Galway’s Shaolin Gym shows the true reality of the MMA athlete
The athletes of Galway’s Shaolin Gym is a far cry from the image Conor McGregor portrays for MMA.
“Maybe I’ll search for Khloé’s big fat ass — she’s been floating around Malibu,” said Conor McGregor, referring to one of the Kardashians.
“I don’t give a fuck about them. I just like to see them in the flesh.”
Does he admire them? “Never put the pussy on a pedestal, my friend. I just want to see it.” — Conor McGregor, GQ feature interview, 2017.
McGregor’s atmospheric rise is presented as the typical rags-to-riches story we should all be proud of. The classic ‘man wants to be him, women with him’ that has shot MMA to the mainstream.
His ascent in the world of MMA, celebrities and more unfolds simultaneously to his descent in others. McGregor has increasingly become more abrasive, more narcissistic, more self-indulgent and more offensive. It is hard to imagine the 2008, Crumlin kid involving his “Gringo” opponent’s children in his trash-talking, as he did with Rafael dos Anjos in early 2016 or offering his recent crass description of the Kardashians.
Yet, McGregor’s reputation is an illusion. His life, which appears to his public as unimaginable luxury, is actually an unknown. We understand his life through a limited sphere of what he wants it to look like. An Instagram-generated, never-ending stream of high-powered supercars, Gucci mink garments and golden oyster-cased watches that his 11.5 million followers consume as reality and subconsciously use as a yardstick to which their incomparable tedious life is measured against. Social media, the ultimate highlight reel. He sets ‘goals’ that they frustrating fail to fulfill.
It is not McGregor’s fault that what is consumed online is digested as real when in fact it has no bearing to it. French sociologist and cultural theorist Jean Budrillard would call this the fourth stage of the image. Budrillard was extremely cynical about the post-modern condition. Originally we got the reflection of reality. Then it became something that masks and pervert’s reality. Then it masked the absence of reality and finally it now bears no relation to reality.
To use the example of McGregor, the ‘Mac-Life’ promoted online is the creation of set expectations for a multi-millionaire sports star. If McGregor did not win fights, act as a self-assured star and associate with the biggest names in Hollywood, we would not buy it. These images in turn shape the way we understand real life and people. What we now define as success, as the ultimate ‘goal’ and successful behaviour is based on this fake image that in no way bares reflection on the true McGregor. If deluxe and repetitive snaps of Gucci Mink, Rolex's and Lamborghini's is winning, we by extension are losing. We take this delusion and apply it to reality.
Applying this postmodernist outlook, this image is now more valuable to society than the original.
For better or for worse, Conor McGregor is UFC. We know this because he tells us this is the case. The UFC is the biggest mixed martial arts promotion company. Right now McGregor and his image are the ambassador not only for the organisation, but the sport of MMA.
There is a world outside of that. A world where martial arts represents an entirely different concept. A humility. It is less frequent and hard sought but out there nevertheless. It requires you to venture to remote destinations, the type of place that is tucked into the corner of an industrial estate outside Galway city, surrounded by electrical and storage units.
“I wanted a place for people to come and escape. It shouldn’t matter what background you have, what country you’re from, what religion you are. A place for young and old people to come together and learn something positive.”
Benjamin Davis was born in a working-class area of Bristol to a Jamaican Dad and Irish Mom. Soon after he moved to Fermanagh. As a mixed-raced boy with a British-accent attending the second ever integrated school, he had his fair share of adversity.
“I’m interested in movement, relaxation, staying calm and mediation. In mixed martial arts especially, they’ve taken all the practical elements for martial arts. But sometimes they leave out the psychological element, not only learning to master movement, but master yourself” said Benjamin.
He set up the Shaolin MMA gym four years ago alongside his wife, Indra Davis.
“It’s been so stressful starting this business” says Indra. “I’m a youth worker. There’s so much to learn and get up and running. But I would not change the sleepless nights or worry for anything. Every guy here now is like family.”
With Indra’s youth working background, the gym generously incorporates that. Disadvantaged youths, often without the means to pay, are provided with an opportunity there.
