old dogs

Life has had many twists and turns for me. I never was welcomed in the "old boy's" club, with its quaint blazers and pretty crests and instead of the "silver spoon" mine was a rust-covered one. As the decades went-by, I scratched and clawed for every morsel I got with a simple notion that I'll never be vanquished and never stay down for the count.

If you were a betting-man, the odds were staked against me but despite being counted-out on a number of occasions and cheating the death dealer, I made it back up and withstood all challengers. I suppose more than anything that wasn't a matter of chance but part of the stock I came from as the claret the teems through me is that those whose hearts are emblazoned with the words honour, commitment, loyalty and faith. It may be bold to say and easily mistaken as arrogant but I am a man who walks forward with each step knowing I will burn a trail for others, honouring my family name and all the while recognizing leadership must start with each individual. Though repetitious, that comes not from chance but of a stock this modern world knows little-of but I shall save that for another time.

Of the many things life's lessons have taught me, it is that principles never have a price-tag and right is never wrong. Simple, honest notions that the modern world has forgot are the measure of the man. In this substance ravaged world, men of conviction are a rare breed and leadership is twisting in the wind. All too often "style" has overtaken true substance and all the glistening new baubles are bought up as fast as the public can slide its plastic through the till.

It is the oldest tale a raconteur spins a yarn of walking by the worst part of town. The dark lonely streets, rife with danger and crime are no place to be this time of night and you stroll by a desolate spot, a young dog snarls at you from a distance. Protecting his property the young pup, snarls a nasty growl and stands it ground as you continue your way as you know the youngster's bark is worse than its bite. However in the distance, sitting on rotting porch is a old dog. His beard is graying, the bounce from the those days of youth aren't quite there anymore but this is his home and he holds down what is his. One eye opens as the visitor walks-by, an efficient turn of the head, the paws reach up as the hair of his old coat stiffens. The old dog is ready, ready to to put up a fight to end all fights and that is the rawest sense of danger the visitor can ever face. The visitor is no fool, his heart picks up more than a few beats as he knows that old dog has nothing to lose and there will be hell to pay if you cross that line.

This past weekend Danny Dring and I ran our very first MMA certification class and after mulling over it for a few days, I think it was my highlight seminar of the decade. While I have had the luxury of very well received speaking engagements and the like, this was the perfect ending to the decade. Not only was it the perfect mix of practical work and promising young athletes but it reminded a bunch of old dogs, there still is a lot of life left to be lived, a lot of lessons to be taught.

Any discussion of the class would begin the day before as I started a 1,000 mile plus road-trip with Frank and Danny Lupiani. Fueled with bad coffee, beef jerky and the endless assault of a Jimmy Page riff's, we ate up those miles at a maddening clip before our Friday evening training session. The "blow by blow" recount of working with Danny Dring is easily summarized as within a career of many accolades, this was a honour I will not soon forget. While I am obviously quite biased the delivery was seamless and though we had no rehearsals, our unit was tight efficient team from the get-go. Though the work was a challenge our young bucks did well and of-course in a moment of need, like a great reliever coming in from the bullpen when we needed the most, Frank Lupiani stole the show to how it's done. Maybe it was the simple, if not brutal training that was stripped down basics, the raw boned work on the mats needed to produce champions or even that much of our group set-up an impromptu "campgrounds" but the weekend will forever known as the level that all are judged against.

Yet there still is more to be said and in-fact a lesson came from a old dog. A fine spirited old sort, who like me recognizes all too many tend to count him out. In a playful moment gone array, a testing parry drew some claret, not enough for serious concern and far below a full-out effort but still enough to prove the old boy is ready to go toe-to-toe. Quick as can be, fleshy sinew pieces get put back together just fine and after the claret is cleaned up, what is remembered is that old graying dog proved he still has a lot of life left him.

We finished up our clinic and after a quick interview with Danny, with that old graying dog trying to scale his backyard wall now, to which I claim it his new-found blood lines, we poured ourselves back into the car for the return trip. Another road trip fueled by bad coffee and Jimmy Page riff's and a decade of clinics was put to rest. It could not have ended on a better note and with 2010 in the horizon, these old dogs are about to prove we should never to be counted out.


John Davies
Founder Renegade Training International