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The Ninja Dad

Jiu-Jitsu Weirdness Part II:

Anyone who has tried to teach jiu-jitsu to children will know it is no easy feat. Between minuscule attention spans, uncontrollable levels of energy, and the insatiable desire to poke, grab and beat one another, things can be tough. But, have you ever had to deal with a ninja dad?

Sharing success – Pat and his brother John at the recent NAGA Dublin.

Exploring more jiu-jitsu weirdness, I caught up with Pat Sheridan, who along with his brother John, own the Irish kimono brand, Sub Only. And together, they run one of Dublin’s most successful academies, Satori jiu-jitsu; recently moving into a huge new spot (which just happens to be one of the most aesthetically pleasing academies I’ve ever visited).

Working with young jiu-jiterios is where Pat’s passion really lies, he has created, from scratch, a successful jiu-jitsu curriculum for children and teens which is now one hundred and fifty members strong. Things weren’t always like this, though.

Working some spider-guard with the young teens team at Satori

Pat began to teach kids’ classes as a young blue-belt. He spearheaded a program at another academy, where fifteen young students attended regularly.

The debacle began one Wednesday afternoon, after a dude in his early fifties signed his son up, this was no ordinary parent, this was a ninja dad.

After a few weeks, it became abundantly clear that this cat had studied a martial art before. At first, he would show up fifteen minutes early to ask questions. Then, he began to arrive even more prematurely to practice techniques with his son.

One afternoon, he demonstrated one of his own throws, “not a legitimate throw, it was crazy stuff,” Pat explains. He took hold of the boy’s sleeves, crossed them over, stepped his hips to the side and dumped his trusting progeny —who had no means of breaking his fall— face first into the tatami. This wasn’t something that would work on a resisting adult, but to a child who was just learning to break-fall it was sheer brutality. Following this incident, he was advised to stick to techniques from the program.

It didn’t stop there, though, explains Pat: “he would ask, ‘Are you allowed to eye gouge?’ and I would be like, ‘No, you’re not allowed to eye gouge!’ Then he’d be like, ‘Are you allowed a half-fist punch in the throat?’ and I was like, ‘No you are not allowed a half-fist punch in the throat!’”. By now it was obvious there was a problem.

The new Satori HQ

It wasn’t long before Pat began to dread Wednesday’s kids’ class. The session began at 6 o’clock; the dude would arrive a full hour early. A couple of times he even turned up wearing what looked to be a karate kimono. Completely oblivious, he proudly sported a brown belt.

One week, while ‘teaching’ his son, out of nowhere he ‘ran’ up the matted wall, taking two or three vertical steps upwards before pushing off and landing back on his feet. The little dude was spellbound; he had just seen real life magic from his own dad.

Pat reflects: “If you don’t deal with little problems at the beginning, they manifest into a big problem. At this point this was a huge-ass problem.” This was Vesuvius beginning to stir.

The next week, upping his game, he ran laterally along the wall for a couple of steps. Hardly David Belle but to his wide-eyed son, he was a superhero.

Returning the following week, he was determined to go for it. “I think he had talked so much nonsense to his kid that he had become delusional and was pretty sure that he was a master of the craft,” Pat says. “Just what craft it was, was undecided!”

He stepped onto the mats with a look of cold determination, convinced he was the second coming of the Shogun Assassin. He took a short run up and hurled himself at the wall. Taking two vertical steps up before throwing all of his weight backwards, attempting –what could be surmised– a backflip.

Alas, there was to be no backflip that day. Ninja dad landed on his head.

The onlookers of this uniquely idiotic act fell into a shocked silence, no one moved or said a word until the guy unsteadily picked himself up. While not dead, he was clearly in shock. Yet, with the conviction only earned through a lifetime of moronic self-deception, he attempted to play it off like compressing his vertebrae was the real intention.

There is a no drilling backflips policy at the new academy.

At this point it had to stop. Pat explains, “I had to tell him, we enjoy having your kid here and he is doing great, but you’re after killing yourself and you’re not even supposed to be in the class. We have to worry about the kids not you.” He took this as an insult.

