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San Diego – mecca of Brazilian jiu-jitsu
Into the jungle I go. If I don’t make it back, tell my mother I love her.
“To be in Jiu-Jitsu from when it started in San Diego until now, it’s awesome,” says Elias Gallegos.
There are silent killers walking amongst us. Many of them. Not the kind that have the thirst to kill, mind you, but the kind that could kill, can kill, thanks to the skills they’ve worked hard to learn. You used to be able to identify practitioners of the grappling arts by their deformed cauliflower ears. Now, even the most innocent-looking man, woman, or child may know how to easily defend themselves if it’s ever necessary, even if their ears appear pure — here more than elsewhere. San Diego has become a mecca of Brazilian jiu-jitsu in the United States (although other cities like Austin and New York have recently challenged that title). It’s not just that our inviting climate is similar to that of Brazil, though the weather makes it no surprise that people from all over the world want to live and train here. It’s the concentration of excellence and mentorship. Given over 100 gyms, many of them graced with championship names like those of the Gracies, Dean Lister, Andre Galvao, and Eddie Bravo, it’s clear that there’s no shortage of world class talent: masters of the form who are willing to show their tricks to anybody who has the courage and desire to enter this wild arena.
Victory MMA and Fitness
It’s the beginning of the new year. A couple of friends from work tell me they’re eager to get into an MMA gym. I tell them about Victory MMA and Fitness in the Midway District of Point Loma, a gym I started training at for about a week before the pandemic shut that shit down. After a week or two of New Year’s contemplation, we decide to check it out. After signing the waivers, we enter during what seems like a quiet moment in the gym. Our first class is set to start at noon. I have to take a piss, and head upstairs to the men’s locker room. When we reach the top of the stairs, we freeze at the sight of a drenched-in-sweat silverback gorilla walking in our direction. We freeze and hope the massive simian won’t see us, and as he approaches, I realize that it’s not a silverback, but a man. A very particular man; as evidenced by the shape of his shaved skull: former Navy Seal (and author of multiple books on leadership) Jocko Willink. He stops. We stand still. Then we extend our hands for him to grip. “Hey boys,” he says. “Where you guys from?” I babble something about living in Chula Vista on the weekends. “Do you guys have any martial arts experience?” Willink asks. “I have a wrestling background,” I squeeze out. My co-worker stays silent. “Wrestling is a good foundation for jiu-jitsu,” he offers before passing by us on his way to the locker room. Hmph, seems like a nice guy.
Later, on the mat during our first class, ADCC — aka the Olympics of jiu-jitsu — Hall-of-Famer Dean Lister shows us a few submission holds before breaking us off into “rounds.” This is where you look around the room and find an opponent to spar with for about five minutes at a time. When that five minutes is up, you look for another person for another five minutes. During the final round of the training session, I’m grappling with a guy who is much smaller than me. The weird thing is that he feels dense as hell. I’m uncertain what his training level is, but I believe I can hold my own. We feel each other out for a couple of minutes. Then, in a moment, I find myself on the ground, trying to maintain a guard position. The guy easily passes it; a moment later, he is pushing his wrist against my throat while pulling on the back of my slippery skull. With an eeking look on my face, I tap out just before I’m removed from my consciousness. “Welcome to the jungle,” he says before we slap hands and fist bump — the universal signal on the mat that means “I just kicked your ass, but no hard feelings.” The first class is over. I’m spent. My coworker later finds that he’s been blessed with a staph infection. Somebody get a mop.
However, in terms of mental health, the practice of jiu-jitsu is said to have outstanding benefits. It’s one of the most intense forms of exercise you can do. When you survive a day on the mats, the remainder of that day is cake. You’ve already gone through what will likely be the most intense part. The other thing about rolling BJJ is that when you’re locked in a battle with somebody, you are completely present. You have to be. You can’t think about the past or the future. The only thing you can think about is surviving, trying not to get strangled while at the same time trying to strangle or catch a joint to twist on somebody else. “Tap, nap, or crack. It’s your choice” is what one coach says. It’s not complicated: tap somebody or be tapped. As a new white belt, you will tap early and often. And speaking personally, I feel something akin to a sense of euphoria whenever I leave the mat, whether I did well that day or tapped out 20 times. A common phrase you hear from coaches and practitioners is “Just show up.” That seems right to me.
My co-workers must have disagreed, because they dropped out pretty quickly. Me, I decided this was a world I wanted to explore. So, into the jungle I go. If I don’t make it back, tell my mother I love her, and to stop watching so much conspiracy stuff on YouTube.
