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2004 Vegas Throwdown and Aftermath
In the interests of public disclosure, I'll follow the rule that "what happens in Vegas"... gets smeared all over the Internet. But only because I love you guys.
My wife and I arrived in Vegas on the 14th, which happened to be my 30th birthday. As any rational person who realizes the sand is slipping through the hourglass would do, I resolved to get completely plastered. Now I'm not normally a drinker, but my character being what it is, if I'm going to commit to something, I'm going all the way with it, you know, be all I can be. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea to celebrate inching closer to the grave by recklessly dumping poison down my gullet... but umm... yeah.
To that end, I had a Screwdriver on the plane. I know there's a joke in there somewhere, but I'm not going to stoop low enough to find it. (And on a related, Transportation Safety Authority note, the little bottles of alcohol they give you are no longer glass, but plastic. Obviously a means of deterring those damn alcoholic Muslims from getting rowdy and turning Economy Plus into an old-west Saloon scene.)
We landed, got our bags, and began the shuffle through the line of DOOM to get a taxi. If you have never experienced this line, I'll describe it this way: if it weren't for the fact that you can occasionally see people getting into taxis (approximately 32.5 miles of chain-divided "lanes" away), you might start to get the impression that there's a couple of guys in rubber aprons and trucker hats at the end of it waiting to slam a bolt into your skull and string you up to get at the better cuts of meat on your carcass. As you snake through the line towards your ride/slaughter, you pass the same people over and over, enough to the point that you start to resent them like they were family. The guy that hosts "The Bachelor" was in line with his wife/girlfriend/transvestite bodyguard, far enough back that we'd pass each other every few minutes as he was moving up in his 'lane' and we were moving the opposite way in ours. My wife watches that crap, so I was obligated to point it out to her. She hadn't noticed him because she was eavesdropping on this group of hefty women behind her, trying to live out their own episode of Sex and the City (more like Sex and the Sandwich). Apparently one of them had made the comment: "Girl, you know how some places have a 5 drink minimum" (where, Anti-Alcoholics Anonymous meetings?) "well I've got a 5 dick minimum for tonight." Jesus-Fried-Chicken-Eating-Christ , if it wasn't bad enough that the heffer actually said that, my wife had to repeat it to me later after we finally got a cab.
At this point, you're asking "WTF does this have to do with the Throwdown?". My answer would be "Nothing. But since this is my website I'm going to sadistically subject you bastards to my crappy prose and the meaningless details of my weekend here because I'm not quite narcissitic enough (yet) to join the blogger crowd and do so elsewhere. Besides, it's not like you can't just skip to the Throwdown details.
We checked into the hotel and set out on our first planned destination: Fatburger. I can't understate how high on the priority list going to Fatburger was, suffice to say that we stayed in the hotel across the street from it for a reason. Now remember, I just turned 30 and am celebrating by taking giant steps closer to the grave. So of course I ordered the Double Kingburger with Cheese, Bacon, and a Fried Egg on top. On the way back, I picked up some cigars (Punch robustos) and then proceeded to employ the skills I learned from Ashida Kim's "Ninja Secrets for Evading Timeshare Salespeople".
Back in the hotel room, my wife surprised me with floor tickets to Penn and Teller so we gear up for heading over to the Rio where James Randi's "Amazing Meeting" is also happening. Our plan was to grab dinner, but we ended up just getting a few drinks instead. I had two, double orange vodka and Red Bull concoctions, and another drink, sent by an apologetic guy at the other end of the bar had also sent one to my wife thinking she was by herself... whatever, free drink. Apparently neither of them had roofies in them because we managed to make it to the P&T show just fine, and I even got their autographs afterwards.(STFU, I'm a P&T fanboy.)
Admit it, you skipped all that to get here, didn't you? Guess what biznatch... I lied. More minutiae before you get to the dirt.
Omega had given me a call before the show, so afterwards we headed back to the hotel to meet up with him and Scott Adams, UFC veteran and promoter of the WEC. It took them a while to find the Boardwalk (and by a while, I mean, 3 HOURS), but we eventually sat down in this cafe in the hotel and ran over a few pre-throwdown things. My wife and I got back to our room around 4 AM, and I got up around 8 to get ready for the Throwdown.
