Jul

29

 There have been hundreds of fights over time and these are the most memorable:

1. 1988 Sir James in Huntington Beach‏

In 1988 I was living in Huntington Beach, CA doing demonstrations on the beach and under the pier in preparation for my attempt to break 100 inches of concrete at the Ed Parker National Karate Championship. I was in top shape, and had a buddy, Joe, who was small and got picked on. He came up to me one day to report that some guys at a beach party had disrespected him. I hopped on the back of his moped and we rode into the party. I got off and there were no words. They knew why I had come. Two guys came flying at me and I dropped them with a left and right to the chins using their own momentum to knock them out. Two more came and I forward jabbed them in the faces knocking them out. Two more came and I spinning back kicked one in the face and in the same motion back fisted the other, and both were knocked out. They started calling me, Sir James, and one of the six reported, 'Sir James is a dangerous man. He knocked six of us out in 13 seconds.' Actually there was a seventh who came on slowly, alone. He had some boxing skills and we fist fought. He had speed, but I was a little faster, so I slowed down and took a few blows to see what he had. Every good martial artist should to take strikes to know what his opponent is made of, and out of respect. I kept him in it for a long exchange, backed him up against a wall, and said, 'You are one touch youngster' and he hit me in the face drawing blood in the corner of my mouth. I liked that, and walked away from him, but the Sir James name stuck.

2. 1984 Graniteville, SC

In 1984 some local toughs called the Moss brothers catcalled my sister in the Graniteville, SC market parking lot and wouldn't leave her alone. When I came on the scene she was in near tears with two of the brothers on the lot and the oldest in their pickup. They were rough guys, but not gangsters and probably were picking on sis to test me. Sometimes I think people started fights with me just to watch the performance at the price of getting their asses whopped. One came up to me and said, Rambo (my nickname in the south), what are you going to do if I hit you with this bat?' I said, 'Hit me and find out'. He reared the bat over his head and I threw him the pitch. It was a spinning back kick to the chest with so much force he flipped head-over-heels and landed out cold. His brother was moving forwarded but hesitated, and I whirlwind swept him with a spinning squat with one leg out taking his legs out from under him. I helped him up and asked, 'Want to go again?'. He shook his head. I walked to the oldest brother in the pickup and asked, 'Do you think that was a fair fight?' He said, 'Rambo, there is never a fair fight with you,' and rolled up the window.' My sister swooned, 'Oh, James!', and I became friends with the Moss family after that. You have to defend family but can't embarrass someone in a small town and expect to ever relax. It's better to make friends of your enemies after you beat them up.


#3 1985 CCI in South Carolina‏

Central Correctional Institute (CCI) in Columbia, South Carolina was a dangerous place in 1985, especially for me. I had a rep as the toughest guy in this oldest Confederate prison in America. The main hall was called Death Tunnel with several cell blocks on both sides. I had just come out of Metal Shop into the Tunnel and two guys came at me. One was holding a 16" pipe and a 7" knife and the other had murder in his eye. For them to have those weapons here must have been a setup by a guard who either wanted to see a good fight or to have me killed. There was a guard standing next to me as the two advanced, and I asked, 'Well, are you going to do something?' He was frozen with fear, so I eyed the PR4 strapped to his hip which is what the correctional officers call a swivel baton that martial artists call a Japanese Tonfu. I was an expert with the Tonfu. The guard saw me eyeing the baton in his holster, and said, 'Rambo, don't do it', and as he spoke I grabbed it and faced the killers. The one with the pipe and knife muttered, 'Rambo, we're going to beat your ass and kill you.' As he swung the pipe I thrust the Tonfu out from under my shoulder in a fake strike and did a spinning back kick into his solar plexus that knocked him ten feet back and he lost both saddles and dropped the knife. I knocked the knife out of the way with a foot. He got back up with the pipe, and i said, 'You'd better do it quick 'cuz the cops will be swarming in thirty seconds.' He swung and missed, and I stepped in and hit him with the baton with a series of serious strikes. There was blood all over, so I wiped off the baton, slid it back across the floor to the guard (so I wouldn't be accused of attacking him), and the cops were all over us. We were surrounded by inmates chanting 'Rambo' who explained to the cops what had happened. They dragged the attacker away with a broken jaw, orbit, fractured skull and missing some teeth, and his partner had fled. The guard got fired, and I never got bothered again at the prison.

