“That’ll never be me, cause I’m leaving the past, like an abused wife with the kids leaving your ass”
 -Immortal Technique

It wasn’t that long ago that I was slumped against a turnbuckle. I remember everything before the right hand that put me down and everything after about ten minutes later. I pretended it didn’t bother me much with comments like “If I don’t remember it, it didn’t happen”. The sting of getting knocked out in front of your mother, ooouuuch! How embarrassing. I wanted to crawl under the Honda center and spend the rest of my life there. Then I realized something. I realized that my girlfriend still loves me, my mom still loves me. My friends are still my friends and I’m still the same person. This is something I’d been struggling with since college, where my wrestling career suffered due to my overactive imagination. I’d lose one match somewhere and imagine my friends laughing, my mom shunning me, every girl I knew crossing the street when I walked by. Which, in reality, was completly unrealistic because none of these things ever happened, even though I lost almost as much as I won in college. Even my teammates that continually saw me perform below my potential still liked me afterwards. I remember having a conversation with Shawn Charles, he said:

“You know what man, all this shit really doesn’t matter. Really, what’s the worst that’s gonna happen, you lose? I’m the grand scheme of things its not that big a deal. Even if you lose a match you’ll be the same person afterwards. ”

In that instance it was difficult to understand what he meant. But now I get it. Am I fucking crazy? I stress out about fighting, because in some respects man to man combat is extremely intense. But is it really that big a deal? The answer is no, its not.

So with this in mind I went to Japan. Are you kidding me?! Not only do I get paid to fight people, I get to go to Japan for free AND I get to take two friends. I mean, the only thing that wasn’t fun was making 167 pounds . I told Antonio,

“You know what man, I’m just gonna go out there and have fun”

“That’s perfect” he said. “I guarantee if you go out there and just act like you’re in the gym its gonna be a good fight, just have fun man!”

So that’s what I did. Warm up, crack jokes, make fun of Brett, try to figure out what exactly is wrong with Brett, discuss Antonio’s uuuuh, special “extra-curricular” activities, inquire about Ray Sefo’s “extra-curricular” activities, ask Mac Danzig about being a vegan, figure out everybody’s Japanese nickname (The Black Panther is mine), loan Jeff Monson my cup cause he forgot his, watch Roy Nelson wash Monson’s ball sweat off my cup before he gives it back to me, do stupid shit for the camera man who’s been following me, yell at Brett for eating every last piece of anything edible in the locker room(for real, dude can eat I think he has a tapeworm) , laugh at the Japanese guys’ entrance music (Ne-Yo, really?), warm up some more, try and escape the Japanese watch dog that won’t let us leave the locker room, quote Ronnie Coleman (“light weight baaaaybaaaaaaaaay”), call ourselves “Cocojin Yakuza” (which means ‘Black Gangsters’ or something like that), put the bandana and hat on, cue Young Jeezy, walk down the stage and get busy. Seriously, I had a great time.

So I’m gonna make my New Year’s resolution in April. I resolve to have more fun competing. I resolve to relish less in the result and more in the process, because life is too important to be taken seriously.

The death of my Grandmother recently brought me back to Kansas City and served as a mini-reunion of sorts for my dad’s side of the family. I say “mini-reunion” because really, I’m the only one that isn’t seen often. Through all this I noticed not only that, of course, life has gone on while I’ve been MIA and people have grown up, but also there’s a certain theme that permeates this side of my family–fatherly absence. I have three brothers, two older and one younger, and for all the time my father insists that he loves us, he hasn’t been there in abundance for any of us. And for the most part I’ve gotten over it, forgiven him. I mean really, what good does it do to stay mad? Anyways, I realized while I was back that though he was mostly absent in my life and that of my brothers that he still commands an almost mystic respect from us.

For most things my Dad is late. And while he wasn’t “late” by definition to his mother’s viewing, he was later than everyone else. As I sat with my youngest brother, I marveled at how excited I was to see this man who I insisted most of the time I didn’t really like that much. In he walked, at which point my brother and I both rose to greet him. It was then that I realized that really, we didn’t rise for a greeting, we rose for his evaluation. There we stood, like military cadets while he told us how nice we looked, how good it was to see us, how handsome his boys are. He introduced us around…

“This is Tookum, my youngest boy, Daddy’s baby.”

