Disclaimer: As many of my readers already know, I am from Binghamton.  Thus, I have a certain connection in my heart to Jon Jones and his rise.  Although I support his practice of dominance that puts my hometown on the map, this work is an effort to harness a more dispassionate feeling about this particular bout.

The Mainstream Narrative

The current, mainstream narrative of UFC: 145 Jones vs. Evans goes like this:

Rashad Evans, famed takedown artist and ground-and-pounder, is singular in his intention: he immediately but earnestly forces Jones onto his back, a position in which he has only 12 seconds experience in his UFC career.

Jones, once on his back, pulls the latest in his series of surprises.  He survives the first round comfortably, in contrast to the typical experience of being underneath Rashad Evans.  He invites his former teacher into moments of side control and half gaurd (perhaps in a scenario akin to the Joe Roganism “corner mount”) but deals with each strike gracefully, throwing upward elbows of his own at a modest pace.

Early in the second round, Jones sprawls again only briefly before continuing negotiaions from below.  In round 2, however, Jones is less complacent about Evans’ strikes.  He attempts an armbar from underneath.  The crowd goes wild as Evans, perhaps with just the slighest smirk escaping from one side of his mouthpiece, escapes the technique with elegance and moves on.

Then, in a pivotal moment for the sport, Evans punches hard, missing Jones’ cranium handily and falling substantially off balance.  Jones, knowing that the world is watching in slow motion, wraps Evans up in a picture-perfect triangle, pulling his own ankle into the crotch of his knee to the rhythm of the camera shutters all around the cage.

Evans briefly bears a look of consternation – it fades rather quickly into complacence as he taps out to the choke.

Bloggers everywhere proclaim, with no irony intended, that UFC 145 demonstrates unequivocally what everyone has wanted to say since he bested Shogun: that Jones is it.  The greatest fighter in MMA history.

Meanwhile, in a nearby alternate universe…

Another completely separate narrative of this fight exists.  I can’t find a compelling account of it anywhere, so I have to assume that folks are keeping it closely guarded in their imaginations, hoping to save face when the inevitable mainstream narrative becomes reality.

Yet, this alternative is not at all difficult to imagine.  It goes like this:

Round 1.  Jones, defying the imaginations of only the utterly predictable, begins standing tall.  He knows that this appears to be a stark contrast to the crawling with which he has begun his last two bouts.  He weaves and walks close to the center, anticipating the immediacy and inevitability of the Evans takedown attempt that defines the mainstream narrative.

To Jones’ surprise, it does not come.  Not in the first 10 seconds; not in the first minute; not in the first round.

Instead, Evans works the inverse economy of the trade that Machida attempted:  Instead of trading a hook punch for an overcommited liver or body kick, Evans is content to allow Jones to land a glancing blow in exchange for his real treasure: a solid kick to either one of Jon Jones’ untested, nearly massless thighs.

For the first round, this is taken – quite literally – in stride.  Nobody says or thinks much about it.

Round 2, in appearance, is a repeat of round 1.  Jones lands a few punches, some of them with a seriousness that at first looks genuine but quickly turns out to be superficial.  Evans continues the punishment of the muscle matter that constitute the thighs of Jon Jones.

Two things change:

First, everyone takes notice that Evans’ leg kicks are not in jest – they are part of a plan.  Notably, it has the character of the first serious, comprehensive plan that Jones has faced.  It is a deployment of leg kicks unseen since Jose Aldo slowly and scientifically applied them in disabling fashion to Uriah Faber.

Second, Jones himself notices.  He switches stances frequently as per usual, but his facial expression betrays the obvious fact that this shit hurts, and he’s going to lose one of his legs pretty soon.  Southpaw becomes – at best – a backup.

Round 3. To the best of Evans’ ability, an absolutely uncreative (if boring) sequale to the first two rounds.  Yes, Jones surprises with a flying knee or a takedown attempt of his own, but for the most part this round turns out to be disastrously uneventful but for the ongoing damage to the outer thighs of our champion.