4. 1994 Corcoran Shoe Scopaletti

Corcoran State Prison in CA was called the 'most troubled state prison in America' by the *Los Angeles Times* when I was there in 1994. It was more trouble for me as a sexual offender because the Brand Aryan Brotherhood was murdering sexual offenders right and left. You cannot house convicts and sexual offenders in the same facility and have peace. Over a period of two months, of the Brand had eased into a relationship on the SHU (Special Housing Unit) yard where we would slap each other on the shoulder and do the prison routine of walk and talk around and around the yard. One day, I sensed something in their mannerisms that was suspicious; it had been a set up. They took a killers' stance around me like a pride of lions. One named Dennis 'The Mongoose' Scopaletti clapped me around the shoulder, and I felt a sting in the front of my neck. It spun my head and I continued into a spinning back kick that caught Scopaletti in the temple that crashed into a cement pillar. Blood and gray matter oozed out, and he sunk to the ground flopping like a fish, already dead. The other three ran away into the razor wife. Alarms sounded, red lights blinked and I started to get pelted from the wall by wood bullets. A Big Bertha block got me in the leg, and I knew the next shot would be live, so I lay still on the ground while the responders surrounded me. They dragged the Mongoose off and the guards got me up and asked me if I was alright. I said, 'Yeah', but was having trouble swallowing. A welding rod I hadn't noticed stuck in my neck, so they walked me like Frankenstein to medical where they pulled it out and sewed me up. The yard camera had caught it all, and the guards said I was safe now because the Brand had sent their best man the Mongoose to kill me and he had failed.

5. James Doc Holiday

Had I known that James 'Doc Holiday' was the General of the Black Guerilla Family (BGF) and leader of the Symbionese Liberation Army (SLA) when he patted my ass and said, 'Welcome home, boy', our fight might have lasted more than one second. When he started that in the shower room I finished it with a foot in his temple and he went down out cold. Three guards rushed up, asking. 'Do you know what you just did?' 'He started it, I finished it.' I said. 'Gather your clothes, one ordered. They slapped on a K-10 Red Bracelet on my wrist that is the most sensitive custody. I was crowned 'King of the LA County Jail' by the inmates, guards and staff. It was 1978 and I was only nineteen. Doc Holiday and I made up in High Power maximum security but in every facility I entered after that someone wanted to test the 'King'.

6. 1992 Rolling Pin at Ely, Nevada

‏When the California prisons (CDCR) couldn't hold or protect me any more in 1992, they transported me to Ely, Nevada State Prison. That warden wasn't happy with the responsibility because I was a marked man as a celebrity martial artist and sexual offender. Soon after the transfer, two Aryan Warriors came at me with a typewriter rolling pin and screwdriver. As the rolling pin crashed the back of my head I spun into high caps and hit the Warrior four times with my elbow in the face. In that instant, the other stuck the screwdriver in my forehead at the hairline. I backed him up against the wall as a wave of guards rushed us. Now they made we walk the gauntlet between the guards and the jeering convicts who might have it in for me. The screwdriver was jiggling up and down as I did a sidestep on my own blood through the hallway to the clinic. They unscrewed the driver, and then put me in solitaire. I was so mad I kicked the door until the walls started cracking and the hinges bent out. The guard screamed for backup, and they had to torch the door open. The warden called California and told them, 'You come get this guy. No cell here can hold him!'

7. Sixteen Officers Down‏

In 1978 at the LA County Jail third floor chow hall a guard smacked the back of my head for no good reason. Guards do that to get themselves in hot water so the rest of the guards can jump in and beat up an inmate. The guard smacked me and said to, 'Hurry up,' and I went off verbally. In seconds, my buddy Virgil Kim and I were surrounded by five shouting guards. They didn't count on the backbone of Virgil Kim, a Korean who was an expert in open hand Karate. Back to back, we fought the charging guards until the Goon Squad arrived with their nightsticks, shields and riot gear. That made it even until one dropped his nightstick. I grabbed it and hit them so fast Virgil's eyes were spinning. Then I tossed him the nightstick and he beat the ones nearest him. We used their shields and helmets, passing the baton and hitting them with everything in the chow hall including the coffee pots. Sixteen officers were down! Sergeant Bullis and Brother Gerald, the Catholic chaplain, came in quietly and approached us with palms raised. I had great respect for both of them, and when Bullis said, 'Calm down, and this won't happen again,' I believed him. We piled all of the riot gear next to the unconscious cops, and Virgil and I got our pictures taken wearing their black helmets, and the officer who slapped me got fired.

