Child’s Play: Tapout Grooming MMA Prodigies
Jake Rossen Feb 23, 2010
You might have some mixed feelings accompanying a viewing of the
Tapout short film below featuring Giovanni and Carlos Ruffo, two
sawed-off MMA stylists who train in Las Vegas. The Ruffo boys are
seven and eight years old, give or take, wear fringe-sport-worthy
Mohawks, and absorb regular instruction from Mark Coleman,
Randy
Couture and Vinny
Magalhaes. And yes, they’re pretty good on the pads.
“When I punch somebody when I’m sparring,” says one, “it’s really good.”
The Ruffos are not the first pre-pubescent practitioners of a sport
that frequently chews up adult frames, but they are the first to be
endorsed by an apparel company, complete with their own manager.
(Negotiating Pokemon card swaps is going to look good on his CV.)
The thinking is that if they’re training this early, they’ll
probably be outstanding competitors in 10 years -- St. Pierre 3.0
or 4.0.
That’s the optimism talking. The pragmatic in me is reminded of the endless examples of children who lacked the emotional maturity to realize that they were being used as vicarious funnels for their parents’ interests. In addition to the precocious child actors who grew out of their novelty-act status, there was Richard Sandrak, “Little Hercules,” who was prodded by his overzealous father to be a freakishly sculpted 12-year-old bodybuilder. In all of these cases, children were given heaps of attention before a growth spurt left them rudderless.
The Ruffo boys are different: the skills they’re accruing now could see them through some very intriguing careers in athletics. Unlike Gary Coleman or Sandrak, they’re not going to outgrow their niche: they’re going to grow into it. But the problem of implanting such enormous expectations remains. What happens if Carlos turns 16 and finds out he wants to be a chemist instead? How does someone adapt to a life with the spotlight shut off? There are more Bobby Fischers in this world than Jodie Fosters.
Best of luck to the kids, though. Living in fear of a 10 year old being able to kick my ass is just what I needed.
“When I punch somebody when I’m sparring,” says one, “it’s really good.”
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That’s the optimism talking. The pragmatic in me is reminded of the endless examples of children who lacked the emotional maturity to realize that they were being used as vicarious funnels for their parents’ interests. In addition to the precocious child actors who grew out of their novelty-act status, there was Richard Sandrak, “Little Hercules,” who was prodded by his overzealous father to be a freakishly sculpted 12-year-old bodybuilder. In all of these cases, children were given heaps of attention before a growth spurt left them rudderless.
The Ruffo boys are different: the skills they’re accruing now could see them through some very intriguing careers in athletics. Unlike Gary Coleman or Sandrak, they’re not going to outgrow their niche: they’re going to grow into it. But the problem of implanting such enormous expectations remains. What happens if Carlos turns 16 and finds out he wants to be a chemist instead? How does someone adapt to a life with the spotlight shut off? There are more Bobby Fischers in this world than Jodie Fosters.
Best of luck to the kids, though. Living in fear of a 10 year old being able to kick my ass is just what I needed.