The victim of the story was the man’s son, a young student who enjoyed learning jiu-jitsu, and playing games with his friends. The problem was, the malicious and farcical techniques being taught to him at home, were beginning to have a detrimental effect on his training. “Who does the kid listen to? His coach or his dad? Obviously, he thinks his coach is great,” explains Pat, “but his dad at home is teaching punches in the throat and eye gouges.”

The next session the eccentric father had been convinced to wait in the parents’ room. On this afternoon, his son saw the opportunity to do one of the extra-curricular techniques he’d been taught. Performing the aforementioned, arms crossed death throw. “I will never forget seeing it happen, the kid looked like he fell out of a building, the kid landed and his leg was beside his ear, like a chicken wing up beside his head.”

As soon as the child being thrown hit the mat he began to shriek; obviously, out of fear the student who executed the throw started to scream, as well. This immediately brought dad charging onto the mats screaming, ‘what the fuck happened to my kid?’

In the worst of all situations, Pat was forced to perform three tasks at once:  tend to the injured child, calm down dad who was all red-eyed with rage, spit flying from his mouth; and manage the rest of the class, who by now, were all crying in unison.

Somehow, he managed to maintain his professionalism. He led the apoplectic dad –by the arm– back into the parents’ room to calm him down. “I was in shock, I thought no kid was coming back,” Pat recalls.

Fortunately, on returning to the mats it was evident there was no serious injury, the elasticity of youthful limbs had spared the student from any real damage. Nevertheless, twenty minutes in and the class was officially done – the guy got his son and left.

The other parents were understanding, commending Pat on how well he had handled the situation. There wasn’t to be any long-term negative consequences stemming from the incident.

You would be hard-pressed to imagine a more dire scenario for a teacher, but this incident taught Pat some invaluable lessons. Lessons which helped form the backbone of the successful program he runs today:

“Control your atmosphere, promote an ethos, have a blueprint for the way you do your classes, make sure it’s tried and tested, and stick to it, otherwise you’ll have a back-flipping ninja in your club.”

Sage advice, no doubt.


From Super League to Superstar

“He looks exceptional, you couldn’t draw this guy.”

William Regal

Luke Menzies is a dude that is easy to hate. With under a year of training he was signed to a developmental contract with the WWE, a goal that some strive for a lifetime to never attain. Trained by pioneer of British wrestling, Marty Jones, the former Super League prop was handpicked by chief talent scout and legendary competitor, William Regal, without ever having an official match. Appearing to be carved out of granite and a good looking cat to boot, there certainly is a lot to hate.


Predictably, looks can be deceiving, this isn’t a story of overnight success. This is a chapter in a twenty-one-year grind to achieve success. A journey that began at age eight on the rugby fields that are so ubiquitous in his hometown of Liversedge, West Yorkshire.

Menzies isn’t the typical professional athlete that, retiring from their chosen field, sees pro-wrestling as a way to squeeze out an extra few years and make some good money while their body holds up. No. This is a lifelong fan of the genre that, having just been offered a contract to play for Canadian rugby league team, Toronto Wolfpack, took an incredible leap of faith to jump into the world of professional wrestling.

Reflecting on his life-long passion for pro-wrestling, he fondly recalls, at the age of 10, constructing a makeshift ring outside an old-peoples home, using smelly old mattresses, tarpaulin and sets of drawers as turnbuckles.

Growing up in a family where playing rugby was fait accompli, wrestling became a guilty pleasure. “Being from a working class town you are either a tradesman or some kind of sportsman, either rugby or football, that’s pretty much it,” he describes, “so if you go outside of the box it becomes kind of taboo and you get stick for it, so I never really pursued it.”

He courted success from an early age, signing for Super League Salford at age sixteen. Although he would have to wait until nineteen to formally make his Super League debut with Hull Kingston Rovers.


Unfortunately, an ascendency to the game’s elite did not come. Now twenty-eight with a career that has lasted over a decade across a plethora of clubs, he admits to feeling short-changed; messed around by backroom politics. He feels his progress was curtailed by clubs who took advantage when he wasn’t mature enough to understand. This is in addition to a career on the field which was blighted by numerous injuries.

