An Ode to the Head-Squeezer

Anyone who has any grappling experience should appreciate this article.

You’ve had a long day. You fought your way through a day of work. You tolerated your co-workers. The bills are piling up. The grass is getting long. Your car needs inspecting. But don’t worry—tonight is your training night. A few hours of grappling will make it all feel better.

You get to the gym. You stretch and talk fighting with your training partners. Your coach comes in and starts class. You warm up. You learn a new series of techniques. You drill the new moves.

You’re feeling good. This is what you needed—to unwind, to relax. Free roll is coming, your favorite part of class. Your coach starts pairing people up. He hasn’t matched you up yet, though, and the possibilities are quickly dwindling.

Then it happens. He sticks you with the head-squeezer.

The head-squeezer trots your way, tightening his white belt, a dopey grin on his face. You know he’s not talented. You know he’s not strong. You know that as soon as your head is within reach, he’s going to latch on, like a toddler desperately clinging (distraught, crying, and pathetic) to his mom’s leg in a day care parking lot.

You shake hands, thinking that maybe this time will be different.

You drop back, scooting in to pull guard. He walks forward on his knees. He reaches for your head, that son of a bitch. You manage to pull guard, but he lunges forward, catching your head in a guillotine. He’s in your guard; there’s no way that he can finish the choke from that position, but he squeezes anyway.

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

You shuck the arm, but not before your neck is strained and knotted. At this point, you are mildly perturbed. You want the arm bar, badly. This is a matter of honor now.

You drag the arm, swivel the hips, and pass the leg over his face. He stacks you, hard, to defend the arm bar.

Flower sweep.

He locks his hands together, fighting the extension of his arm. He swing his legs up, trying to scissor your head. He misses the first time and kicks you in the face. Not to be discouraged, he tries again. His foot clips your jaw again. You reach across his arm to set up your favorite grip break. He writhes and bucks. This time, his foot smashes into your ear.

Now, you’re upset.

You’re a nice guy, but a nice guy can only take so much. You launch into the grip break and stretch out the arm as hard and as fast as you can.

With a bit of agony, he taps. Your neck is sore. Your face is sore. Your jaw is sore. Your ear is sore. Your relaxing night of training is ruined.

Anyone who has been training for more than a few months has probably been in the vice-grip crush of a head-squeezer, and it frustrates you for these reasons:

1. The head squeeze does nothing more than slow you down and strain your neck. It’s more likely to create a nagging injury than it is to get a tap or set up a new position.

2. The head squeeze creates a stall. Since the person squeezing is not working for anything else, and the person in the squeeze is too stubborn to tap from something so moronic, rolling comes to a halt. You only have so much time to train, and you don’t want to waste half a round for him to finally let go.

3. The fruitless discomfort is aggravating and disrespectful. You know that he’s not trying a technical move and is simply trying to hurt you enough to get you to quit. You don’t mind tapping to a kimura or to a knee bar or even to a well-executed pressure knee ride. You respect controlled and strategic attacks. You don’t respect someone trying to juice your head like it were an orange. You try to be technical and courteous; you expect your training partners to do the same.

Moral of the story: Don’t be a head-squeezer. You won’t make friends that way.