Atos Jiu-Jitsu HQ
I’m sitting at Woody’s on the PB boardwalk drinking an iced coffee. Sagrado calls me and tells me he’s running a little late. “No worries,” I say. “The boardwalk has plenty of entertainment rolling by.” I know Sagrado’s face only from his Instagram, but he’s immediately recognizable when I see him moving, sharklike, through a school of beach-goers towards the cafe. Sagrado, a three time world IBJJF world champion, is the business director for the combat jiu-jitsu promotion Subversiv. After some short pleasantries, we walk to his illegally parked SUV to talk about the upcoming event and BJJ in general. “Do you smoke?” he asks — referring to cannabis. I take a rip from the green flower turned red, and pass it back as he begins to tell me his jiu-jitsu journey.
PJ Barch following an ADCC competition. Barch is known as the “Butter Panther” for his smooth style and flow.
“I win because I’ve been through some shit,” he says. “I don’t think my opponent has been through as much as I’ve been through.” A couple of motorcycles pull up next to us; the rumble from the exhaust is loud even while they’re idling. The motorcycles pop into gear and give a short bang, then roll off quietly. “That was cool,” says Sagrado. “I like the respect that these fools have. Did you see that shit? They could’ve been like, whooam whooam! But they saw us over here talking. I like that shit.”
In his earlier years, Sagrado found himself behind prison bars for an aggravated assault charge. At the time, he was a blue belt with a year of training. Going into prison, he had a skill set that would protect him from the very thing he was charged with. “These fools in prison wanted to test me, so what I did was I’d roll with one guy, tap him out. Then I’d roll with another and tap him out. These guys were super strong, but had no training whatsoever,” he explains. “They were so fascinated, and even started acting like UFC commentators.”
Once Sagrado’s inmates realized his jiu-jitsu capabilities, they began to ask him to teach them the martial art. Sagrado says he hesitated to give lessons because there were no mats, but eventually agreed to start some light rolling with some fellow prisoners on the cement floor. “I told my friend that if he can roll with me for a month straight, and at the end of it, he can survive, I’ll start with the curriculum. I knew it would get me better with the fundamentals. And it would help him, and we could grow together. I didn’t try to be a sensei or anything like that. I was just a student who wanted to grow.”
Eventually, word got around the prison yard that there was a guy teaching BJJ. Within a month, Sagrado says, he had eighty students wanting to learn from him. That number grew to hundreds over the years. “Finally this female warden came in, and she didn’t like it at all. She was like, ‘Fuck that.’ She looked at the male warden like, ‘I can’t believe you let these fools do this for that long.’” The male warden replied that he respected what they were doing, because it gave discipline. “We had rules,” says Sagrado. “You couldn’t be a sex offender. You couldn’t be a child molester. You had to be someone who was just a knucklehead looking for a positive path in a dark place.”
The sport has enticed not only people looking for discipline and direction, but also those suffering from PTSD. With the strong military presence here in San Diego, it’s no surprise to find armed forces veterans and active duty personnel training at many dojos. That comes up when the conversation turns to Subversiv, “We partner with a bunch of cool veteran groups like Vet Tix and Patriot Empowerment,” Sagrado says. Patriot Empowerment is an organization that helps vets and military personnel who are getting ready to transition to civilian life. “They can help them in a few different ways,” he says. “They can help them with getting into college. They can put them to work, getting them first dibs on jobs with places like SDG&E. Then they have the government sector too.” To illustrate, Sagrado points me to a dojo where many veterans and law enforcement train.
Video:
The Making of Subversiv San Diego
Gallegos Jiu-Jitsu Association
Do you remember the scene from The Jungle Book when Mowgli and Bagheera encounter the elephants? “Bow your head,” Bagheera instructs. “Show them respect. The elephants created the jungle.” Well, Elias Gallegos was one of the founders of Alliance Jiu-Jitsu (a well-known MMA gym in San Diego), and was a part of the birthing of Victory MMA. He is one of the trailblazers of the BJJ and MMA community in San Diego. There were very few active BJJ gyms in the city before he and Dean Lister helped pioneer the local scene back in the mid-’90s. “To be in jiu-jitsu from when it started in San Diego until now, it’s awesome,” says Gallegos. “When I started, there were only two schools, now there’s something like 120. Everyone teaches differently. There’s a jiu-jitsu gym for everybody.”
Dawna Gonzalez giving a belt promotion. Gonzalez runs women’s Jiu-Jitsu and self-defense classes at 10th Planet South Bay.
