Alright - I've teased enough, let's delve into my time with my first Jiu-Jitsu instructor.
I met MJ in 2020 at the darkest point in my life. I was chock full of depression, fear, and sadness. I had only just decided not to kill myself. He ran what started as a men's mental health organisation - a place for men like me to find support and attempt to heal trauma that blokes often experience - yet rarely talk about.
The type of trauma that gets bottled up and pushed down deep inside for fear of being ridiculed or judged. The type of trauma that, in my case, led me to believe that jumping off a cliff was the best course of action. The type of trauma that only a person with the correct, medical qualifications should approach. The type of credentials that MJ, did in fact, not have.
Over the next couple of years, this harmless support group morphed into a full-blown cult, causing an equal amount of damage as he claimed to heal. Delusions of grandeur, a Messiah-complex, blinded loyal followers, Moon worship, good men being completely broken down and rebuilt in His image, and a staggering amount of organisation rebrands that would make Elon Musk erect.
It was only a matter of time before he turned his attention to Martial Arts - an industry already rife with predators, abuse of power and cult-like behaviour.
I had left the main cult and distanced myself from MJ. However, I was (and still) in contact with a lot of the normal guys I had befriended through the group. One of these lads, who we'll refer to as 'D' had been preaching the good word about this Jiu-Jitsu stuff for a while, and decided to get a small group of blokes together to teach us the gentle art. Initially, I was reluctant - deathly afraid of any kind of violence since being assaulted and almost killed. Plus I'd been knocked out a fair few times during my life and wasn't too hyped on the idea of starting another combat sport in my thirties.
Eventually, I relented and told D I'd give him two months. And thus, my love of the sport was born.
Training with D and the boys was amazing. He ran a brilliant class, and I soon went from quite literally running away from my partner to getting stuck right in - keen as mustard to figure this grappling stuff out. It lit a fire in me I didn't know I was missing.
But, like everything MJ touches, it soon went to shit.
D and MJ were close - D was pretty much his right-hand man for a long time. Until he wasn't. Something happened within the inner circle and MJ got rid of him, amongst others. He had, however, been learning Jiu-Jitsu from D for a year or so and decided that he was more qualified than a legitimate brown belt, and took over the group as the new coach. Before this all went down, I had already gone and signed up for a further twelve months - under the assumption it would be D leading the charge.
I was a bit stuck; I loved our group and loved this sport. I was still a bit weary of MJ. But, he seemed to have relaxed a little bit, changing for the better that only something like Martial Arts can do. I mean, Tae Kwon Do taught me discipline, respect and integrity as a young boy, perhaps it would be the same for him?
Nope.
MJ fitted his garage with mats, a ramshackle set-up that I mentioned in a previous post, which I still think was a pretty cool start to my training. The added risk of cracking your head open on the concrete provided a Fight Club-esque atmosphere that did end up being quite a unique introduction to Jiu-Jitsu, but probably didn't go toward justifying the $400 per month price he was charging us.
MJ had taken the liberty of giving himself a purple belt after his year of training - as he'd pretty much been doing it full-time, he felt his skills were at an adequate level to award himself something that would take a normal person five, maybe six years. But MJ is no normal man - remember the above-mentioned delusions of grandeur? Yeah... I should have seen it coming, red flag number one. I imagine he somehow convinced D to 'award' him said belt, manipulating him as he'd done so effectively with many people before.
Red flag number two was that he didn't actually teach us anything. We would turn up at his house and just, roll. That's it. No shrimping, no framing, no pin escapes, not even a bloody concept we could try and apply. It was the ultimate ecological approach - although I think even Greg Souders would at least put some constraints on our games. This meant we would just do the same things over and over each week - making the same mistakes, which he took great pleasure in exploiting when it came to his turn to roll with us.
I remember one round against him where he shot under my hips and reaped me with all his might - for those who don't know; a reap is a technique that twists the receiver's knee inwards, exposing the foot for a devastating submission called a heel hook. Reaping is banned in a lot of beginner-level competitions. Even to this day, no one has ever reaped me that hard, yet here he was - violently attacking my leg - an unsuspecting beginner, and I was paying him for the privilege. I didn't even know what a fucking leg lock was and all of a sudden I'm fighting for my ACL.
He couldn't even teach us how to defend stuff like this - because he didn't know anything. If any of us had a question about a technique, it would be deflected - we were told not to worry about it, or it would be some half-assed bullshido shite. For example, the only effective defence for a d'arce choke, according to him, was to firmly knock the elbow of the strangler, which we ate up like grateful dogs, thankful he would be so gracious to show us the defence to this choke he had been hitting on us for weeks. Now any Jiu-Jitsu player would tell you there's a lot more involved in defending that particular move - with popping the elbow being a very, very last-ditch attempt to not be rendered unconscious.
Red flag number three is a classic! We had to clean the mats ourselves after each session, and get this, take the cunts bins out. Christ, that one is embarrassing.
Random bits of brand-new gym equipment would appear in the garage and his house. Balance boards, ankle weights, slant boards, medicine balls, plates etc. He would also brag about rolling with Jeremy Skinner every week - one of the best grapplers in Australia. It wasn't long before it clicked where our money was going; it was funding his private lessons and decking out his own gym. A gym he would always make a point of saying we could use any time.