8. Mexican Standoff‏

Unit 3100 in LA County Jail is called the 'soft block' and I was there as a first time offender of any law of the land and had not yet been declared 'dangerous'. This was my first and last fight in a soft tank because, after it, I would go on to knock down James 'Doc' Holiday and the third floor chow hall 'Sixteen Officers Down' and from then on be housed in special units because either I was dangerous or someone dangerous was after me. But in 3100 in 1978 I was minding my own business in the day room when six burley Mexican's decided to test me. They walked up and said, 'We hear you're good. Let's see how good you are!' I always give people like them a chance to walk away, an out, so I replied, ' Are you sure?' The response was two advanced from the front and two from the back, while two stood at ready. I always take care of what's behind me first, so the ones in front can watch and have a chance to leave. I saw the ones in back in my peripheral vision and used Bruce Lee sounds like, 'Ooh! and Hah! to distract them. I took them out in one motion with a kick to the chest and leg swept the other. I spun, and did the same with the ones in front. The two others had just seen poetry in motion, and didn't want to be the next stanza. I helped them up, asked them if they wanted to play it again, and they said, 'No Mas!' The test was over and we became buddies. You never hit anyone in the face who's trying to test you or establish a pecking order because it's more of a handshake than a fight.

9. Brush at Wasco

In Wasco State Prison in 2009 an inmate came at me with a toothbrush with a razor blade fixed in the handle. He was out to brush my teeth, waving it in my face to intimidate me. I asked, 'Are you sure you want this? I don't want you crying about it later.' He raised the razor, and I right forward kicked his shin. I usually defend against prison weapons with a kick because it would have to hit an artery to do any damage. Then I follow up with punches. My kick broke his tibia that stuck out through the skin like a splintered stick, and then i closed with an elbow across the face that knocked him out. They call assassins like this 'Torpedoes', but he never touched me.

10. Chinatown Street Fight‏

In San Francisco's Chinatown in 1981 I was contacted to fight the ranking world street fighter, Jimmy Tenaca, a Japanese from Seattle, in what the Japanese sometimes call *Kumite*. The modern version of this is Ultimate Fighting where *Kumite *often takes place inside a ringed area similar to that of a boxing ring. In this case, they led me at dawn into Chinatown where the shops were closed on both side of a street that was blocked off, and no cops. It was illegal, high wage street brawling. Tenaca was ranked #3 on the street fighting circuit and this was my first fight. He was cocky and muscular, known for his hand and foot speed. I was a backwoods, self-trained and also known for hand and foot speed. We were surrounded by about 130 people including many Japanese Triad in their sleeved shirts and old Chinese gentlemen smoking. Dozens of kids perched on the shop roofs as Tenaca and I did the pre-fight bow and moon-sun hand-in-fist 'handshake'. He instantly moved in with punches and kicks, while I dodged his attack to observe. I saw he was a traditional fighter trained in a dojo, so I took a free style position. I began throwing punches and kicks using mainly Wing Chun for close combat. My blows landed hard on his arms and shoulders causing him to wince. The Chinese in the crowd murmured to acknowledge their impact and the kids on the roof clapped. After three minutes of exchanges, Tenaca waded into me with hands held high, and by a fluke he raised one to throw a punch just as I released a front snap kick that went under his arms into his advancing chin. Down he went, but not out. They stopped the fight as I walked away the winner out of Chinatown with $7000, I was invited into the USA street fighting circuit but it wasn't my style. I only fight for defense or to aid a victim. It will sound strange, but my best techniques are lethal and can't be used in street fighting. I didn't want people to know what I could do, and wished to remain a free spirit.

Victor Niederhoffer writes: 

What's your opinion on how the former 'world's greatest martial artist, escape artist, and psychic fared with fists.

Jim Sogi adds: 

I've been reading a lot of Lee Child's Jack Reacher series. It's pure pulp fiction, but surprising captivating book after book after page after page. Great mystery also.