Gallegos tells me to bring my gi - a uniform consisting of a jacket, pants and colored belt indicating rank. Ranks go as follows: white (prepare to get your ass kicked for many months), blue, purple, brown, black and coral. I usually train no-gi, because I feel like I can move better. (I think most wrestlers transitioning to BJJ prefer no-gi, but that’s arguable.) Shorts and a rash guard are my fashion choices when I’m rolling, but I do as Gallegos requests and pack my gi.
When I enter Gallegos’s Eastlake training facility, there are a couple of guys stretching on the sugar white mats. “Is Elias around?” I ask. “He’s upstairs hitting the bags,” one answers back. I climb the stairs and poke my head into a steamy room where people are training in Muay Thai. Gallegos notices me and gives me a nod as somebody smacks the pads he’s holding up on his hands. “I’ll be down after this class,” he says.
When Gallegos runs a class, it’s more than showing a few moves and rolling rounds. He will ask questions to make sure you’re paying attention. He’ll ask why a certain position works. The idea is to train a person to be able to think clearly while in the heat of battle. Thought is what will win a war. Jiu-jitsu is much like a chess game: you need to be thinking a few moves ahead of your opponent. “My philosophy has always been self-defense first,” he says. “Self-defense is your first building block of jiu-jitsu. I went after the military and law-enforcement community for a reason. We live in a military town. We see a lot of law-enforcement guys catching a bad rap because they didn’t know how to control a guy.”
Gallegos says he wants to be a part of something greater than himself while giving back to the community. When he came to this realization, he started to give law enforcement free classes and training. Because his association is a non-profit, he is able to secure grants to provide lifetime memberships. Eighty percent of his students are either military or law enforcement.
Once a bodyguard and kidnapper for drug dealers, Gallegos flipped his life around and is now a pastor and counselor, mentoring combat veterans as well as giving them a free place to train. “Whenever anybody comes to me and they are dealing with anything like depression and anxiety, I let them train for free. I use my gym as a ministry. Every Saturday, I have two men’s life groups. When you come into my combat veterans program, you have to give me at least two of the four Saturdays a month. I don’t want it to be just the jiu-jitsu portion. My whole thing is, it has to be mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally. You have to want to grow in those four areas of your life. And they have to want it more than me. I can’t do it for them.”
While down in the South Bay, I catch wind of some new cats in town on the west side of Chula Vista, so I pack my bag, ditch my gi, and beat feet towards the water to see what the noise is.
10th Planet South Bay Jiu-jitsu
Back in 2003, founder of 10th Planet Jiu-Jitsu Eddie Bravo defeated famed ambassador of the sport Royler Gracie on Gracie’s own South American soil. The moment was a defining one for Bravo. He was now part of the world’s elite. Not long after, the Southern California native opened his first dojo in downtown Los Angeles. That was the birth of a BJJ brand that has grown to over 170 gyms worldwide. In San Diego County alone, four 10th Planet gyms house over 600 “freaks,’’ as they prefer to call themselves.
Down in the thicket of 3rd Avenue in Chula Vista, the newest 10th Planet gym materialized just this past July. Unlike the other three spots in the county, this gym is different. Although still on the same team as the “freaks”, this squad is more like a pack of wild cats, led by 10th Planet black belt PJ Barch, better known as the “Butter Panther” for his smooth style and flow. They lost their former Spring Valley location two years ago, but that didn’t stop Barch from continuing to coach his students. Location didn’t matter. “One of my students invited us to his backyard, where I agreed to teach two or three days a week for free until I figured out where we were going,” says the Butter Panther. In the meantime, Barch says he traveled around to other jiu-jitsu schools to learn the logistics of running a gym, and how to piece together a place that would fit what he was looking to create.
“It took a long time to build,” Barch says of the newly opened space. “This was just a basement they weren’t going to do anything with. There was just one set of stairs in the back, there was no electricity, there was no water. It was just a bunch of old walls and weird shit set up down here. It was a big undertaking, but I really want to do something different here, and make something special. Whatever it takes to fuckin’ make this place high level and succeed in the long term.”
Alongside Barch at 10th Planet South Bay, ferocious freak Dawna Gonzalez runs women’s jiu-jitsu and self-defense classes. In her educated opinion, the last seven years have been a turning point for women in the sport. “There’s been all women’s card competitions, and the level of competitive women has shot up exponentially,” says Gonzalez. Jiu-jitsu has become attractive for women not only for the self defense aspect, but also for the same reason men are so into it. “Women love the competitive aspect, the adrenaline rush that comes with it, the problem solving game, and the raw animal behavior. We all have to behave in society. The more people practice violence, the less violent they are.”