"If you guys are a bit sore or whatever, feel free to come and just use the equipment and get a workout in, or feel free to come early and use anything you like."
One evening I did turn up early - only to be scolded as he needed time before each lesson to sit in silence/plan the lesson/workout solo, apparently. So I just, like, sat quietly for a bit until 6:30pm when the other boys arrived and it wasn't so uncomfortable.
Then it started to get weird.
The habits and behaviour that had turned me away from the main cult were starting to creep into this. MJ would start to pontificate about how he was starting to become SO good that he was inventing moves, how what we were doing wasn't Jiu-Jitsu - it was in fact a brand new Martial Art.
That's right, we were no longer practising Jiu-Jitsu, we were a part of something so cutting edge, so new, the world wasn't ready for what he had in store. He was going to change Martial Arts forever; he was going to "put Jiu-Jitsu out of business". He dubbed this new way of grappling 'Zoo Zoo'.
He began to rename all of the positions - I once called Ashi Garami by the English name; single leg X and he got annoyed and told me not to call it that. Instead, the seated guard became '1'. Shin-on-shin became '2'. Single leg - sorry, Ashi Garami, became '3'. I can't even begin to say how complicated this made things; Jiu-Jitsu names are confusing (just look at all the different names for the saddle, for example) however there is a slight semblance of sense to most (shin-on-shin being pretty self-explanatory).
The gatekeeping stepped up - other local players were gossiped about. I won't name anyone in particular, but I have since met and trained with some of these guys and they're lovely people who were more than willing to help out a middle-aged blue belt like me. I wasn't allowed to watch certain YouTube channels - he specifically called me out once when chatting about the latest B-Team video.
"You have to stop watching that shit, Sam"
At one point he told us that most of our learning was going to be through his pre-approved collection of instructional content on BJJ Fanatics, it was a complete cop out. Expecting people with full time jobs, children and relationships to watch a 7 hour DVD of Gordon Ryan’s pin escapes - effectively teaching themselves, was ludicrous.
I wasn't even allowed to keep my blue belt! After our first competition, a few of us were awarded our blue belts. I was promoted, but because I vaped, he wouldn't let me keep the physical belt until I quit. I was allowed to display it in the garage as an incentive to pack in the vapes; a constant reminder that this man aims to control every aspect of my life.
Of course, I didn't leave the belt there. I earned that thing, so I took it anyway.
He decided the current belt system was stupid - the plan was to completely remove brown, and introduce grey. It would go: Grey, White, Blue, Purple, Black.
Black would be extremely rare - only for world-class athletes who would inevitably be drawn to our complete grappling art. A black belt would even be taken away from someone if they were no longer considered elite practitioners. Purple, he told us, would be the highest any of us could achieve as we were far too old to ever reach the pinnacle of the sport.
Then, the cherry on top, the pièce de résistance:
HE GAVE HIMSELF A BLACK BELT.
Yes, my friends, you did read that correctly. During our blue belt ceremony, not to be outshone by hobbyists, announced proudly that he had achieved black belt status.
"Uh...That's sick man, congrats" I managed to say, cutting through the awkward silence that blanketed the room.
This fucking guy dared to give himself one of the highest honours in the sport. A feat that takes the average person around a decade of blood, sweat and tears to achieve. The audacity was absolutely mind-blowing. After just two years of training, a weekly private lesson with Jeremy, zero competition experience and beating up white belts, he had indeed reached the pinnacle of absurd.
Now, in the modern game, we've seen some very talented, hard-working people reach this milestone quicker than most; Kit Dale, Nicky Rod and Josh Saunders to name a few. It is of course possible, but MJ isn't under the tutelage of world-class coaches or in a room full of killers. He's a 30-something bloke living in middle-class suburbia running a cult.
I was in the presence of an actual child. Remember that kid who just couldn't accept losing a make-believe game at school? The kid who would change the rules of the game to suit himself?
"No! You can't fly because my superpower stops you from flying and I can fly instead and I have guns that go through your armour and stops any attacks that you do"
"Ok, well I'll go into my bunker and hide from your powers"
"NO! THAT'S MY BUNKER YOU CAN'T HIDE THERE BECAUSE IT'S MINE NOW PLUS IT DOESN'T BLOCK MY POWERS IT BLOCKS YOURS BECAUSE I PUT A SPECIAL FORCE FIELD AROUND IT"
I was stunned. I made up my mind there and then I was going to move on, and started researching gyms that same evening.
We still had a few sessions left, though. Leaving the main cult was awkward enough; now I had to navigate getting out of this second one! And to be super honest, I was slightly scared. MJ is a very charming and clever guy - he could sell snow to Inuits.
That's the hallmark of great cult leaders - charisma, charm, and intelligence being some of their main weapons in influencing people. I didn't want to give him, or his die-hard disciples a chance to talk me out of it, or guilt trip me into sticking around. So I decided I would grit through the last few sessions, be all smiles and positivity until we took a break for Christmas and I would just ghost.
