Speaking for myself, of course, Krav Maga is no hobby, it is serious readiness training for Patriots and for dissidents - it is defensive training for the Resistance.
The “Anti”fa by whose hand a pavement stone should fly against my head - and should it miss, then his luck, I’ll duck - but if it strike, my skull is hard, and his will hit the pavement.
And should a jihadi, a knife-bearing ambassador of “The-Religion-Of-Peace”, approach me with the Good News to “kill all Jews” - his blood may stain my hand, but his fingerprints will be on that knife.
I will either live to be 150 with some scars but standing erect, or I may fall to an EU-Army round should the civil war break out, for I will be found shoulder to shoulder with Patriots at the barricades, in city trenches, on the streets. I will never turn my back on them, ever, and I will never give my back to an enemy.
I may never hold a handgun or a rifle in my hand - I would feel more in my element with a broadsword or a longsword, but that was another time indeed.
My trainer asked me what sort of situational attack on my person I consider myself preparing for. I told him “Anti”fa. He said, “They’re pussies, sir!” “Yes,” I replied, “and well they are, but they are pussies who will only fight in numbers against one, sir - as do the Muslim Brothers generally - and far more deviously at that.”
“And what do you propose to do, considering you are outnumbered and cannot quit yourself from the scene?” “Well sir,” I concluded, “then I’ll send as many of the lot as possible into intensive care before I return home.”
“You’ve got spunk, sir,” said he, “I like that.” Then still holding our gaze, with one sweep of his right foot he swept both of mine from their ground, and as I caught myself in the fall, he smiled, “But you’ll have to be faster than they, sir.”
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