Jack fights a lot, street fighting. He uses the head butt, which people don't expect, and the forehead is strong against the nose, and eyes.

He also does a lot of low kicks the the knee, and elbows to the face, and punches to the solar plexus. Punches to the face often result in broken hands so are not effective.

His motto is get your revenge in first, and don't fight fair. Of course he's 6'5' and 250 lbs which makes the punches more effective.

A great guy, I really like him.

I question some of the reverse and spinning kicks the guy talks about in Vic's post. Such kicks in reality are much too slow, and give the opponent way to much time to kick you in the balls while your legs are up in the air. Real fighter don't use high and spinning kicks. It's movies stuff.

Anton Johnson writes: 

Hi Jim,

Thought you might enjoy this video clip, even though it may be a set-up.

Jim Sogi replies: 

In a real street fight the idea is to incapacitate the attacker instantly and permanently, then walk away quickly and not gloat over the attacker.

People think "put up the dukes" and picture Bruce Lee high kick and don't expect the low fast kick to the knee. A big low kick to the thigh can prevent the attacker from chasing when you run right after also.

If you train and can do it size wise, broken finger by hitting attacker hands with a weapon is good. Some sort of weapon is also helpful and advised. Timing is important, don't wait those first beats, strike first.

Now I'm too old for that type of thing anyway.

Trading lessons abound. Strike first, strike hard. Don't necessarily wait for regular hours. Hit and run.

Chris Tucker writes: 

An old friend, Mike, was Marine Force Recon–astonishingly huge guy–arms bigger than my thighs, was hanging with some friends from Seal Team 2 in Honolulu, stepped out of the bar with one of them and headed down the street. A huge Samoan dude hails them from an alley "Hey Bra", "yeah??", "why don't you give me your wallet now?" Mike reaches back for his wallet, winds up and slams this guy in the chin with a roundhouse. The Samoan, a head taller and even larger than Mike, touches his chin and smiles down at him. The Seal, a medic and only 170 pounds wet, gently pushes Mike aside and says "Let me handle this". He steps in front of him and darts past the Samoan, slamming a wicked kick with his heel into the side of his knee, putting him down instantly, screaming in pain. "I told you to let me handle this stuff, you big dummy".

Ralph Vince writes: 

But the problem with a kick, a rear kick or a sidekick is they need to pretty much be standing still. It's very difficult to do if someone is moving around, at least for most mere mortals or fat guys like me.

I've given a lot of consideration to the idea of "getting out of there," after a confrontation, or during it, or if there are multiple attackers. I think you have to stick around, no matter what, and I think there are a number of reasons for this. (I had an episode, a possible entanglement, just last night, that I thought might be trouble, late night in Buenos Aires, with the wife, and the thought occurred to me).

Assuming you are NOT the aggressor (and old fat guys like me never ought to be), then you have to consider several factors, all of which suggest you need to stick around the scene after a problem.

For one, you're probably captured on video somewhere, so if you leave, there's video not only of you, but that you left, which is not something innocent people should do. Secondly, there is a good chance you will be with a female, and a good chance she is in footwear not conducive to getting out of there. Third, I'm too old to run away, and not much inclined to no matter what the younger aggressors might have in mind. Of course, this is why you always need to have multiple, non-redundant weapons with you (and an extra clip of ammo. Look, if you have to shoot someone, and stick around, and you better, they likely have friends, or family nearby, and they may be armed too).

But then there are situations like last night, where you cannot be carrying weapons, and you're at a tremendous disadvantage, especially against potentially multiple aggressors.

Hydrick had some interesting stuff in that post. I think he mentioned something about not being afraid of other boxers or grapplers or martial arts kinds of guys– and you never should be, at least in my opinion. Those are different sports altogether than a real fight. They need their footwear or their clothing or whatever to be comfortable, and they are used to certain rules, etc. If you look at someone you can get a pretty good idea of how they would fight, based on their build and physiognomy. Just because someone has a lot of boxing in their background doesn't mean they have an advantage in a real fight.

For example, it's not uncommon to see a lot of boxers move into a position down and to the outside of their opponent in a sort of "crouched" position, with, if the two opponents are right handed, has the crouchee with his left hand almost against his tummy, his right hand up, not unlike the very popular-of-late "shoulder roll" position, the latter being far away, the former where the aggressor wants to get inside.