It was then he dropped a bombshell; he was going to compete.
He was putting his money where his mouth was. Not a local tournament though, no no, those were far too below him. He was aiming higher.
ADCC Trials.
Yup, his over-inflated ego eventually convinced him that he was good enough to win one of the toughest competitions on Earth, and then go on to win ADCC World Championships. I couldn't believe my ears. It was literally a done deal in his mind which, in a weird way, I kind of respect. The level of disillusion on display was so breathtaking I couldn't help but have a smidge of admiration for the confidence, albeit misguided.
This would eventually lead to his downfall.
By the time trials rolled around, I had sent a goodbye message into the group chat and informed the boys I wouldn't be continuing training. I told them I was sick of the gatekeeping and moving of the goalposts, and wanted to be taught by qualified instructors. This was passed onto him by one of the lads, who then passed on a voice note from MJ. He explained how confused he was, how he was looking forward to creating this Martial Art alongside me, a thinly veiled threat (is how I took it) of coming to my new gym for a roll blah blah. It made me laugh and further cemented my choice.
For those non-Jiu-Jitsu guys reading this - ADCC Worlds is considered the Everest of grappling; winning that competition would cement you in the top tier of the sport. It's where legends are made.
Trials are the qualifiers for the big show. Thousands of hungry athletes have trained their whole lives in the hope of running through the single elimination tournament to gain a single invite to the main event, held every two years. It is often considered harder than the main tournament itself.
I wasn't going to miss this.
When the event rolled around, our training group had dissipated pretty rapidly and many followed in leaving MJ in their past. We were however invested in seeing the conclusion to this story.
I bought a subscription to Flo Grappling and organised a watch party around my mate's house to see how this all played out. I cannot tell you what a wild ride of emotions those eight hours were - as we waited with baited breath constantly refreshing Smooth Comp to see when he was due to compete. Luckily, some incredible performances from talented players like Levi Jones-Leary would help pass the time.
To be honest I didn't even think he'd show up, that it was all a lie or he'd get cold feet. Credit where it's due, there he was, bald head bobbing around in the background of the live stream.
It was actually happening.
I wasn't sure how I felt. I remembered the way he treated me over the years, the damage he caused to my friends and strangers. The tyranny, the deceit and hypocrisy. It all came flooding back.
I wanted him to get hurt. I wanted a snapped arm. I craved blood.
Then I remembered the good that came from the experience. How, without him, I wouldn't have met any of the amazing, supportive men I am proud to call my friends. It was via his organisation that I was able to talk about my feelings for the first time. I was able to heal some, if not most, of my trauma through supportive groups of blokes who relived some of the most awful times of my life with me. With MJ's cult, I finally realised that life is worth living.
I remembered he was still a human, with faults and insecurities - despite his claims of enlightenment. Maybe I didn't want him to get hurt, I began to worry he might get injured and how devastating that could be.
I flipped back and forth between anger, worry, fear, joy and intrigue.
The time finally came. First round. He stood mat side as the ref called him up. After squatting down dramatically, one fist on the floor and sending a few prayers to the Moon, he strolled into the centre. His opponent was nowhere to be seen. Minutes passed, and still no show. MJ's hand was raised in a hollow bye victory, and he progressed to the next round by default.
I was pissed. We'd been waiting all day for this, watching incredible athletes fight for their lives and this tosser gets a free ride into round 2. Fuck, was everything going to fall in place for this guy? I began to doubt and wonder if he might actually manage to do this.
Crazier things have happened.
Another hour or so passed, and it was time for the second round. This time, his opponent was very much there. A guy called Moon - oh, the irony.
Out they went. MJ pulled guard instantly. His opponent stepped past his guard with ease and began to launch his smash offensive. MJ wriggled free and regained his guard. After some stalling from his opponent, a missed wrestle-up from MJ and a comical slip that made the cameraman giggle, they clashed on the floor again. He was getting dominated until Moon was in combat base, and MJ threaded his leg through to single leg X (or '3'). Their legs became entwined, and MJ hunted for the heel, which he soon found. His opponent freed his knee line, rendering the heel hook ineffective, and MJ seemed a bit lost. His confidence seemed to be fading.
Another leg entanglement began, this time MJ left his foot dangling and unprotected as he looked for his submission. Moon jumped on his heel and began to crank a leg attack of his own, and that was all she wrote. MJ tapped.
He took a slow limp back to the centre, where his opponent was awarded the victory via heel hook.
And that was that.
Three minutes was all it took.
I don't really know how I felt at that moment. A mixture of relief that he didn't get his shit snapped. Relief also that I had made the correct decision to leave. I was also elated - this guy had been swanning about unopposed for years, enjoying the smell of his own farts for too long, and was finally humbled on the big stage. Thoroughly and definitively. And also a sense of emptiness as parts of me were able to let go of any resentment or anger I harboured.
I got closure. I had a brand new gym to continue my own Jiu-Jitsu journey. A gym full of supportive people who actively rebel against cult-like behaviour.
It was time to leave MJ behind, once and for all.
MJ if you're reading this fuck you
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