I was amused to find Ray bemoaning in a comment below that his Tai Chi failed him when he recently got into a fight. How do you yield when a really aggressive and well-trained attack is flying at you from all angles, he asks. My first response would be to say don't be so stupid as to get into such a situation, however this probably doesn't help. I'd also say that no amount of training under the polite controlled confines of a Tai Chi class is really going to help you much unless that class is teaching you, first and foremost, to fearlessly let your energy out. Unless you can do this yielding will probably be of little use to you. Yielding to blows will be too late. You must yield to their mind and spirit, which requires you to leap in and catch it. In a real fight you cannot afford to have any concerns other than those of survival (winning). Suss out who is the leader of the pack and go quickly for their groin, eyes and nose. Strike first. My teacher has said to me, if you ever get into a fight just hope it happens so quickly that you don't have time to get frightened. He's also said that the one thing you must not do, and which most non-natural fighters will do, is flinch. He's also said that the amount of yielding necessary in a real fight is miniscule and is faster than thought. He's also said, if you find yourself in a fight then your Tai Chi has failed you. If you insist on fighting I would recommend a different martial art.
I remember once in my local kebab shop in Hackney there were two young black men messing around and throwing punches at each other. The blows were literally so fast and loose that I couldn't see the arms. "You'd yield to their spirit", was my teachers response when I told him about it. I also remember another occasion in Hackney seeing a black teenager taunting a group of about five Turkish men. They came at him, fists flying, and he gently walked backwards, staying just inches out of range of the blows, still taunting, for a good minute before he got bored and turned and ran. I was at a perfect vantage to see the energy of the situation (I was upstairs on a stationary bus): the young kid had thrown some energy out - a tempter - and had then reeled it in. At no point did he lose his cool and he stayed on top of the situation because he had created it - he had tricked those Turks into playing his game.
I haven't come across many natural fighters (Begbie in Trainspotting is a good example of a natural fighter). John Kells is certainly one. There was only one other from the Tai Chi classes (Tai Chi doesn't usually attract them), a Welsh guy who lived down the road from me (also in Hackney) who I would often bump into on the 253 bus. I had taught the class he was in and he looked up to me and we would generally chat. He was extremely intense and on a very short fuse and his company always had the thrill of danger for a softy like me who had never ever raised a hand to anyone. He told me once that the first fight he ever got into was at school with an older boy and he got badly beaten up. He went home, bloodied and bruised, and told his dad, a tough cookie by all accounts, what had happened. The dad asked where the boy lived, dragged Glynn round to his house, dragged the surprised boy out of his house, past his even more surprised parents, and made the two of them fight it out in the street until Glynn won. It took ages apparently, but eventually the other boy lost heart and Glynn pasted him. That was his first lesson. He also told me how Tai Chi had helped him control his aggression. Later in the same conversation he told me how the night before he’d had some difficulty with a punter at the club he worked (he was a doorman). He’d stayed calm and tried to gently persuade the trouble-maker to leave. “He just wouldn’t listen to reason”, Glynn said. “What happened?” I asked. “Oh, I eventually hit him with a hammer”. In his opinion the fact that he’d tried gentle persuasion before he’d used the hammer was an indication of his softening character. I managed to keep my class in Hackney secret from him. I didn’t want him terrifying my nice middle-class intake with his wild Celtic aggression, although I dare say it would have done them some good.
I remember once in my local kebab shop in Hackney there were two young black men messing around and throwing punches at each other. The blows were literally so fast and loose that I couldn't see the arms. "You'd yield to their spirit", was my teachers response when I told him about it. I also remember another occasion in Hackney seeing a black teenager taunting a group of about five Turkish men. They came at him, fists flying, and he gently walked backwards, staying just inches out of range of the blows, still taunting, for a good minute before he got bored and turned and ran. I was at a perfect vantage to see the energy of the situation (I was upstairs on a stationary bus): the young kid had thrown some energy out - a tempter - and had then reeled it in. At no point did he lose his cool and he stayed on top of the situation because he had created it - he had tricked those Turks into playing his game.
I haven't come across many natural fighters (Begbie in Trainspotting is a good example of a natural fighter). John Kells is certainly one. There was only one other from the Tai Chi classes (Tai Chi doesn't usually attract them), a Welsh guy who lived down the road from me (also in Hackney) who I would often bump into on the 253 bus. I had taught the class he was in and he looked up to me and we would generally chat. He was extremely intense and on a very short fuse and his company always had the thrill of danger for a softy like me who had never ever raised a hand to anyone. He told me once that the first fight he ever got into was at school with an older boy and he got badly beaten up. He went home, bloodied and bruised, and told his dad, a tough cookie by all accounts, what had happened. The dad asked where the boy lived, dragged Glynn round to his house, dragged the surprised boy out of his house, past his even more surprised parents, and made the two of them fight it out in the street until Glynn won. It took ages apparently, but eventually the other boy lost heart and Glynn pasted him. That was his first lesson. He also told me how Tai Chi had helped him control his aggression. Later in the same conversation he told me how the night before he’d had some difficulty with a punter at the club he worked (he was a doorman). He’d stayed calm and tried to gently persuade the trouble-maker to leave. “He just wouldn’t listen to reason”, Glynn said. “What happened?” I asked. “Oh, I eventually hit him with a hammer”. In his opinion the fact that he’d tried gentle persuasion before he’d used the hammer was an indication of his softening character. I managed to keep my class in Hackney secret from him. I didn’t want him terrifying my nice middle-class intake with his wild Celtic aggression, although I dare say it would have done them some good.
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