Round 4. Evans corner has made clear that its time to deploy phase 2.  Jones: frightened.  He is committing less.  His facial expression has changed.  His authority as champion – as conductor of the orchaestra of the body parts that make up UFC 145 – has been questioned with volume and pride by Evans.  Evans begins the round by moving with certainty to the center of the cage to a Jones full of anticipation and hope.  Hope that his poor legs will be left alone and that the fight will radically change to a dynamic that more intimately involves his upper body.

Jones quickly wishes he had watched what he had wished for.

Evans, taking the bruised Jones down with ease, finds himself in the guard of a champion who is numb and tingly from thigh to ankle.  He begins pounding.  And he doesn’t stop.  Soon Jones’ consciousness absconds, and Evans finds himself in side control, mercilessly applying hammer fists to his former student’s temple, no doubt in a manner that Evans once advised Jones – at all costs – avoid.

Evans bores with side control, moving gracefully into full mount and smothering the airways of the troubled Jones with his chest.  Jones has quadrupled (or more) his cummulative time on his back in this fourth round, yet hasn’t had the gumption to attempt a single technique from below.  Evans waits a few seconds, hugging his former student with pride – metaphorically whispering into his ear a reminder that yes, his future as a champion and a legend is surely his birthright – before posturing up and punching him.

Punching him like he has never, ever been punched before.  Jones’ will is broken, and he too is filled with the sense that providence has brought his career into check.  TKO is declared seconds later.  Both fighters are filled with a deep, heart-claiming pride.  Evans wishes he had the self-assured nature to lay on the canvas with his student and hug him, but instead he stands up and does his best to boast.

Evans takes the belt, Jones is reminded of his mortal nature, and MMA moves on.

I’m not saying that I’m predicting this precise outcome, I’m just saying that, for me, it’s as belivable a narrative as the mainstream version.  For all the enthusiasm about the superhumanity of my hometown hero, it is not difficult for me to imagine a night that instead reminds him that yes, he is after all a human being.

Tonight, we’ll find out which course belongs to this reality.  Here. We. Go.

I have spent a good amount of time today conducting some research on “Operation Payback,” (sometimes also called “Operation Avenge Assange”) and pondering whether or not it represents a tactical toolbox that is appropriate as a response to the recent trend of government and corporate entities attempting to cut off support (financial and otherwise) from wikileaks.

(If you aren’t familiar with the background of this story, here’s some background.)

First, of course, I wanted to be on the “inside” of the story and really see the play-by-play of what was happening.  I tried to go to the publicly announced planning center, a chat room on irc.anonops.net.  Unfortunately, this domain name had also been the target of the volley of attacks that was transpiring.  However, a nice gentlemen in the #wikileaks channel of irc.freenode.net directed me to the server by IP address: 88.198.224.117.  Do have a visit with your IRC client if you are interested.

Upon arrival, I was prompted to check out #operationpayback, the central meeting spot for these hacktivists.  Once in the channel, I was astounded at the pace of the conversation – about 5-7 comments EVERY SECOND.

Most were updates on the state of the LOIC (Low-Orbit Ion Cannon), the tool of choice for taking mastercard.com down from the Internet (LOIC is, or at least was, a fairly mainstream tool for testing server defenses).  The tone was absolutely jovial – mastercard.com was down, and the mainstream media regarded the events of this chatroom as headline-worthy.

Yet, I did not get a sense of constructive, radical civic duty.  In fact it seemed to me that the average age (judging by comment maturity and grammer) was probably about 14.

I do understand how a person of a different bent might derive a bit of glee from the spectacle of the denial of service attack being coordinated.  I, however, noticed a very different sentiment unfold in my gut:

Mere destruction of existing power structures, without contemporaneous (or, for that matter, preceding) construction of alternatives is unlikely to ever result in sustainable positive change.

