed over the top rope, for maybe the seventh time, when I started thinking about my training and where I was going and goals I'd set and so on. I always try and keep myself moving foward, and moving towards somewhere that I'd want to be. I felt like I needed a change. Something to kick me in the arse and get me running again. So after rewinding and watching Inoki go over the top rope for the eighth time, I looked to his opponent, Billy Robinson.
I knew Billy had been doing Catch wrestling certifications every five or six months (the certifications are to modern day Catch what the grading systems are to Eastern martial arts i.e. to stop any old idiot running around claiming he's a master) for the last few years. I started thinking that what I needed was a pseudo holiday. Get away from everything for a few days, change of scenery, and meet and train with one of the greatest wrestlers of all time. Sounded like a good plan.
SLC - Day 1 - Travel
A few months after I make that decision I'm sat in my kitchen, at about six in the morning, double checking every I need is packed. Clothes (check), training gear (check), books (check), protein power ((God, I hope they don't think it's drugs) check), I'm ready. I've given myself more than enough time to get to the airport and check in. Everything runs fine. I check in, grab a snack (my first of what was to be many servings of sushi), and read a book, whilst keeping a constant eye on the board telling me when the airplane's ready.
I'd previously flown, but it had been years since I'd been on a plane and since my last international trip I felt I'd gotten a better grasp of the concept, and fear of, death. As a kid I never really thought twice about the plane crashing. As a twenty year old it seemed like the only thing I could think about. It didn't hit me until that first intial jolt of the engines, but once it did I felt my heart racing. Obviously everything went fine, because I'm typing this right now, but I'm just glad that no one was sitting next to me on that take off because my eyes were wide and my breathing didn't sound healthy. In short, I looked like I was having a panic attack. My mind flicked to that scene in Fight Club where Tyler is explaining that the reason they give you oxygen masks on an airplane is to get you high on pure air, which allows you to accept death easier. This didn't help. "Try to focus on something else," said some part of my mind, then another part of my brain decided that Final Destination was an equally good movie to remember at a time like this. Honestly I'm my own worst enemy. I imagined running up to the cockpit to ask the pilot to land the plane and let me off, but in my mind's eye the person who appeared on the otherside of the door wasn't me, it was Leslie Nielsen. He swung his head in and said "Good luck. We're all counting on you." Okay, that thought made me relax a little.
After a couple minutes of being in the air and a surprisingly nice meal, I relaxed a little more, but not much. I was trying not to fall asleep because I knew I wouldn't be dreaming anything comforting. Luckily I needed the tiolet. I say luckily because when I was stood in the bathroom I realised as long as I don't see an open window I'm fine with being in the air. I could just convince myself I was on a train. That made the hours alot easier to pass by and let me get some decent sleep. The first flight took me from Manchester to Las Vegas, after that I was going from Vegas to Atlanta, and then, finally, Atlanta to Salt Lake City.
Arriving in Vegas was weird. I was in America but I wasn't really going to get to see it properly for another few hours, because I had to stay in the airport. I'd have to wait until Utah before I got to look at anything other than airplanes and fast food. The next few flights went fine. I'd gotten over the near heart attack on the first trip of the day, so the remaining two were easy to deal with. Apart from forgetting I had a bottle of water in my bag and only realising after the bag was scanned ("Please don't think I'm a terrorist. Please don't think I'm a terrorist.") the rest of the day past without much interesting happening. I arrived in Utah near midnight, got to my hotel, and fell asleep by one. I'd gained seven hours traveling. I remember thinking that back in England people were probably leaving their front doors on the way to work, whilst I was just about to fall asleep in America.
On the next post I spend my first full day in Utah, getting the lay of the land, double checking training details, and begining what would become an adventure into as many sushi restaurants as I could find.
Jack G.
It all started with Billy Robinson and that double wrist lock.
Flash forward about 2 years and you've got me, sitting at my laptop, fresh from a flight back from Salt Lake City Utah. Head filled with a gravelly voice shouting "Do it again! Do it again!" I'll be waking up for weeks hearing that voice. I've just got back from seeing Billy.
