Photo taken from LANNAMMA.com
Two fighters get in their stance, slowly bob and weave without losing eye contact. One wears a yellow belt, lesser in rank than his opponent, whose blue belt matches her hair tie. Yellow Belt thrusts his right knee to his opponent’s left hip. Blue Belt slams her left arm down to block. Yellow Belt steps back, picks up his stance, charges with his right foot forward and punches with his black boxing glove. Block. But just in time. Yellow Belt’s eyes widen, “That didn’t hurt you, did it?” His voice hasn’t cracked yet and is shaky and tender, nothing at all like his mature and harsh hits. Blue Belt shakes her head laughing and says that she’s alright.
Rajan Bhawanidin, a skinny seven-year-old boy with big brown eyes and baby fat still clenching on to his cheeks, tightens the yellow belt around his waist. It’s break time. He, and the rest of the children who are learning Muay Thai, run to their parents who are ready with opened water bottles, words of encouragement and towels in hand.
Mauy Thai is one of the disciplines of MMA in the Ultimate Fighting Championship known for bloody cage matches, where often the winner is the last one standing. This sport was banned in Ontario until 2010, but in recent years has hit Toronto and grabbed the city’s attention in a headlock. It has clenched the awe of a younger audience and almost every MMA studio in Toronto now offers classes for children. Currently, 90 children between the ages of three and 12 are enrolled at Lanna MMA, a mixed martial arts studio in Vaughan.
Rajan was one of the many who joined last year. He throws his head back taking as much water in as fast as he can. His mother asks how many jumps he did in his warm-up cardio. Rajan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, “One hundred in the first part,” he takes a deep breath. “Two hundred in the next one,” he stops for another deep breath, “And 20 in the end.” His mother smiles, nods, and gives him his boxing gloves.
He walks back to the front of the studio with his back straight and chest pointed to the ceiling—the same poise as UFC Champion, George St. Pierre. GSP is Rajan’s favourite fighter, if he had to pick that is. He is a French-Canadian UFC middleweight champion and seen by many as the toughest and most talented fighter today.
Unlike most UFC personalities, GSP doesn’t sugar-coat what professional fighting is. He says that mixed martial arts is probably the most brutal sport in the world. On the other hand, UFC fighters and regulators have constantly called the sport not nearly as dangerous as its critics argue. Dana White, president of the UFC has said no deaths or serious injuries have occurred in the UFC’s 20-year history.
But before passionate fighters who only see the UFC octagon as a dream can make it to the royal ring, they have to survive in the world of amateur fights. These don’t have nearly as many rules and regulations. This world is not UFC. It’s not professional. It’s even more brutal where there have been deaths. As was the case for Felix Pablo Elochukwu of Hamilton, Ont., who died in his first amateur, unsanctioned match in Michigan this year in April despite being an undefeated fighter in his local studio.
Sharda Bhawanidin, Rajan’s mother says she would definitely support and encourage Rajan if he ever pursued professional fighting. She looks at Rajan who corrals a jumping rope and joins six other children who are skipping. Some children like Rajan jump with the same intense and energized drive as Sylvester Stallone in Rocky. “I know it’s dangerous and that he could get injured in a match but they have rules and regulations which control and watch fights,” she says without looking away from Rajan.
Injuries in this full contact sport—whether at the professional or amateur level—are inevitable but what many overlook is that fighters who spar with the same speed and rigor in training, have been knocked out more times than just what fans see as entertainment in the ring or cage. Its long-term effects can be seen in the stars of the UFC. Their eyes are glassed over and fighters tussle with their own words which sometimes are too difficult to comprehend. Practices and training for competitions aren’t exactly done with bubble-wrap and playful pushes.
David Maribelli, the instructor of the children’s class shouts at two little girls who giggle while nurturing soft attempts at punches, “You guys are looking too Micky Mouse Clubhouse here!”
“But what if I hurt her?” One of the girls wearing a purple bandana shouts back. Her pint-sized boxing gloves dangle at the sides of her shiny, bright pink Mauy Thai shorts.
You won’t because she’s supposed to be blocking,” reassures Mirabelli, “How will she learn to defend if you don’t attack?”
Purple Bandana tries again. No giggles. This time she means business. She thrusts her full arm forward. Her friend takes two wobbly steps back to avoid falling.
Better!” encourages Mirabelli.
In the ring behind the children, two young men in their mid-twenties train. The lighter of the two practices attacks on a bald man holding up a blocking pad. Every so often, the bald man pushes back with the pad. The lighter man struggles to stay standing, sometimes grabbing the ropes of the ring to keep from tumbling. He starts to look tired and shakes his head to stay focused. The boxing gloves he wore before like little black clouds of protection, now weigh his arms down like cement blocks.
At the front of the studio, the seven children skip while staring intensely at their shiny-headed and dampened-hair reflections in the mirrors circling the walls of the studio. Mirabelli shouts that it’s the last minute of ropes.
The mirror which the children stare at, reflects the two men in the ring who continue to exchange piercing punches and nimble blocks. The lighter of the two men begins to slow his bobbing and his stance decays. His arms fall at his sides and his opponent attacks by pushing the blocking pad against his left rib. The lighter man falls with a loud bang that echoes throughout the studio.
One of the children huffs and puffs trying to catch his breath but finally surrenders his skipping rope and sighs, “Warrior down.”
Maham Shakeel 