May I suggest to all the people who are distressed about Amazon, Visa, Mastercard, and whomever else abandoning Wikileaks that their mission needs to be to build peaceful, sustainable alternatives to Amazon, Visa, and Mastercard?

May I further suggest that this is the only truly radical use of information technology?  Destruction has been possible (and in fact normative) since the beginning of time.  Only now, however, is parallel construction possible.

Stop the temper tantrum.  Stop the blame game.  Instead, just work toward an information age where the the quasi-censorship that has characterized the industrial age is mathematically precluded at the infrastructural level.  I suspect that thanks for this work will come not only from Wikileaks (and all those who are spiritually motivated by its basic premises) but in fact also from governments and corporations too.  Everybody has an interest in the tech infrastructure working more efficiently and smoothly, and this will naturally translate to lower costs and increased availability in disadvantaged communities.

Make no mistake: I’m not happy about the treatment wikileaks is getting. But is this really the best that we can come up with as a response? Have we really run out of civil, ethical, and constructive ways to deal with these kinds of issues? If so, doesn’t that make us as bad as “them?”

I urge the young, tech-savvy people who are concerned about technological freedom: shut down LOIC, start up Eclipse and Miro, and get to work – there’s plenty to be done.

Let’s review the recent history of the “feud” between Jamie Varner, former WEC lightweight champion, and Donald Cerrone.

In January of 2009, these two talented fighters met in the cage for the first time, with top contender Cerrone looking to dethrone Varner at a time when, by all accounts, the division was running rather thin.  Apart from these two and future (and now current) champion Benson Henderson, no real competition existed in the WEC lightweight division.

Their 5 round battle was historic – widely and rightly regarded as one of the best fights in the division’s history.

Jamie Varner, while not completely dominating the fight, unambiguously won the first 3 rounds.  He exercised far better control of the cage, landed a higher percentage of his strikes, and was the unquestionably superior wrestler.  The 4th round was much closer, but many commentators still had it going narrowly to Varner 10-9.

Yet, the 4th round signaled a clear turn for the fight, and as we’d later learn, for the WEC lightweight division.  Jamie Varner was loosing his control and energy, and Cerrone was gaining on him.  Cerrone was becoming the best fighter he had yet been – it was truly a pleasure to watch.

At the beginning of the fifth round, Varner signaled to Cerrone that he wanted a hug.  The two fighters, bruised and bloody, raced to the center of the cage where they took the first ten seconds to celebrate each other.  They had a long embrace, and Jamie Varner gave the clear impression that he wanted to bring out the very best in Cerrone for the final round.  They smiled, the audience went ballistic, and Cerrone let out a loud whoop.  It was one of the best moments in the history of American Mixed Martial Arts.  The message was clear:  These two fighters respected and – dare I say – loved each other and their sport so much that they could take 10 seconds to stop brutalizing each other and express themselves emotionally.

After these 10 seconds, the fight immediately took on the most serious and aggressive tone yet.  Both men landed several devastating blows and showed off their very best skills.  Varner was fading, and he knew it.  He was ready – even proud, to hand the title away.  All eyes watched as he fell to his knees, seconds away from fading into TKO.

And then, something terrible happened.

Donald Cerrone, a professional fighter and trained martial artist, through a heavy, full-speed knee directly at Jamie Varner’s head as he sat on his knees.

Apart from obviously being completely prohibited by the unified MMA rules, this manuever was reckless, unsportsmanlike, and potentially deadly for his opponent who had just shown him the very best affection a man can after being beat half senseless.

The knee glanced Varner’s head and right temple.  The referee immediately intervened.  Everyone gasped.  A collective, “what. the. fuck. did he just do?” escapsed the lips of the MMA fan community.

All attention focused on Varner’s well-being for that moment.  The replay showed that the knee had only glanced, so a sigh of relief was in order.

Yet, when Varner was asked, on the spot, if he was OK, he responded, “I can’t see straight.”