Although Gonzalez wanted to teach only jiu jitsu classes, she was urged by Eddie Bravo to teach women’s self-defense classes too. “It turned out to be so amazing. All of a sudden, it went from being this community that I had to a purpose in life. My purpose became helping other people, specifically women, to find that bad-ass animal space inside of them. And it’s super healthy to be able to tap into it.”
Asked how 10th Planet fits into the rest of the BJJ community, Gonzalez says, “From my perspective, I think in the past decade, we’ve gone from being a little bit of a joke, wearing our bright no-gi clothing and our rubber guard. I think we’ve worked our way up in the ethos of respect,” in part because there are so many adherents.
At the gym’s opening night, an open mat goes down. An open mat is exactly what it says it is: anybody from the community is welcome to come and roll for no cost. But when the hour-long session is over, only 10th Planet members are allowed to stay for the opening night ceremony. Eddie Bravo is onsite alongside brothers Geo and Richie “Boogeyman” Martinez, who run the other San Diego “freaks” gyms. Bravo, who is also a comedian, kicks off the ceremonial part of the evening with what feels like a stand-up set before Barch and Gonzalez give belt promotions. The night feels special, because it is; that’s the vibe you feel at 10th Planet.
Sagrado tells me to get there early to secure a media pass. The combat jiu-jitsu rumble is set to open the doors at 4 pm. I look for Sagrado’s dorsal fin, as he’s constantly on the move, busy as all hell. I see him swimming towards me near the entrance, dressed in all black with the exception of white sneakers. After he throws me my pass, he’s back on the move. “I’ll catch up with you later, brother,” he says. “Take a walk around the and check shit out. Check out the sponsor tables. Do whatever you need to do.”
It’s the first event the superfight promotion has hosted in San Diego. Since 2018, Subversiv has operated out of Miami. Now, their intention is to stay based in San Diego for the next two years because this city is the “spot.” All of the top gyms in the city — and from other cities — are at this event. The jungle has come together for its summer showdown. The red flowers are burning.
Down in the thicket of 3rd Avenue in Chula Vista, the newest 10th Planet gym materialized just this past July. From left to right: Geo Martinez, Eddie Bravo, PJ Barch, and Richie “Boogeyman” Martinez.
The Harbor Island hotel is teeming with fans, teams, and fighters who have been training months for just minutes of action on the mat. I look out to the bay, watching the final boats of the day sailing in front of an aircraft carrier on North Island. “This is the fuckin’ spot,” I think to myself. Then my attention is diverted back to the matches when I hear a THWACK! “Homegirl in pink has over/under control. She’s gonna smash the fuck out of her!” somebody yells out. The action is underway. Combat jiu-jitsu allows palm strikes, unlike traditional jiu-jitsu. The smacks are the sounds of a game that is ever-evolving.
Later in the evening, I take a walk around the event center. It’s just an aimless wander as I try to not get lost, but the jungle has a way of playing tricks on you. One of the sponsors of the event is a psilocybin mushroom company out of Maine. The woman running the booth gives me a bag of gummy mushrooms and a T-shirt with their name branded on the front. I use the shirt as a seat holder for the remainder of the evening, and the mushrooms are consumed later.
Meanwhile, on the elevated mat, 29 fights total are scheduled to go down–not all at the same time. I believe I hear Sagrado’s voice on the microphone announcing the fighters, but I can’t be sure. When I sit back down in my seat, I look over and see the Butter Panther (Barch) coaching one of his guys who’s competing. The rest of the den is at a table, watching closely as their guy takes home a victory by judges’ decision. A few tables down, the Elephant (Gallegos) is congregated with his team as one of his students prepares for battle. The jungle is active and it’s thundering with competitors getting twisted on, choked, and smacked in wars that leave their girlfriends and mothers in terrified tears.
When the dust finally settles and the intensity subsides to a light hum, the fighters and gyms are taking pictures with each other. Once the organized fights are finished, it’s all love, hand slapping, and fist-bumps. In this mostly machismo world, the mat is where the anger is strategically released. It’s where you can dance with death while testing your own limitations. It’s where you’re humbled every time you step out there as you learn an extremely physical and intelligent art.
Video:
DEAD ORCHARD from Rubber Guard - Fedor Nikolov vs Jordan Bailey - Subversiv San Diego
Here's something you might be interested in.