One year ago, while honeymooning in Mexico, a single tweet was to change the course of his life. The aforementioned William Regal in under 140 characters informed prospective grapplers that they should seek out the services of legendary veteran of World of Sport, Marty Jones. “It just transpired being disillusioned with rugby and thinking I’ve got nothing, what have I got to lose,” he explains. “I’m going to give it a go.” After emailing Jones from Mexico, he flew back on the Friday and was in the ring the following day.

He remembers this session vividly, taking a flat-back bump for the first time. A true student of the game, he’d always appreciated watching Stone Cold Steve Austin and Triple H, noticing how they were “snappy bumpers”. Jones told him to bump, and he mimicked this style. Jones then called over another experienced wrestler to watch and told him to do it again. Answering in the negative when questioned if he’d ever been in the ring before, he was met with disbelief.


He explains that Jones has been adamant on teaching him the fundamentals, the psychology that is distinctive to British wrestling; a focus on in-ring storytelling. Between training twice a week at Jones’ academy in Oldham, Squared Circle, he was studiously researching U.K. legends such as Rollerball Rocco, Tony St Claire and Johnny Saint, analysing the way in which they used the old British round system to tell a unique story in each five-minute period.

His learning curve has been quick. Some of this can be attributed directly to his career as a competitive athlete. In rugby league, a contact sport where eighteen stone giants collide with one another at speeds of 20 miles per hour, players are conditioned to ignore pain, persevere through difficulty and not show weakness. These are not ordinary cats. The level of physicality that is a prerequisite for playing rugby at the highest level is something that already sets him apart from fellow wrestlers.

There is nothing in pro-wrestling training that he hasn’t seen during pre-season training, although he likens running the ropes to trying to run in quick sand. While recognising the importance of fitness and the coordination gained from rugby, he explains: “If I wasn’t a fan I wouldn’t have come on as quick – because I enjoy it, I wanted to learn.” Considering the importance of an athletic background, he acknowledges that it is beneficial, but an aptitude for storytelling trumps it. “Marty (Jones) would say ‘why are you doing that?’ you have to give everything a meaning”.

When pondering whether he had carried over any bad habits, “Rugby is very instinctive, your body takes over,” he explains, “in wrestling you have to think more and slow down.” He has been drilled with old-school principles such as: “think you’re going too slow, slow down” and “the more you do the less it means”.

He describes an anecdote, when after three months of training he accompanied Jones to a speaking event that William Regal was delivering in Manchester. After making the introductions, Jones informed Regal that his student was better than the all-time great Dynamite Kid was, after three months. While such high praise certainly does not come easy from someone with an old-school ethos like Jones, Menzies was under no pretences that this is the truth, but explains what an incredible compliment it is.

This view certainly held sway with Regal who invited him to a try-out camp. After only six months, he found himself among some of the U.K.’s elite including, Pete Dunne and Tyler Bate as the WWE scouted for wrestlers who would feature in their inaugural U.K. championships. The camp which took place over three days gave him chance to impress, facing physical trials, a promo test and also evaluation from WWE officials on “if you’re a good human being, that has something about you”.

His first sign that the WWE might have an interest came one afternoon during the camp. After returning to get coffee, Jones informed him that Regal was talking to Triple H about him. Without a chance to take that in or think, “wow, that’s cool”, Triple H walked past, stopping and sticking out his hand, asking “what’s your name kid?”.

Amazingly, without actually having an official match he was offered a developmental deal. Going over to train at the WWE’s Performance Centre in Florida —the state of the art facility where the company’s stars of tomorrow, learn and hone their craft— and spending a week there. As far as he was concerned it was a done deal, the contract was signed and the sizes were taken for his NXT tracksuit.

But, what should have been a fitting end to this chapter of his story was not to be.

His official start date was in May. After putting his house on the market —it was sold within a week all of his possessions were packed away into storage, he and his pregnant wife were ready to start this great adventure together. Then, his visa application was sent back twice before finally being rejected, after new legislation from the American government. The reason given: He hadn’t enough experience as a professional wrestler to justify it. A lifetime’s worth of athletic experience as a professional rugby player apparently held no weight. The WWE said that this was the first time this had ever happened to one of their overseas signees.