But that position (and I contend there are only 8 positions your head / body can viably be in in any fight and have a chance, and most people quickly get out of position) will get you biffed in a real fight where kicking occurs. Instead, someone who wants to get "to the outside: of his opponent (again, assuming two right-handers) is to step in with hands high, left shoulder snapped down towards the right hip, and not waste time in their (whereas the crouchee does want to waste time, he really cannot be hit with any force down there, and he can skooch out if necessary, but this all falls apart in a world where kicks are coming and the fight is usually over in a few seconds).

So there's really not a lot to fear in any opponent, as long as you've decided you're going to hurt him and stick around, and if multiple people, you aren't going to have to encounter more than two or three of them, and most of them are without a clue and not looking for a fight really (which is why they are in numbers), even if you don't have a weapon on you.

So, I've kind of come to the conclusion that it's a bad idea to leave. Best to stick around and tell the cops how you were being attacked, and that "It's probably on video," and be able to live with myself.

John Floyd writes: 

This is pretty standard kick called "kansetsu geri" or "joint kick", it takes some practice for getting the right power and timing but is very viable, and in this case if the Seal really wanted to hurt him there were at least a dozen other things he could have done, one would be a "toho" to the carotid artery or "nukite" right through his eyes, there are also many techniques that allow death to occur slowly over several days to avoid immediate implication of the attacker, but the best advice though is just avoid these situations if you can.
 


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2 Comments so far

  1. bo keeley on July 29, 2015 6:39 pm

    I immediately recognize Jim Sorgi’s expertise because he points out, as I do, that spinning kicks are almost always ineffective showboating since they slow down the delivery of the blow while increasing F=MA. However, if you can believe me with a lifetime in martial arts and street skirmishes far longer than my racquetball championships, Hydrick is different from other fighters. He is like Haber was to handball, Swain to racquetball, and Mantle to batting. All the other ‘fighters’ learned either in traditional dojos or on the streets. Hydrick learned first in the woods as a wild runaway and became feral; then he started young at Karate open hand to defend himself against assault by older, larger people; then he spent hundreds of hours on a trampoline while other martial arts prodigies were watching TV; then he had his share of dozens of street fights defending the bullied in LA; he was a professional disco dancer; then he ran a Salt Lake dojo with 3000 students making it the largest in the free world, and nothing steeps a person in an art as much as teaching it; then he trained with the best Grandmasters of the era including Ed Parker, The Whites, and a handful of others whose names I can’t pronounce; then he landed in jail where most of his ‘Best’ Fights’ took place. This is what separates the men from the boys for the ability to fight weapons and multiple opponents with just body parts. For the past 25 years Hydrick has gotten up every morning at 5am, stretched, meditated sometimes standing on one foot with the other behind his neck, and trained four hours a day. In prisons they call this ‘the secret stuff’: stretching with one foot hung on the horizontal bar above the head while chatting with the guard, and extension pushups on one finger. He was the first to blend martial arts w/ illusions in performances on That’s Incredible, Ripley’s Believe It or Not, Danny Korem, What’s My Line, and Sally Jessy Raphael, and this sleight-of-hand helps him when the chips are down. Hydrick explains that in most prison and street fights, as opposed to in the ring, the opponent is hit unexpectedly. He ‘checks’ them when they’re talking before it goes too far and he has to strike with something more lethal than a kick to the temple. He always leads with his legs in a prison fight because the foe will have a weapon, and prison shanks are long and pointy without being sharp, and they can’t hurt his legs much as long as they don’t strike an artery. However, to strike first with the hands would put him close to the opponent and expose the ligaments of the hands. . As an individualist, he did what I and a lot of other champions did in rejecting one form and blending many styles into his own.

  2. ed b on July 30, 2015 11:31 pm

    I respect Mr. Hydrick’s fighting skills. No different from any other world class athlete. However, what would Mr. Hydrick do in the case of an opponent brandishing a firearm (I assume he is skilled enough to deal with a knife, club, etc.)? Not a fair fight in that case.

    Metaphor. From a trading point of view…done all the statistical analyses and consulted all of the resident Ukrainian rocket scientists to put on a trade. Numbers are all in your favor. Unfortunately, unexpected Fed announcement or flash crash comes along. Any insight to be gleaned from Mr. Hydrick’s experiences?

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