With my brain oozing out of my left ear after around 10 drinks and 4 cigars the night before, and a $25 taxi ride from the Strip, I showed up at One Kick's Gym.
The first person to arrive was Clyde. Actually, he was there before I was. Clyde was entirely too well rested, or at least just hardcore like that. We shot the breeze for a bit as other people started to filter in.
We started with Omega attempting what he described as a "ghetto leglock". I don't remember anyone actually pulling it off, but then again, I had that whole alcohol/nicotine poisoning thing going on. It should be obvious by now that my memory of the day before is much clearer than my memory of the day of the Throwdown. So don't take offense if I'm leaving some things out.
After the "ghettolock" experiement, Omega showed us a simple but slick leglock from top, closed guard. (I tried this yesterday in class and got triangled for my efforts... heh). He then introduced Scott Adams, and we broke off for the most part and started one-on-one sparring/rolling.
I offer to roll with Omega, and he obliges by performing what I remember as a rolling keylock from under north-south, which gets cranked well beyond my crappy flexibility. (Damn thing still hurts, heh).
A little while later, TNK and I have a go, and he manages to get me in a nifty face crank-dealie (told you, details are sketchy). I roll my saving throw against pain and it comes up a 1. We restart, and he ends up in guard. I pass, we scramble, and I get his back. He's turtling pretty well so I don't bother to try to get my hooks in and transition (err... attempt to) to the North-South to go for an anaconda choke. At this point, we have outside interference from Vodka and Tobacco, and I run out of gas like Tank Abbot after Thanksgiving dinner.
Yeah, I know, embarassing (my stamina, not tapping to TNK). I'll get you next time! I'm drinking Milk, motherf**ker.
A few random observations, since for all intents and purposes I had a fork sticking out of my ass with a little flag on the end that read "DONE".
Beatdown Ritchie is pretty damn flexible and no slouch on the ground. Him and his girlfriend are mellow, cool people.
Scott Adams fought off (and by "fought off" I mean, laid there with his hands locked) two arm bar attempts by two different guys back to back to the point they had to give up the hold.
TNK gets props for undermining my argument on the crossface thread, by more or less, crossfacing me.
Jaguar Wong's a funny guy.
Hapko, admirably sparred with Clyde who had to have at least 40 lbs on him.
CLYDE NEVER STEPPED OFF THE MAT the entire time the open sparring was going on. He wins the Ironman award for the Throwdown.
Everyone was great, and if I'm forgetting anything significant... well, hell, I'm sure I am.
After the Throwdown we managed to meet up at the Hilton and ate at this Star Trek themed restaurant. Omega somehow ordered two beer samplers (like 10 glasses of beer) and they all got set right in front of me. Just what I needed to see at that moment... Conversation steered towards Bullshido and we discussed some of the recent issues and explained some of the history of what we've done in the past 2.5 years to Scott.
We all seperated after lunch, and Beatdown Ritchie and his girlfriend wanted to come with us to the Stratosphere to look out on the city from the tower. My wife was under the impression that it was within walking distance...
...so instead of riding over there with them in their CAR, we all walked. And walked.
And walked some more.
After that, we did a little walking.
Past two "Massage" parlors, and some shady apartment complexes. It would have taken us exactly half the time to get there if it weren't for the endless chain link fences between where we were, and the hotel. Sorry about that, guys... blame my wife (she won't read this anyway... I hope), it had to be a solid mile away, especially after seeing how far the Hilton was from the Stratosphere, from the top of the tower.
It was all down hill from this point. We were all supposed to hook back up to go out, but it never materialized for one reason or another. My wife and I ended up having dinner at this steakhouse in the Paris, and won back the money we spent on it playing a slot machine on the way out. Shortly thereafter, I crashed watching SNL back in the hotel, dreading the trip back home to 0 degree weather the next day.
My damn shoulder still hurts... meh.
More Pictures and Video
Clyde sparring with Kenpo
Omega rolling with Te No Kage
[Click Thumbnails for full size pics]