San Diego – mecca of Brazilian jiu-jitsu
Into the jungle I go. If I don’t make it back, tell my mother I love her.
San Diego – mecca of Brazilian jiu-jitsu
Into the jungle I go. If I don’t make it back, tell my mother I love her.
“To be in Jiu-Jitsu from when it started in San Diego until now, it’s awesome,” says Elias Gallegos.
There are silent killers walking amongst us. Many of them. Not the kind that have the thirst to kill, mind you, but the kind that could kill, can kill, thanks to the skills they’ve worked hard to learn. You used to be able to identify practitioners of the grappling arts by their deformed cauliflower ears. Now, even the most innocent-looking man, woman, or child may know how to easily defend themselves if it’s ever necessary, even if their ears appear pure — here more than elsewhere. San Diego has become a mecca of Brazilian jiu-jitsu in the United States (although other cities like Austin and New York have recently challenged that title). It’s not just that our inviting climate is similar to that of Brazil, though the weather makes it no surprise that people from all over the world want to live and train here. It’s the concentration of excellence and mentorship. Given over 100 gyms, many of them graced with championship names like those of the Gracies, Dean Lister, Andre Galvao, and Eddie Bravo, it’s clear that there’s no shortage of world class talent: masters of the form who are willing to show their tricks to anybody who has the courage and desire to enter this wild arena.
Victory MMA and Fitness
It’s the beginning of the new year. A couple of friends from work tell me they’re eager to get into an MMA gym. I tell them about Victory MMA and Fitness in the Midway District of Point Loma, a gym I started training at for about a week before the pandemic shut that shit down. After a week or two of New Year’s contemplation, we decide to check it out. After signing the waivers, we enter during what seems like a quiet moment in the gym. Our first class is set to start at noon. I have to take a piss, and head upstairs to the men’s locker room. When we reach the top of the stairs, we freeze at the sight of a drenched-in-sweat silverback gorilla walking in our direction. We freeze and hope the massive simian won’t see us, and as he approaches, I realize that it’s not a silverback, but a man. A very particular man; as evidenced by the shape of his shaved skull: former Navy Seal (and author of multiple books on leadership) Jocko Willink. He stops. We stand still. Then we extend our hands for him to grip. “Hey boys,” he says. “Where you guys from?” I babble something about living in Chula Vista on the weekends. “Do you guys have any martial arts experience?” Willink asks. “I have a wrestling background,” I squeeze out. My co-worker stays silent. “Wrestling is a good foundation for jiu-jitsu,” he offers before passing by us on his way to the locker room. Hmph, seems like a nice guy.
Later, on the mat during our first class, ADCC — aka the Olympics of jiu-jitsu — Hall-of-Famer Dean Lister shows us a few submission holds before breaking us off into “rounds.” This is where you look around the room and find an opponent to spar with for about five minutes at a time. When that five minutes is up, you look for another person for another five minutes. During the final round of the training session, I’m grappling with a guy who is much smaller than me. The weird thing is that he feels dense as hell. I’m uncertain what his training level is, but I believe I can hold my own. We feel each other out for a couple of minutes. Then, in a moment, I find myself on the ground, trying to maintain a guard position. The guy easily passes it; a moment later, he is pushing his wrist against my throat while pulling on the back of my slippery skull. With an eeking look on my face, I tap out just before I’m removed from my consciousness. “Welcome to the jungle,” he says before we slap hands and fist bump — the universal signal on the mat that means “I just kicked your ass, but no hard feelings.” The first class is over. I’m spent. My coworker later finds that he’s been blessed with a staph infection. Somebody get a mop.
However, in terms of mental health, the practice of jiu-jitsu is said to have outstanding benefits. It’s one of the most intense forms of exercise you can do. When you survive a day on the mats, the remainder of that day is cake. You’ve already gone through what will likely be the most intense part. The other thing about rolling BJJ is that when you’re locked in a battle with somebody, you are completely present. You have to be. You can’t think about the past or the future. The only thing you can think about is surviving, trying not to get strangled while at the same time trying to strangle or catch a joint to twist on somebody else. “Tap, nap, or crack. It’s your choice” is what one coach says. It’s not complicated: tap somebody or be tapped. As a new white belt, you will tap early and often. And speaking personally, I feel something akin to a sense of euphoria whenever I leave the mat, whether I did well that day or tapped out 20 times. A common phrase you hear from coaches and practitioners is “Just show up.” That seems right to me.
My co-workers must have disagreed, because they dropped out pretty quickly. Me, I decided this was a world I wanted to explore. So, into the jungle I go. If I don’t make it back, tell my mother I love her, and to stop watching so much conspiracy stuff on YouTube.
