thats a motherfuckin title. anyway, go buy this book. christmas is near, fuck, people have birthdays all kinds of shit. its perfect for anyone on your list. seriously, anyone. i bought two. gave one to my grandmother. she loved it.
amazon.com description:
Crushing your enemies, driving them before you, and hearing the lamentations of their women? It doesn't get any better than this." –Eugene Robinson, ripping off John Milius
That's the sentiment that surges just below the surface of Eugene Robinson's Fight – an engrossing, intimate look into the all–absorbing world of fighting. Robinson – a former body–builder, one–time bouncer, and lifelong fight connoisseur – takes readers on a no–holds–barred plunge into what fighting is all about, and what fighters live for. If George Plimpton had muscles and had been choked out one too many times––this is the book he could have written.
When Robinson and his fellow fighters mix it up, they live completely for the moment: absorbed in the feel of muscles slippery with sweat; the metallic tang of blood mingling with saliva in the mouth; the sweet, firm thud of taped knuckles impacting flesh. They fight because it feels good. They fight because they want to win. And even if they get their asses kicked, they fight because they love fighting.
Fight is part encyclopedia, part panegyric to fighting in all its forms and glory. Robinson's narrative – told in his trademark tough–guy, stream–of–consciousness noir voice – punctuates this explanatory compendium of the fighting world. From wrestling, jiu–jitsu, boxing and muay thai to bar fighting, hand–to–hand combat, prison fighting and hockey fights, from the greatest movie fight scenes to how to throw the perfect left hook, Fight is a scene–by–scene tour of the bloody but beautiful underworld that is the art of fighting.
With his aficionado's enthusiasm and fast–paced, addictive voice, Robinson's Fight combines compelling text with beautiful photographs to create an illustrated book as edgy and interesting as it is gorgeous.
About the Author
Eugene Robinson has written for GQ, The Wire, Grappling Magazine, LA Weekly, Vice Magazine, Hustler, and Decibel, among many others. He has also been Editor-in-Chief of Code and EQ. He grew up in New York City, where he first understood the surreal joy of a bloody nose obtained through fighting. The 6'1", 235-pound Robinson has worked in magazine publishing, film, and television. He has studied boxing, Kenpo karate, Muay Thai (mixed martial arts), wrestling, and Brazilian jiu jitsu. Robinson is also the vocalist and front man for Oxbow, a rock group-cum-fight club whose most recent album, The Narcotic Story, will be released in 2007. He lives in the San Francisco area.
ok so i dont know what that 'rock group-cum-fight club' shit's all about but you should buy some oxbow albums too. this blog's all about stealing but its like this: most of this stuff is worth your money, but this is worth your money and a severe ass-beating. very well could be one or the other.
http://www.eugenesrobinson.com/
oh yeah, and i just found this, bit of a 'pleasant' surprise, thought i'd never hear it:
http://www.myspace.com/whippingboyhxc
writing excerpt from Vice Magazine:
The author shortly after strangling a man into unconscious
Yeah, right.
If a huge fucking Coke machine of a guy tries to attack you, that’s it. You’re dead. He is going to break your nose and you’ll be lucky to escape without head trauma. Any attempt to use some bullshit fighting tips you read in FHM or Maxim is only going to add to the humiliation. Professional street-fighting tips are for professional street fighters. What about us 90-pound weaklings?
After watching the singer of Oxbow (the greatest art-rock band of all time) strangle a heckler into unconsciousness at a recent Leicester show, we had him write a VICE Guide that deals with the reality of fighting, i.e. how to minimize the inevitable pounding you are about to receive.
First of all, let’s cut the bullshit. Getting fucked up really bad isn’t that bad. Thanks to the anesthetizing tendencies of adrenaline it’s not even that painful. It’s more a pain in the ass than anything. You know as soon as that nose bone cartilage snaps you are looking at a long and boring 12-hour wait in the emergency room. When someone says, “I am going to fucking kill you,” think of it more as “I am going to audit you,” because all he’s really doing is adding a huge mundane thing to deal with into your next 24 hours. The truth is, the three-week-long pain of regretting that you pussied out is a hell of a lot worse than the dull nonpain of getting in a fight, so there’s no need to be scared. And hey, if you’re that calm you might even win.
DON’T GO CRAZY
More fights are lost from the biophysical functioning of stress-induced fatigue than they are from inferior technique. In other words, relax. Exhale. Like you would for a bicycle crash or an anal rape. If you can fight with as much brio after five minutes (an eternity in fight time) as you can after 20 seconds, you will probably win.
STAY INSIDE
Bar fights are typically fought by drinkers. That is, drunks. Play the odds: Boris might actually be drunker than you and the limitations of indoor fights can’t be underestimated. There’s the errant barstool either swung or tripped over to mix things up a bit, the strategic positioning of reliable friends who can move in if you’re losing, and finally, the simple truth that it’s going to be broken up in less than 10 seconds, leaving you free to posture, scream imprecations, and hope to god nobody takes you seriously when you shout, “Let me go! Let me go!”
Photo by Todd Hester.
rest of the article here
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