Today’s sermon seeks to define as purely as possible what it means
to be a Combination Man/Combination Fighter in the strict old school definition
of this historical fighting beast, and not merely a dual sport athlete or
cross-trainer or one who mixes a bit o’ this, and a bit o’ that.
But first…a little gonads to the wall old school racing history.
Barney Oldfield.
You know the name?
He was America’s first bona fide celebrity driver.
How long ago was this?
Well, when Henry Ford was wanting to provide PR for his vehicles, he
entered one of his cars in a race in 1901 in Grosse Point, Michigan. Mr. Ford
himself drove his car against experienced racer, Alexander Winton.
Winton owned the first seven laps of the 10-mile race, but Ford pulled
ahead in the 8th and took the victory.
The speed of these vehicles on the dirt track? Around 45MPH.
Before we guffaw at this speed thinking of our easily besting that
in our comfort controlled, performance designed machines, ponder doing the same
thing in proto-vehicles with ZERO safety features and none of the bells and whistles
of smoothly designed engineering that evens out our copious driving mistakes.
Add to that these being open vehicles, that is, no roof, no roll-bars, no
belts, no nada. Just you, in one of these bouncing beasts whipping around an
unstable dirt track at 45 MPH.
Any of us who have driven at speed in a less than ideal mode of
locomotion can easily conjure the “Ahh, that is quite a Hoss feat”
magnitude of the event.
Just picture how it feels to hit 45 in your Ford Taurus, 45 across
wakes on a Jet-Ski, and 45 skiing downhill and you see, speed and safety are
relative to the vehicle.
Ford, the winner, expressed himself thusly after his experience, “Boy
I’ll never do that again, I was scared to death.”
So, Ford the honest, went looking for a driver to show off his machines.
In 1902 he approached Bernd “Eli” Oldfield, a successful bicycle racer [and occasional
boxer] to drive for him.
Oldfield had never driven in a road race before and wound up
winning handily versus experienced competitors, this starting him off on a new
career of whizzing around dirt tracks, perfecting his game and engaging in more
than a few “stunts” including being the first person to race up the dirt road that
led to the 14,110-feet summit of Pike’s Peak.
Barney Oldfield’s name and image were known to all. Easily recognizable
in his racing togs which were a scarf wrapped around his throat and an unlit
cigar clamped between his teeth.
Why the unlit cigar? To keep his teeth from rattling together and
breaking off in the rough terrain of the track.
See? I told you, safety gear. What safety gear?
When asked how he does what he does, Oldfield offered this, “Most
guys see no further than just in front of their hood, or the corner they’re driving,
Me? I’m driving three corners down.”
There’s likely more to Mr. Oldfield’s success than that but is a
perfect jumping off point for today’s sermon.
Modern research using pupil-tracking bears out Mr. Oldfield’s
advice. Drivers fitted with pupil-tracking helmets reveal that the smoothest
and most successful drivers have a “long view” of the track or course, the
worst or least successful handlers on a track were looking closer to their vehicle,
and middle-of-the-pack drivers were middle-distance gazers.
Combination Fighters & Dual Sport Athletes
In the Americas from around 1860 onward into the 1930s an athlete who
competed in both boxing and wrestling was considered a combination fighter, one
that could perform adeptly at either sport.
That thumbnail definition leads some to believe that mere proficiency
at the twin rulesets made one a combination fighter.
Not so. In this time period, both sports were high in popularity and
engaged in by many. Many a wrestler augmented his training with heavy boxing
[William Muldoon comes to mind rapidly] and many a fistic luminary used wrestling
in their training camps [John. L. Sullivan, Bob Fitzsimmons, and Jack Dempsey
spring to the fore here.]
And yet none of these men regarded themselves as a combination
man.
Yes, they were able scrappers in their side-game but they recognized
that a combination fighter was different than merely being adept at both boxing
and wrestling.
They used the term combination fighter to designate a different beast
altogether.
In the original sense of the word, a combination fighter was one
who could “drive three corners down.”
A fighter who did not see the mere use of a punch to set up a leg
dive as worthy of the title.
They thought of dual sport athletes as something akin to duelists,
that is, two folks who agree that they will remain standing and trade with
whatever art, heart, and science they posses or jockey for takedowns, pins and submissions
with commensurate art, heart, and science.
Even those who engaged in mixed-matches where the rulesets blend
did not necessarily bestow combination fighter status.
The experienced could still see the gears shifting, the “driving just
in front of the hood” as it were.
True combination fighters were those that could see the commonalties
in each and every aspect of the game. They could read 3 punches in as to who was making a “boxing
dominant” attempt at a combination. They could read the way a a hand whipped
off of an outside step if one was “wrestling steeped” or truly a combination
thinker.
The early definition saw this noticeable [to wise eyes] shifting
of gears between sports as a fighter who is “muscle set.”
A fighter who is “set” in old school parlance, was steeped in one
discipline more than another. [Mr. Jordan in basketball—Performance par excellence!
Mr. Jordan in baseball, would have been called muscle-set by the old-timers.]
A mere mix was not the sought for goal, the tactic of one motion
that could be both, where one becomes all was the admired end.
That definition leads to this question…
“If the skill of a combination fighter was so valued, why
did it fade into the historical background?”
A good question with two likely answers.
Answer One-Lack of economic incentive. For whatever reason, combination
matches did not catch the same cash-on-the barrelhead fire as did straight boxing
and wrestling matches.
One, must make a living, so pick and choose.
Answer Two-The excuse/reason/assumption of “set” muscles was the other. As
fighters were expected to specialize fewer and fewer wrestlers boxed in their training
regimen and fewer and fewer boxers wrestled in their camps.
The faddish thought in the late 30’s began to turn towards thinking
cross-pollination “set” the fighter too much and stole time, resources, and reflexes
from the monied proposition.
With that in mind, we devolve the definition, with combination
fighter as an epitomized combat athlete to using dual sports to prepare for
both sports to worries that training one or the other will “set” the fighter in
question.
The avid historical recreator will strive for this pure and early definition
of combination fighter and see thru the smoke of mere dual or triple sport
training.
This fighter will strive to see far past the hood, look beyond the
middle distance and drive three corners down.
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