Atos Jiu-Jitsu HQ
I’m sitting at Woody’s on the PB boardwalk drinking an iced coffee. Sagrado calls me and tells me he’s running a little late. “No worries,” I say. “The boardwalk has plenty of entertainment rolling by.” I know Sagrado’s face only from his Instagram, but he’s immediately recognizable when I see him moving, sharklike, through a school of beach-goers towards the cafe. Sagrado, a three time world IBJJF world champion, is the business director for the combat jiu-jitsu promotion Subversiv. After some short pleasantries, we walk to his illegally parked SUV to talk about the upcoming event and BJJ in general. “Do you smoke?” he asks — referring to cannabis. I take a rip from the green flower turned red, and pass it back as he begins to tell me his jiu-jitsu journey.
PJ Barch following an ADCC competition. Barch is known as the “Butter Panther” for his smooth style and flow.
“I win because I’ve been through some shit,” he says. “I don’t think my opponent has been through as much as I’ve been through.” A couple of motorcycles pull up next to us; the rumble from the exhaust is loud even while they’re idling. The motorcycles pop into gear and give a short bang, then roll off quietly. “That was cool,” says Sagrado. “I like the respect that these fools have. Did you see that shit? They could’ve been like, whooam whooam! But they saw us over here talking. I like that shit.”
In his earlier years, Sagrado found himself behind prison bars for an aggravated assault charge. At the time, he was a blue belt with a year of training. Going into prison, he had a skill set that would protect him from the very thing he was charged with. “These fools in prison wanted to test me, so what I did was I’d roll with one guy, tap him out. Then I’d roll with another and tap him out. These guys were super strong, but had no training whatsoever,” he explains. “They were so fascinated, and even started acting like UFC commentators.”
Once Sagrado’s inmates realized his jiu-jitsu capabilities, they began to ask him to teach them the martial art. Sagrado says he hesitated to give lessons because there were no mats, but eventually agreed to start some light rolling with some fellow prisoners on the cement floor. “I told my friend that if he can roll with me for a month straight, and at the end of it, he can survive, I’ll start with the curriculum. I knew it would get me better with the fundamentals. And it would help him, and we could grow together. I didn’t try to be a sensei or anything like that. I was just a student who wanted to grow.”
Eventually, word got around the prison yard that there was a guy teaching BJJ. Within a month, Sagrado says, he had eighty students wanting to learn from him. That number grew to hundreds over the years. “Finally this female warden came in, and she didn’t like it at all. She was like, ‘Fuck that.’ She looked at the male warden like, ‘I can’t believe you let these fools do this for that long.’” The male warden replied that he respected what they were doing, because it gave discipline. “We had rules,” says Sagrado. “You couldn’t be a sex offender. You couldn’t be a child molester. You had to be someone who was just a knucklehead looking for a positive path in a dark place.”
The sport has enticed not only people looking for discipline and direction, but also those suffering from PTSD. With the strong military presence here in San Diego, it’s no surprise to find armed forces veterans and active duty personnel training at many dojos. That comes up when the conversation turns to Subversiv, “We partner with a bunch of cool veteran groups like Vet Tix and Patriot Empowerment,” Sagrado says. Patriot Empowerment is an organization that helps vets and military personnel who are getting ready to transition to civilian life. “They can help them in a few different ways,” he says. “They can help them with getting into college. They can put them to work, getting them first dibs on jobs with places like SDG&E. Then they have the government sector too.” To illustrate, Sagrado points me to a dojo where many veterans and law enforcement train.
Video:
The Making of Subversiv San Diego
Gallegos Jiu-Jitsu Association
Do you remember the scene from The Jungle Book when Mowgli and Bagheera encounter the elephants? “Bow your head,” Bagheera instructs. “Show them respect. The elephants created the jungle.” Well, Elias Gallegos was one of the founders of Alliance Jiu-Jitsu (a well-known MMA gym in San Diego), and was a part of the birthing of Victory MMA. He is one of the trailblazers of the BJJ and MMA community in San Diego. There were very few active BJJ gyms in the city before he and Dean Lister helped pioneer the local scene back in the mid-’90s. “To be in jiu-jitsu from when it started in San Diego until now, it’s awesome,” says Gallegos. “When I started, there were only two schools, now there’s something like 120. Everyone teaches differently. There’s a jiu-jitsu gym for everybody.”