Now, think about this for a moment.  Is this anything other than a candid, honest answer?  No, it is not.  Surely he truly was unable to see straight, whether due to Cerrone’s knee or otherwise.  Did Varner expect these words to end the fight?  Probably not.  Did he expect these words to change the course of the WEC lightweight division, and perhaps all of MMA?  Definitely not.

Yet, hearing this, the referee ended the fight, sending the decision to the judge’s scorecards.  Strangely, the fight was ended due to “incidental” contact on the part of Cerrone.  This is perposterous.  Cerrone intentionally through the knee, and intentionally aimed at Varner’s head.  No other conclusion is reasonable.  Was it done with outright malice?  No, probably not.  Cerrone was probably just really amped up and lost control for a second.  Nevertheless, nothing about the technique was “incidental.”  It was a textbook example of a prohibited knee to the head.

Amid the confusion, the judges announced the obvious: Based on the scores, Varner had won the fight.

At this time, some members of the audience began to boo.  This caused Jamie Varner, who isn’t much of a public speaker to begin with, to loose his cool and approach tears.

At this point, I expected, or at least hoped, for Donald Cerrone to do the only responsible thing.  He had a moral imperative to take the microphone from Varner and say, “Hey, listen up.  This is not Jamie’s fault.  I threw an illegal knee in the heat of the moment, and the fight got called.  It was a mistake, and one that I will work to make sure I never make again.  With Jamie’s blessing, we’ll get a rematch ASAP.”

This simple response would have elicited an uproarious approval from the crowd and averted a feud that has plagued the sport ever since that night.

Not only did Cerrone not make such a remark, but he clearly did not make any effort to change his conduct.

Two fights later, Cerrone, facing Ed Ratcliff, Cerrone threw another illegal knee – to Ratcliff’s groin.  And then another illegal knee – to Ratcliff’s groin.  And then ANOTHER illegal knee – to Ratcliff’s groin.  Although 2 points down and sure to loose on the scorecards, Cerrone secured a rear naked choke and submitted the newly sterile Ratcliff.

Another fight with Varner was scheduled for 20 months after the initial one.  Cerrone, determined, as Varner accurately put it, to “set the sport back 10 years,” referred to Varner as a “fag” and express hope that Varner would become “the first death in American MMA.”

How, after all this miscondcut and bigotry, this man is still allowed to fight, is a question you’ll have to ask the WEC.

The rematch, unlike their earlier fight, was slow and frankly boring as hell.  Neither fighter looked like a professional-level athlete.  Varner was just plain nervous (understandable for a man who’d been issued a straight-up death threat vis a vis the fight in question) and Cerrone looked decidedly mediocre.

Cerrone out-wrestled, out-boxed and out-fought Varner in every round by just enough to get the score.  Like all three judges and probably every other viewer, I had the fight at 30-27 at its conclusion.

Cerrone managed to refrain from throwing any illegal knees and actually showed a modicum of control and cognition of the rules of the sport in which he was participating.  At the dojo at which I train, this would probably qualify Cerrone to graduate to from White Belt to Yellow.  So congratulations, Donald, you can now be regarded as something other than a completely out-of-control bigot with an “I don’t care about no rules” attitude.  Now you are just a bigot.

Nothing about Thursday’s fight suggested to me that Cerrone was a better fighter than Varner, only that he was having a better night.  Like every other fan with a pulse, I am looking forward to part III of this saga.  I hope that by then both fighters have returned to the attitudes that characterized their first match.

Among my personal friends, I don’t think it’s any secret that Django is currently my favorite web framework.  In particular, Django has what I believe to be the very most important element that a MVC framework can have – a solid, consistent philosophy that developers can adopt, meditate on, and integrate into their thinking as they proceed through any project.

One of the tenets of Django (albeit not a “top-level” holding like DRY, OaoO, minimal code, explicit over implicit, etc.) is that Django declines to use “Magic” unless it is overwhelmingly easier than the mundane solution that it replaces.  Django also veers toward the agnostic – meaning that one can use any naming paradigm, template strategy, URL convention, etc.

