^{Equipe Fabricio de Jiu-Jitsu}

By Roberto Pedreira

Fabricio is another Carlson alumnus. He was unique in one respect. He was the only jiu-jitsu professor who showed no interest whatsoever in the visitor from the North, or in cooperating with the press, or getting possibly free publicity. That may have been because he doesn’t speak any English at all, which put him in the minority of jiu-jitsu professors. It may have been because he doesn’t have a video series out—yet. There may have been other reasons. But he simply didn’t want to talk. Not that he refused to. He simply didn’t want to make an effort. That’s ok, nothing wrong with that. I merely point out that it was anomalous. (That's Fabricio on the right in the sleeveless shirt.) But as expected, there was someone who spoke English well and was eager to cooperate. He was Fabricio’s assistant instructor Renato Padilha Filho, whose apelido (nickname) was Dedo, which, he explained, meant “finger” in English. The significance of that eluded me, but then, many apelidos have stories behind them that are known only to the people who came up with them in the first place. He was interested in where I had come from and would be returning to—Tokyo—because his wife was there at that very moment, working. She was a computer expert of some kind.

Fabricio was different in another way too. He was actually about the only jiu-jitsu professor I met who was intimidating. I was trying to formulate a question in my limited Portuguese. "Fala, fala" , he said impatiently. I didn't feel much of the famed carioca friendliness emanating from him. Maybe he was just in a bad mood that day, but it seemed to me that Fabricio is a not someone you'd want to go out of your way to annoy.

Dedo invited me to train. It’s a small academy, but not as small as it seems because there is another room of the same size, which is used for more relaxed training. The room I was in was the room for “hard” training. These guys were all about hard training, very much in the Carlson style.

I didn’t get to talk much to Fabricio that night, but I saw him a few days later in the cambio (currency exchange shop) across the street. He had just bought US dollars and was thumbing through a thick stack of crisp C notes. It looked like a lot of money. “Taking a trip?” I asked him. “Não”, he said, with a sly grin, “para um amigo”.

The Hard Training Room