Dawna Gonzalez giving a belt promotion. Gonzalez runs women’s Jiu-Jitsu and self-defense classes at 10th Planet South Bay.
Gallegos tells me to bring my gi - a uniform consisting of a jacket, pants and colored belt indicating rank. Ranks go as follows: white (prepare to get your ass kicked for many months), blue, purple, brown, black and coral. I usually train no-gi, because I feel like I can move better. (I think most wrestlers transitioning to BJJ prefer no-gi, but that’s arguable.) Shorts and a rash guard are my fashion choices when I’m rolling, but I do as Gallegos requests and pack my gi.
When I enter Gallegos’s Eastlake training facility, there are a couple of guys stretching on the sugar white mats. “Is Elias around?” I ask. “He’s upstairs hitting the bags,” one answers back. I climb the stairs and poke my head into a steamy room where people are training in Muay Thai. Gallegos notices me and gives me a nod as somebody smacks the pads he’s holding up on his hands. “I’ll be down after this class,” he says.
When Gallegos runs a class, it’s more than showing a few moves and rolling rounds. He will ask questions to make sure you’re paying attention. He’ll ask why a certain position works. The idea is to train a person to be able to think clearly while in the heat of battle. Thought is what will win a war. Jiu-jitsu is much like a chess game: you need to be thinking a few moves ahead of your opponent. “My philosophy has always been self-defense first,” he says. “Self-defense is your first building block of jiu-jitsu. I went after the military and law-enforcement community for a reason. We live in a military town. We see a lot of law-enforcement guys catching a bad rap because they didn’t know how to control a guy.”
Gallegos says he wants to be a part of something greater than himself while giving back to the community. When he came to this realization, he started to give law enforcement free classes and training. Because his association is a non-profit, he is able to secure grants to provide lifetime memberships. Eighty percent of his students are either military or law enforcement.
Once a bodyguard and kidnapper for drug dealers, Gallegos flipped his life around and is now a pastor and counselor, mentoring combat veterans as well as giving them a free place to train. “Whenever anybody comes to me and they are dealing with anything like depression and anxiety, I let them train for free. I use my gym as a ministry. Every Saturday, I have two men’s life groups. When you come into my combat veterans program, you have to give me at least two of the four Saturdays a month. I don’t want it to be just the jiu-jitsu portion. My whole thing is, it has to be mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally. You have to want to grow in those four areas of your life. And they have to want it more than me. I can’t do it for them.”
While down in the South Bay, I catch wind of some new cats in town on the west side of Chula Vista, so I pack my bag, ditch my gi, and beat feet towards the water to see what the noise is.
10th Planet South Bay Jiu-jitsu
Back in 2003, founder of 10th Planet Jiu-Jitsu Eddie Bravo defeated famed ambassador of the sport Royler Gracie on Gracie’s own South American soil. The moment was a defining one for Bravo. He was now part of the world’s elite. Not long after, the Southern California native opened his first dojo in downtown Los Angeles. That was the birth of a BJJ brand that has grown to over 170 gyms worldwide. In San Diego County alone, four 10th Planet gyms house over 600 “freaks,’’ as they prefer to call themselves.
Down in the thicket of 3rd Avenue in Chula Vista, the newest 10th Planet gym materialized just this past July. Unlike the other three spots in the county, this gym is different. Although still on the same team as the “freaks”, this squad is more like a pack of wild cats, led by 10th Planet black belt PJ Barch, better known as the “Butter Panther” for his smooth style and flow. They lost their former Spring Valley location two years ago, but that didn’t stop Barch from continuing to coach his students. Location didn’t matter. “One of my students invited us to his backyard, where I agreed to teach two or three days a week for free until I figured out where we were going,” says the Butter Panther. In the meantime, Barch says he traveled around to other jiu-jitsu schools to learn the logistics of running a gym, and how to piece together a place that would fit what he was looking to create.
“It took a long time to build,” Barch says of the newly opened space. “This was just a basement they weren’t going to do anything with. There was just one set of stairs in the back, there was no electricity, there was no water. It was just a bunch of old walls and weird shit set up down here. It was a big undertaking, but I really want to do something different here, and make something special. Whatever it takes to fuckin’ make this place high level and succeed in the long term.”
Alongside Barch at 10th Planet South Bay, ferocious freak Dawna Gonzalez runs women’s jiu-jitsu and self-defense classes. In her educated opinion, the last seven years have been a turning point for women in the sport. “There’s been all women’s card competitions, and the level of competitive women has shot up exponentially,” says Gonzalez. Jiu-jitsu has become attractive for women not only for the self defense aspect, but also for the same reason men are so into it. “Women love the competitive aspect, the adrenaline rush that comes with it, the problem solving game, and the raw animal behavior. We all have to behave in society. The more people practice violence, the less violent they are.”
