Karate Sparring Gloves



There are somethings that a person should never do, like getting into the ring with Maximus when he's not wearing karate sparring gloves. It's like drinking Kool-aid mixed with poison tipped thistles, wearing chest armor made of toilet tissue, or beating oneself silly in the face with a pair of Nun-chucks to get a pimple to go down. Maybe having enough pimples would scare Maximus enough that he'd admit defeat in kickboxing a round and head for the locker, but I doubt it. Some people don't know fear, never have, and never will. If they stood out in the middle of timesquare with an invisibility suit long enough they'd probably lay down and take a nap. They just don't know fear, and there's a reason.



When you've practiced marshal arts under the greatest masters since you were two years old, and when you grow up to be 200 pounds of rock solid granite toned muscle, you develop an understanding about the universe, about yourself, and about other people. You come to realize by the time your 21 that there is no one who wants to mess you. You know that anyone who even tries will be obliterated into a convulsing, weeping mass of flesh. You appreciate the fact that you are bigger and stronger and meaner than any other dude on the planet. 20 years of Kung Fu, Kempoo Karate, Jui Jitsu, mixed with choke holds, broken bricks, and carnage laying on the ground behind you is enough to convince you of that.

So today everyone was surprised when a 140 pound Korean stepped up to hop in the ring with Maximus for a round of full contact kick boxing. There would not be any shin guards, head guards, foot guards, or any sparring gear, at all. Marshal arts with no protective gear has been compared to trying to fight an alcohol fueled dragster, head on. But spectators for some reason love and are willing to pay top dollar to see blood and teeth sprawled across the floor of the ring, along side the limp body of a loser.

Now, no one knew anything about the little Korean guy. He wasn't a member of any local dojo, wasn't some famous Sensei, and had never competed in any local tournament. But in the same corner sat an old man whose face was so weathered with wrinkles that he appeared to be ancient. As the Korean warmed up with some shadow sparring in the ring, someone approached the old man and asked where they were from. The old man told him that he was a Buddhist monk, an that his young friend was his student. He said they had traveled from Nepal to meet with family, but there hotel had been broken into and all their money stolen. So, they needed to make some cash to pay for airfare back to Nepal and the monastery where they lived.