“I work in a justice project so our referrals are getting into trouble with the Gardaí and local authorities. They crave an outlet, but they need structure, discipline and that positive bonding with other lads. Our family atmosphere here breaks them from a possible negative peer group. They come in here, sign a contract that they’ll train for set hours, make a commitment and then each week they’ll mop the floor or sweep the mats at the beginning. It’s stuff we do anyway but they feel like they’re giving something back to the club.”
“We’re not ashamed to admit it. Discipline and friendship creates focus and that will set people on track.”
Kaylem Ruane is a member of the gym, and outlines everything Shaolin has done for him.
“I left school in the junior cert. I went off the walls a bit, and I didn’t really know what I was going to do with myself.”
“I went and did the access course then in NUI, and I got into youth and family studies. I’m now in my second year, I got an academic scholarship a couple of weeks ago and I’m the class rep too. Most of it is down to here (Shaolin), just having extra support. We’re all friends here. No one comes through that door and gets turned away. They really help dealing with stress or any anger issues.”
“It’s training and working towards something. Ben gives you a big boost to your confidence, he’s that second person who has your back.”
Kaylem starting competing recently, achieving bronze in his first Jiu Jitsu competition and winning his first MMA fight. Yet to him success in the ring is secondary to what he achieves in training.
“You come in here and your letting out all your stress of life, one hour a day in here helps you tackle the other 23.”
“It’s a social thing, while staying healthy and fit. I’ve started to evolve as a person. I’m less judgmental of people, their size and appearance. You will not be judged here and they get to know you as a person.”
One of the other figureheads at the gym is Oliver Mannion. He brings another element, as a qualified nutritionist, fitness and kettle bell instructor. The trio of Ben, Indra and Ollie seem made for each other, and that’s because they needed one another.
“Ben asked me to come on three and a half years ago. I started doing strength and conditioning work, holding pads and trying to create a stress free environment. I’m trying to keep people learning and motivated.”
As much as the Ollie has given to the gym, the gym has also given to Ollie. It helped to refocus him at a time when he needed it and set him on the right path:
“This is my zen place. I spent four and a half years in prison. That affords you a lot of time to think about the changes you need to make. That time gives you the incentive to move forward and look for more. “
Ollie reflects fondly on what he has achieved since his release. Completing a fitness instructors course, an access course and now into his third year at NUI Galway, studying science.
“I’ve invested my soul into college and this. I have replaced old habits with new reinforced habits. When you get annoyed in life, or down its great to have a place to go and vent. To educate yourself on something entirely new and not go and be detrimental to society. Because of that, we don’t turn anyone away from the doors. Earlier intervention can avoid that outcome. There is not enough done for youth in terms of connecting on a real level.”
It is a similar support system that ensured McGregor is where he is today. John Kavanagh, his coach, spoke about this with Paul Kimmage last year when promoting his book, Win or Learn. It was June 2008 and McGregor had his third fight. He lost and ran out of the GAA club that hosted the event. The only problem was that Kavanagh had given him some tickets to sell and had not received the money.
Kavanagh received a call from McGregor’s mother pleading with him to convince Conor to return. He went to McGregor’s bedroom, they both started crying and he told him to forgot about the money.
“It got me thinking: ‘Maybe I have a bigger role here than punching and kicking. Maybe I’m doing a bit more for them than I thought.’ And I guess I started to realise that a lot of people get into fighting for the same reasons I did — it’s not for the fighting, they are dealing with something in their childhood.”
There is often an element of sanctimonious moral high-grounding when it comes to critiquing McGregor. He benefited from this rehabilitating process. It is certainly the case that more than one side have a blind loyalty to their position despite any evidence to the contrary.
McGregor carefully constructs his legacy to reflect a certain lifestyle, which is why his Instagram is how it is, it is why he conducts interviews in a high-powered sports car, driving up and down the Las Vegas strip for the duration and boasting of ten-hour long shopping sprees.
The sad reality is that this legacy will become the means of measure not only because he wants it to be but because we want it to be. He appeals to some of our child-like, veiled and subverted attractions; to see true violence, the rich and famous lifestyle, limitless confidence. MMA is what liberated him from constricted prospects; modern society fashioned the aftermath.
The narrative is dictated by the kingpin and graciously accepted by the masses. But it’s a far cry from the reality of the everyday MMA athlete.