Although Gonzalez wanted to teach only jiu jitsu classes, she was urged by Eddie Bravo to teach women’s self-defense classes too. “It turned out to be so amazing. All of a sudden, it went from being this community that I had to a purpose in life. My purpose became helping other people, specifically women, to find that bad-ass animal space inside of them. And it’s super healthy to be able to tap into it.”
Asked how 10th Planet fits into the rest of the BJJ community, Gonzalez says, “From my perspective, I think in the past decade, we’ve gone from being a little bit of a joke, wearing our bright no-gi clothing and our rubber guard. I think we’ve worked our way up in the ethos of respect,” in part because there are so many adherents.
At the gym’s opening night, an open mat goes down. An open mat is exactly what it says it is: anybody from the community is welcome to come and roll for no cost. But when the hour-long session is over, only 10th Planet members are allowed to stay for the opening night ceremony. Eddie Bravo is onsite alongside brothers Geo and Richie “Boogeyman” Martinez, who run the other San Diego “freaks” gyms. Bravo, who is also a comedian, kicks off the ceremonial part of the evening with what feels like a stand-up set before Barch and Gonzalez give belt promotions. The night feels special, because it is; that’s the vibe you feel at 10th Planet.
Sagrado tells me to get there early to secure a media pass. The combat jiu-jitsu rumble is set to open the doors at 4 pm. I look for Sagrado’s dorsal fin, as he’s constantly on the move, busy as all hell. I see him swimming towards me near the entrance, dressed in all black with the exception of white sneakers. After he throws me my pass, he’s back on the move. “I’ll catch up with you later, brother,” he says. “Take a walk around the and check shit out. Check out the sponsor tables. Do whatever you need to do.”
It’s the first event the superfight promotion has hosted in San Diego. Since 2018, Subversiv has operated out of Miami. Now, their intention is to stay based in San Diego for the next two years because this city is the “spot.” All of the top gyms in the city — and from other cities — are at this event. The jungle has come together for its summer showdown. The red flowers are burning.
Down in the thicket of 3rd Avenue in Chula Vista, the newest 10th Planet gym materialized just this past July. From left to right: Geo Martinez, Eddie Bravo, PJ Barch, and Richie “Boogeyman” Martinez.
The Harbor Island hotel is teeming with fans, teams, and fighters who have been training months for just minutes of action on the mat. I look out to the bay, watching the final boats of the day sailing in front of an aircraft carrier on North Island. “This is the fuckin’ spot,” I think to myself. Then my attention is diverted back to the matches when I hear a THWACK! “Homegirl in pink has over/under control. She’s gonna smash the fuck out of her!” somebody yells out. The action is underway. Combat jiu-jitsu allows palm strikes, unlike traditional jiu-jitsu. The smacks are the sounds of a game that is ever-evolving.
Later in the evening, I take a walk around the event center. It’s just an aimless wander as I try to not get lost, but the jungle has a way of playing tricks on you. One of the sponsors of the event is a psilocybin mushroom company out of Maine. The woman running the booth gives me a bag of gummy mushrooms and a T-shirt with their name branded on the front. I use the shirt as a seat holder for the remainder of the evening, and the mushrooms are consumed later.
Meanwhile, on the elevated mat, 29 fights total are scheduled to go down–not all at the same time. I believe I hear Sagrado’s voice on the microphone announcing the fighters, but I can’t be sure. When I sit back down in my seat, I look over and see the Butter Panther (Barch) coaching one of his guys who’s competing. The rest of the den is at a table, watching closely as their guy takes home a victory by judges’ decision. A few tables down, the Elephant (Gallegos) is congregated with his team as one of his students prepares for battle. The jungle is active and it’s thundering with competitors getting twisted on, choked, and smacked in wars that leave their girlfriends and mothers in terrified tears.
When the dust finally settles and the intensity subsides to a light hum, the fighters and gyms are taking pictures with each other. Once the organized fights are finished, it’s all love, hand slapping, and fist-bumps. In this mostly machismo world, the mat is where the anger is strategically released. It’s where you can dance with death while testing your own limitations. It’s where you’re humbled every time you step out there as you learn an extremely physical and intelligent art.
Video:
DEAD ORCHARD from Rubber Guard - Fedor Nikolov vs Jordan Bailey - Subversiv San Diego