Ghost Troop Home Page April Fools Part 4
Yo Andre, it’s been too long since we’ve talked. Thanks for getting in touch. Sure we can get back into the tae kwon do and hapkido, and I’m considering having you boys learn the hapkido cane. I’m playing with its nuances more and more lately, and have come to realize that it is the like a certain chess piece, the knight. Indeed, it’s shaped like the down-and-out attack pattern of the knight (which, come to think of it, was my favorite pattern to run when I was a wide receiver back when I was dumb enough to play football). The apprentice (your humble Brass Dragon, Captain May) uses the straight end as a baton, in saber patterns of strikes, pool-cue thrusts and linear blocks. The master (which I aspire to be) uses the crooked end for seizing, manipulating, trapping…
As for the staff, I’m
still having a dandy time with it. The
other night the Flying Dragon (Great Grandmaster Yu) had a visiting teacher
from
Hut Spah
strode forth like Achilles, and marshaled me through the basic staff strikes,
which I performed as adeptly, in his mind, as any attentive beginner should be
able to do. Then he “taught” me the
complexities of the forehand strike from the back stance, reversed to a backhand
leg strike, then another forehand. You
and Caesar know the move, ‘cause I had you practicing
it when y’all were beating out my rugs in my back acre. When you come by next time, bring your staff,
‘cause it’s rug cleaning time again. He smiled to see that, under his expert
instruction, I had accomplished this flawlessly from the first effort. He bade me sit, and gave me a demonstration
of the staff to teach me a move or two.
I sat martial arts style on the floor and watched. He had a fair ability with vertical and
horizontal rotation, though not much concept of the interconnectivity of
rotation and strike. He was about the
way I was when I came back from my hike across
Having made his example, he stopped the demonstration, motioning for me to rise and attempt a demonstration. Like a good student, I bowed my head to the floor in gratitude for the lesson first, then rose to work through his verticals. Then the first surprise: I began to reverse the verticals (I’ve taught y’all at the Brass Dragon Dojang), then I began to morph the retrograde into one-hand-alone, then two-hands-joined variants. (You’ve seen the moves, but I ordered y’all not to practice ‘em because I knew you’d get a concussion or a broken collar bone if you did.)
Then I worked everything I’d worked to that point beyond the ballet of the spins to the brunt of the strikes. For good measure I demonstrated the more advanced horizontal positions, then shifted into a few Japanese variations I’ve picked up (less sinuous, more direct that the Chinese-influenced Korean staff style). By now we were about ten minutes into the five-minute demo. Throughout it all I had the pleasure a peripheral view of Mr. Hut Spah’s mouth gaping in wonder and bewilderment and – on the far side of the dojang – The Flying Dragon smiling for no apparent reason. My muscles were beginning to ache and I didn’t want to spoil things by dropping the staff (still a sad eventuality if I go on long enough, for I am no great expert). I decided to end it all with a flourish for my master by springing into the cross-legged X stance and giving Mr. Hut Spa a pool-cue thrust, stopping the staff tip a roomy one foot from his skull, then spinning 360 degrees without lifting my feet to give him a second, same place, same distance. The Flying Dragon had showed me that one a couple of years ago and hadn’t known until that moment that I’d figured it out for myself. It was a fine moment, Andre.
The Flying Dragon had set an ego trap to teach him a lesson, and I’d seen it coming from the start because the Flying Dragon has set me so many ego traps for so many years – every one of them to edify me as a martial artist. So how well did he do? He bowed deeply, showed admiration, and asked that I teach him. That’s how a good martial artist bears edification, my dear student, Andre Rodriguez. Learn from those who are stronger in those areas in which they are stronger. [Editor’s emphasis, in all cases]
Shit, even a redneck has that much sense. Remember that dumbass oversize high school boy I put in line for the Iron Dragon last year? Remember how his really big dad and he hopped out of the pickup truck the next night and thought they’d roust me, not knowing who I was, and remember how they hollered and blustered until I’d had enough of listening to ‘em and turned away? Remember how the dad got a little too threatening while I was walking away and earned a palm heel in the solar plexus (left hand ‘cause I didn’t want to hurt him) that put him back on his heels and knocked the breath out of his bullying ass? Well, since you remember that much you’ll remember the next words out of the now-wise bully. “Don’t hit me again.” I didn’t hit him again. I told him to go away. He went away. After that we called him “Baby Huey” and laughed it over, but the man showed common sense, I’ve got to give him that.
One time back in my days with the First Cavalry Division, I pissed off Glen Winston (a.k.a., to friends, Winnie Glen), who had been a so-so pro boxer. In those days I had no particular fighting skills, so I never saw the left jab that hit me until it hit me, square on the forehead. I took two steps back and somehow kept on my feet. “Do you need some more?” “Winnie Glen” asked me, matter-of-factly. I had an epiphany, Andre, and it came to me in a single word: “No.” I knew all at once that every delusional thought that had come to me from watching Rocky movies, practicing the speed bag a bit and staying in good shape meant nothing. I was a paper tiger, and he was the real thing. I’m glad I made that smart decision that day, and now that I know how well a fighter can place his punches, I’m mighty grateful to Winnie Glen that he put that light jab right where it could knock some sense into me instead of breaking my nose a couple of inches down or shattering either cheek bone a couple of inches either side of the nose – or caving in my face with a right. If he were to try the same thing today, I would probably be able to retreat from and deflect the blow – then I would still say that I didn’t want to fight, and walk away.
See, just because you’ve become a tough guy doesn’t mean you have to act like a tough guy. It’s a good thing Baby Huey learned his lesson quickly outside the Iron Dragon Dojang, that Mr. Hut Spa knew better inside the Flying Dragon Dojang – and that you students of mine keep it in mind in the Brass Dragon Dojang. It’s just too damn bad that Boy George can’t act that way in the dojang of Mars, where he’s sending Coloreds and Crackers to back up his empty tough talk. I figure the clueless white folks will continue to enable him until we’ve suffered thousands of dead abroad and eventually, again, at home. See why I insist that my students learn to be strong, Andre? A weakling like the Bushling is the perfect guy to take us down to a historic defeat.
You remember the cold
night in the winter after outdoors training when you and Caesar and I were talking
about the coming war and the defection of
Think about it, mi amigo. Any need to wonder why folks
have been so skittish about doing their job where the prez
is concerned?
Heck, you and Caesar know exactly what I’m talking about. Neither one of you wanted to leave my house
on the night of July 18 with my manuscript with you, though y’all did promise
to remember me kindly to folks after I got suicided
like Dr. Kelly in
Anyhow, say hi to my other wayward student, Mr. de Paz. You prodigals need to come home to the Brass Dragon,
Captain May
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