However, all was not lost, he was told by the WWE to get out across the U.K. and make a name for himself. Working on independent shows to gain as much experience as possible.


Ruminating on the situation, he freely admits that it has been “a bit tough”. For someone who has already taken an incredible risk walking away from a sport he has spent his life involved in, and with a baby on the way, that is a fair assessment. But, he hasn’t become disillusioned, seeing it as just another roadblock. There are positives to it, he explains: “I’ve been learning how to wrestle, now I’m going to get out there and learn how to work.” Noting that, right now, he is a blank canvas, an open book. In the next few months he aims to learn his craft by being out there centre-stage, “adding new layers and having good matches with everyone.”

“There has been no British wrestler like me,” he says, “as a prop on the rugby field I used to rattle teeth and go ballistic, and that’s the intensity I am bringing to the ring. I want to tell stories and be aggressive.” Now is definitely the time to check this chapter of the story, as it’s only going to be brief, the next is waiting to be written.

Jiu-Jitsu is Weird: Part One

Old-School Gym Invasion

I have met some of the most interesting, intelligent and compassionate people while training BJJ. But, I’m sure you will agree, jiu-jitsu can attract some bizarre individuals, and on occasion the mats bear witness to some all-out weirdness.

I sat down with my coach, recently retired UFC veteran, Danny “Cheesecake Assassin” Mitchell to break down some of the more peculiar experiences he’d had in a lifetime in the martial arts.

One incident that stood out was the occurrence of the oft-fabled gym invasion.

On a grey morning in Doncaster, Danny — then an eighteen-year-old blue belt — was teaching a small class of students. A “pretty jacked up guy” walked through the door, eying up the proceedings. After delivering his technique (a triangle choke from guard), he approached the newcomer assuming, naturally that here was a prospective member. After introducing himself, he was met with a rather unexpected response, “this is shit,” the bald-headed newcomer belligerently stated. “What do you mean?” questioned Danny. “It’s fucking bullshit, this doesn’t work, I’d smash my way out of that,” the man replied.

Danny’s first gym, opened in Doncaster as an eighteen-year-old blue belt.

The situation escalated quickly from there. Unsurprisingly offended, Danny offered the unbeliever the opportunity to test his hypothesis. The antagonist didn’t need asking a second time, sprinting onto the mats and lunging at the, then young grappler. Not wasting the chance to prove the efficiency of his jiu-jitsu, Danny quickly put him into closed guard, throwing up his long legs and sinking in a triangle. I would posit, this is where the dude began to seriously regret his life choices.

Like the drowning man as panic sets in, he soon became desperate. “He used his fingers and was literally gauging my face – putting his hands in my eyes and shit like that,” remembers Danny.

Ensuring the choke was as tight as possible, Danny under-hooked a leg to prevent being slammed. With zero chance of escape the man’s bald noggin began to swell, veins protruded violently, the unrelenting squeeze deprived him of the life-affirming flow of oxygen. Akin to jiu-jitsu’s belts the colour of his head changed incrementally from white to blue before ending up at purple. After this final promotion he took a well-deserved trip to Snooze Town.

The stunned class turned to Danny for some clarification to what the hell was going on; encouraging them to carry on rolling, he dragged the unconscious body unceremoniously to the edge of the mats. Awaking from his forced slumber, the guy unsteadily got to his feet, leaving without another word.

Pondering why this ever happened, why did this guy come to his gym of all places? Danny doesn’t think that he was intentionally sought out. At the time MMA was in its infancy in the U.K. and Danny was the proverbial “skinny youth”; hardly an imposing figure. He explains “Maybe he thought he’d come to some MMA class and he thought we’re all going to be punching each other and we’re rolling around on the floor and he thought it was a bit shit.”

The Cheesecake Assassin was once a ‘skinny youth’.

Randomly, years later, on a night out, Danny ran into his bald challenger, who happened to be working behind the bar. There was to be no repeat (being brutally choked usually rids one of their misconceptions about jiu-jitsu!) as he hooked Danny up with free drinks the entire night. “Sorry for getting off on the wrong foot,” he apologetically noted. Perhaps, the understatement of all understatements.

In the battle of jiu-jitsu against all-out idiocy, there can only be one winner.