Anybody want to guess what happens when four soyboys decide to try the manly art of beating the ever-loving shit out of other people? Well… this:

Oh dear.

To me the most telling moment in that entire episode comes from this one little GIF:

As I recall, it was an article over at Return of Kings which pointed out that Chuck Liddell’s bared-teeth smile is the classic reaction of a predator to weak and trembling prey. And that is exactly what those soyboys are.

The episode above is an abject lesson in how not to be weak, pathetic, and degenerate. If you wish to be strong, tough, disciplined, and calm in the face of danger, then there are few better or faster ways to achieve this end than by learning how to fight.

The past five years of learning how to fight, both in a street environment and on the sparring mat, have transformed me. I do not claim to be particularly good as a fighter – I could probably do pretty well against the average untrained moron on the street (and it is a virtual certainty that I could break any one of those four pathetic low-T nu-males over my knee without breaking a sweat), but against real trained killers, I would be as dead as anyone else.

I do not aim to be a great fighter. I am too old for that – I started studying the fighting arts in my late twenties, when I should have started as a very young child. I aim instead to become part of a brotherhood of warriors who together have shed sweat and blood on the mat in pursuit of our shared goals.

The training mat, the Octagon, the cage, and the ring are all places that teach the weak how to become strong, and the strong how to become humble. Each such place is hallowed ground, where a man’s skill, temperament, grit, and luck are all put to the ultimate test.

When a man steps into the cage and hears the door lock behind him, he knows that there is no going back. The only way is forward, toward his destiny. There is no longer any room for fear; everything that he is must now come forth in the minutes of frenzied combat that lie ahead, where seconds feel like hours and the rounds never seem to end, when his breath comes in ragged gasps and every muscle burns with fire, every nerve trembles with anticipation, and his blood roars and thunders in his ears.

Blood is, indeed, the price of glory. No place proves this faster and more effectively than the ring of combat.

Those soyboys do little more than dishonour and sully the noble and honourable purpose of teaching men self-respect, honour, pride, manly vigour, and the martial traditions that can turn strangers into friends and sworn enemies into blood brothers.

The Manosphere’s advice about soyboys is really simple: DON’T be one. If you want to learn specifically how to avoid becoming one, you could do a lot worse than simply stepping into a really good BJJ, judo, muay thai, MMA, or (genuine) Krav Maga school and taking a few lessons.

Martial arts changed my life. It gave me a sense of ruthless and terrible purpose – to be the best that I can be at what I do. It gave me stunning clarity and insight – into my own weaknesses, into my own total lack of native talent, and into the timeless truth that hard work and sacrifice ALWAYS pay off in the end.

More than anything else, martial arts gave me a family. Whenever I walk into my martial arts school, I feel a sense of rightness, a powerful and uplifting sense that I belong, that I have earned my place among my peers and brothers through dint of sheer hard work.

These are things that low-T soyboys cannot know. They will never feel that incredible rush that comes from stepping onto the mat, of bowing to one’s teacher, of utter exhaustion that comes from gassing out – and from finding the will, somehow, to keep on fighting. They will never know what it really means to go all-out against a man of equal skill, power, and training – to absorb his brutal and ruthless strikes, to dish out your own, and, when it is all over, to embrace him as your brother, bonded by even more than the adamantine ties blood and kinship.

That is a world that you could know. That is the world that a soyboy will never truly understand.