Exactly what techniques constitute “Magic” may be in the eye of the beholder, but generally we think of magic encompassing those techniques that are not part of a programming paradigm, but that work anyway “just because.”  Gnosticism, on the other hand, is pretty obvious when it rears itself: If you MUST use jQuery or you MUST name every variable drupal.something, you know that you are not working with an agnostic framework.

The SlashRoot team is currently working on a great project for Carbon Ads – a project that aims to enable small publishers to collectively sell ad space to pre-vetted, exclusive, and otherwise unattainable advertisers.  Think Adsense meets your favorite organic co-op.

Among the interesting elements to tackle in Django, as is often challenging in MVC frameworks, in the question of how to model different types of users.

The lazy (inorganic) way, of course, is to simply apply a “type” attribute to the user model and then ForeignKey each individual user class.  However, this leaves tremendous room for error.  For example (and this example in fact has come up in this project) – what if the developer creating the “admin” model has a different idea of how to track names than the developer creating the “publisher” model – may one of them thinks that the full name belongs in a single field while the other separates first and last names.  This is a major problem for any page that lists all users by real name.

To me, the most organic solution is to separate elements into two categories: Those that two or more classes of people have vs. those that only one class of people has.  That way, the attributes in the former category can be assigned to a parent class (perhaps as an optional field) while the latter can belong exclusively in a child class, on a separate database table to enhance performance.

So, how does Django treat this contingency?  With magic, I’m afraid.

The Django documentation on this point suggests using the “lower case” name of the class in question, which has two deviations from the general Django philosophy:

1) It is gnostic, plain and simple.  It assumes that you have adopted upper-case or CamelCase naming conventions for your models, and that you can use lowercase as an alternative.

2) It seems to me to be magic.  There is no *reason* why the lower-case class name should refer to the logical question of whether or not an object is in a child class of a parent model.  It just…. works.

Mind you, I can deal with both these issues.  I think that the “magic” issue is of more concern to the programming purist, because it can be genuinely confusing.  Case in point, I actually had to wonder how to access the “not magic” of this solution – although “if not someobject.somelowercaseclass” does in fact return TRUE for objects outside the child class in question, it took me some time to wrap my head around this, simply because “someobject.somelowercaseclass” is not instinctively a logical value to me – the “magic” distracted my view for a moment.

Thus, I had this interesting (and perhaps telling, I think) exchange in #django:

<jMyles> Philosophical question:  Does the ability to ask for a child class with lower-case lettering represent “magic”?  (see: http://docs.djangoproject.com/en/dev/topics/db/models/#id7)

<jMyles> To rephrase my question: Is the use of a lowercase letter to inquire about a child-class part of an established programming technique?  Or is it a (rare) example of magic in Django?

<igloo_x> jMyles> what do you mean “child class”

<jMyles> igloo_x: Actually I mean child model

<jMyles> igloo_x: Like “Restaurant” becomes “restaurant” in the test in this example: http://docs.djangoproject.com/en/dev/topics/db/models/#id7

<jMyles> igloo_x: Also, in that example, how can I ask if the object is NOT in the child class “restaurant”?

<jMyles> igloo_x: I’m looking at the third code block down from that link – “If you have a Place  that is also a Restaurant, you can get from the Place object to the Restaurant  object by using the lower-case version of the model name:”

<igloo_x> it’s magic, as far as I know. you can override it though. I think the argument is ‘related_name’ or something

<jMyles> igloo_x: OK, that’s what I thought.    And then, how can I ask if an object is NOT in that class?

<jMyles> igloo_x: ie, “if p.restaurant:” works fine, but how can I ask if it is not in that child class?

<igloo_x> i’m not sure about that, I’ve never messed with model inheritance before

<igloo_x> does “if not p.restaurant:” work though?

<jMyles> igloo_x: wow.  yes it does – mad overthinking on my part.

<igloo_x> good old python!