My brother pretends not to like this shit but I see him smile.

Then, “This is Jason, he’s got a college degree, lives in California. He’s a professional fighter, he’s got a baby on the way.”

I pretend not to like this shit either, but I can’t help but smile. It feels good to hear your Dad brag about you. So while I was soaking this all in and feeling good about the relationship my dad and I share, I suddenly remembered all the times he said he would pick me up and didn’t. Or the letters he wrote that said we would spend more time together. I remembered my baseball games where everybody else’s Dad was there but mine wasn’t, all the times I insisted to my Mom that this time was different, that he might be there. I remembered all these things and suddenly I was no longer content, I was angry. Where was this fatherly action when I really needed it, when I was growing up? And while it feels good to hear him rant and rave now, it’s bittersweet, as it also reminds me of times when he was painfully absent.

So, back to my story. I’m standing in the pews with my little brother being evaluated and marveled at by our father and I made a decision. I’ve already fathered Jaelyn Leslie. She’s due in May and I couldn’t be more excited. Not only do I get a turn to brag about someone, but I get to go right everywhere my Dad went wrong. I get to be not only the father, but a Dad and I get to stop the cycle of absent fathers that has plagued my family. So to my Dad, I say thanks. I’m no longer angry at you, I thank you for making the mistakes so that I don’t have to.

“I didn’t realize he hit you so many times after you were down, that was f***ed up” 

My training partner’s words after we all saw the fight on TV. I think about that fight, my first loss, also my first time being knocked out and I tell Brett… 

“Nah man, I would have done the same thing to him. And you’d do the same to somebody else.” 

Brett nods in agreement, and that’s the nature of the sport we’ve chosen. Its not, and shouldn’t be, a fighter’s resposibility to worry about the safety of his opponent during the fight. I’ve spent the week relaxing and answering questions of concerned fans, sponsors, friends and others. I’ve been largely unavailable to most people, and for that I apologize. Yes, I’m ok. Yes I’m going to fight again. Few people in this sport remain undefeated. My coach, Antonio Mckee, who’s always upbeat and positive keeps telling me two things. Number one, its not this loss that’s so important, but how I come back from it, I agree. And number two, that all the pressure is gone and we can just go out and fight with nothing to worry about. Honestly I don’t really remember feeling pressure from being undefeated but I suppose its one less thing to worry about. 

If it were up to me I’d be fighting again as soon as possible. But I guess time for reflection and evaluation is good. I made some obvious mistakes in that fight and the place to fix those mistakes is in the gym. So that’s where I’ll be, patching the holes in my game and repairing my ego. Stay tuned! It’s been a strange trip so far, but whatever, you only live once.

Hello everybody!! Welcome to highfighter.com. This is my first in a series of blogs, i’m going to try and publish a new one every three weeks or so. So keep checking back for new content on the site. Also, if any of you have questions or comments about the site or anything on it I’d love to hear them, just shoot an email to the address below. 

There’s always a certain amount of stress that accompanies the last two weeks before a fight. Not so much about the fight itself but about other things in one’s life. I often find that the gym is the only place where I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing. Anything that doesn’t involve fighting or preparing to fight suddenly gets put at a distance. I notice myself unconsciously putting space between me and my loved ones and friends. This is all part of my process I guess. Luckily I’m fortunate enough to have a significant other that understands how a person gets close to competition so she gives me my space. 

Training is going very well. It’s easy to put undue pressure on yourself to be perfect so close to a fight. But I’ve realized that being perfect is impossible and that a fight, by definition, is chaotic and doesn’t go as planned. So as you go into the gym it’s important to have an idea of what you’d like to get out of that day’s workout. It’s also important to not get down on yourself if things don’t go as planned. A fight is the same way. We’ve been working very hard to prepare for this fight. So I just put in the work, develop the instincts and let the fight take care of itself. 

So I’m looking forward to fighting. As is gets closer you kind of get sick of fighting your training partners. It’ll be nice to punch someone else in the face.

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