SLC - The Preliminaries
Whenever I have to make a decision which takes me out of my routine, and therefore out of my comfort zone, I have to make it as soon as possible otherwise I'll procrastinate and over think the situation and it'll never get done. I was spending some of my, increasing sparse, free time watching wrestling videos. Specifically watching Antonio Inoki get belly to belly suplexed over the top rope, for maybe the seventh time, when I started thinking about my training and where I was going and goals I'd set and so on. I always try and keep myself moving foward, and moving towards somewhere that I'd want to be. I felt like I needed a change. Something to kick me in the arse and get me running again. So after rewinding and watching Inoki go over the top rope for the eighth time, I looked to his opponent, Billy Robinson.
I knew Billy had been doing Catch wrestling certifications every five or six months (the certifications are to modern day Catch what the grading systems are to Eastern martial arts i.e. to stop any old idiot running around claiming he's a master) for the last few years. I started thinking that what I needed was a pseudo holiday. Get away from everything for a few days, change of scenery, and meet and train with one of the greatest wrestlers of all time. Sounded like a good plan.
SLC - Day 1 - Travel
A few months after I make that decision I'm sat in my kitchen, at about six in the morning, double checking every I need is packed. Clothes (check), training gear (check), books (check), protein power ((God, I hope they don't think it's drugs) check), I'm ready. I've given myself more than enough time to get to the airport and check in. Everything runs fine. I check in, grab a snack (my first of what was to be many servings of sushi), and read a book, whilst keeping a constant eye on the board telling me when the airplane's ready.
I'd previously flown, but it had been years since I'd been on a plane and since my last international trip I felt I'd gotten a better grasp of the concept, and fear of, death. As a kid I never really thought twice about the plane crashing. As a twenty year old it seemed like the only thing I could think about. It didn't hit me until that first intial jolt of the engines, but once it did I felt my heart racing. Obviously everything went fine, because I'm typing this right now, but I'm just glad that no one was sitting next to me on that take off because my eyes were wide and my breathing didn't sound healthy. In short, I looked like I was having a panic attack. My mind flicked to that scene in Fight Club where Tyler is explaining that the reason they give you oxygen masks on an airplane is to get you high on pure air, which allows you to accept death easier. This didn't help. "Try to focus on something else," said some part of my mind, then another part of my brain decided that Final Destination was an equally good movie to remember at a time like this. Honestly I'm my own worst enemy. I imagined running up to the cockpit to ask the pilot to land the plane and let me off, but in my mind's eye the person who appeared on the otherside of the door wasn't me, it was Leslie Nielsen. He swung his head in and said "Good luck. We're all counting on you." Okay, that thought made me relax a little.
After a couple minutes of being in the air and a surprisingly nice meal, I relaxed a little more, but not much. I was trying not to fall asleep because I knew I wouldn't be dreaming anything comforting. Luckily I needed the tiolet. I say luckily because when I was stood in the bathroom I realised as long as I don't see an open window I'm fine with being in the air. I could just convince myself I was on a train. That made the hours alot easier to pass by and let me get some decent sleep. The first flight took me from Manchester to Las Vegas, after that I was going from Vegas to Atlanta, and then, finally, Atlanta to Salt Lake City.
Arriving in Vegas was weird. I was in America but I wasn't really going to get to see it properly for another few hours, because I had to stay in the airport. I'd have to wait until Utah before I got to look at anything other than airplanes and fast food. The next few flights went fine. I'd gotten over the near heart attack on the first trip of the day, so the remaining two were easy to deal with. Apart from forgetting I had a bottle of water in my bag and only realising after the bag was scanned ("Please don't think I'm a terrorist. Please don't think I'm a terrorist.") the rest of the day past without much interesting happening. I arrived in Utah near midnight, got to my hotel, and fell asleep by one. I'd gained seven hours traveling. I remember thinking that back in England people were probably leaving their front doors on the way to work, whilst I was just about to fall asleep in America.
On the next post I spend my first full day in Utah, getting the lay of the land, double checking training details, and begining what would become an adventure into as many sushi restaurants as I could find.
Jack G.
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