Causer Media.
You're listening to the Away Days podcast on the ground outside, reporting from the underbelly with me Jake Hanrahan. To watch Awaydays documentaries, go to YouTube dot com slash at away Days TV. This is Part one, No Rules Is No Rules, Episode one. This podcast is a production of H eleven Studio and Call Zone Media, England. It's a cold day for violence. The grounds frosty and the air hurts. Gloves
and scarves weather either way, violence is happening. Two men have agreed to attack each other at a pre arranged location in Hastings, UK. I'm driving through southern back roads headed to the desolate seaside town where the fight is due to take place. I'm an outsider to all involved, and true they all hate journalists, but still have been trusted to attend this planned combat isn't about solving a dispute, though the two men have no hatred or real animosity
toward one another. They just want to fight, not in a ring, or with gloves or with rounds, though this is something else. There will be no judges or sporting organizations, no health checks or even a waiting, no safety gear, and no precautions. The fight won't be televised, and there will be no official sponsors. It's important to understand that this is not unlicensed MMA, street beef or bare knuckle boxing.
This is a new form of organized violence. People involved have coined it no rules, and yes, no rules means no rules. Anything goes kicking, punching, head butting, elbows, knees, eye gouging, head stamping, choking, and even biting. What's more authentic, no rules has to take place on concrete or something equivalent. Hard floors and no rules. It's as extreme as it gets. Google Maps pings. I've got to reach a location the fighters texted to me yesterday, and then I've got to wait.
I'm close. I pull onto a side road through a small wooded area and follow the route ahead. It's mid January and the sun's going down fast. The sky is red and orange. You can feel the outside cold inside the car. It's hardly ideal fighting weather. My phone rings caller ID Joey hapgood. How you doing, mate?
You're right?
Oh yeah, you're at You're at the camp part? Yeah? All right, we were just driving about. I'll head up there now like a minute. All right, cool, right, Joey is a street fighter from South Wales. He's twenty seven years old and by far one of the most energetic people in the UK. If Methan Fhetimin was a person, it would be Joey. Most times I speak with him, he's absolutely bouncing off the walls. He's extremely friendly and very genuine. He can only be himself. It's a contagious energy. Honestly,
perhaps the odds with his happy demeanor. Joey is desperate to make a name for himself in the underground fight scene. He's tough as bricks and scared of nobody, and as an up and comer, he's hungry to prove himself. Generally, no rules is organized through illegal fight clubs, but joe he's ready anywhere. I reached the location, a large but otherwise nondescript car park, surrounded by trees and street lights. When I get out of the car, I hear Joey
before I see him. He's with a few friends and he's already shadow boxing on the spot, cast in rapid phosphor coated shadows. He laughs loudly every few seconds. He can't wait. We shake hands and he hugs me like an old friend. But this is the first time we've met.
No Where we go, No Yeah, get picked up in a g wagon.
Apparently, Joey looks like a character from the video game Mortal Kombat. He's about five ten, stocky, all muscle, blue eyes as bright as his white teeth. He's got three different haircuts in one bleach blonde down the middle, shaved to zero at the sides, long mullet style tail down the back with black highlights. His neck is pepper with tattoos, including a six to sixty six next to Jesus crucifix. He wears a George Michael earing and keeps his beard
short but dyed black. The dye leaves perfect lines across his face, so it looks as if he's sprayed the whole bed on with his stencil. I've never seen anyone like it. He's a sight to behold. Joey has traveled two hundred miles from Port Talbot to be here at this random car park in Hastings. It took him five hours. He's come to fight an old school No Rules fighter nicknamed Bash. The pair organized the fire over Instagram direct messages.
Joey's dream is to be respected in the clandestine No Rules scene.
There's going to be a no rules fight with a guy who's very experienced with It could be any situation, anything going to happen at any time, at any second. But you could lose fingers used those balls. You can lose any sense you know, no rules, You don't know what the fuck's coming away and when it's happening. But it can you know, in his la or that situation, it can be, but it can be easily.
He's not wrong. The man's about to fight is notorious in the underground for biting off a piece of another man's ear in a no rules fight a couple of years back. The brawl took place in a closed mechanic's garage, and despite permanently disfiguring his opponent with his teeth, Bash actually lost that fight. He was not to the ground by his opponent, who then pushed both thumbs deep into Bash's eye sockets. Bash screaming, was then saved by the
makeshift referee. You stopped the fight. There are only two ways for no rules to end. Either you get knocked out or you get beaten so badly the appointed referee steps in. Referee in this case is a loose term it's basically anyone involved who's allocated as the guy who has to stop the fight when a one sided beating continues for an extended period. Some stop the fight when head stamping or egalgin starts, Others don't. There's no rule book. The only use for a towel in No Rules is
to mop up the blood. Yes, it is brutal now, to put it lightly. Bash has been on a bit of a losing streak as of late. People in the scene have accused him of being washed up, saying that he can't stay sober for a fight anymore. Bash argues that he doesn't care win or lose. He'll fight anyone anywhere, sober or not. He claims to see No Rules as a game. A bit of a laugh. Problem is Bash
is forty five now, that's eighteen years Joey senr. The potential risk of irreversible damage is considerably higher for a man of his age, but still Bash doesn't care. A black Audi hatchback with two younger lads in bubble north faced coats pulls up to the car park. We're all huddled waiting for instructions. It's fully dark now. The lads jump out and introduce themselves. It's clear that they're not fighters,
just messengers. In thick Northern accents. They explain that Joey and his guys to go with them, and I'm to follow behind in my car.
Two with them, We're going to follow you. Let's get.
Joey flings on his jacket and jumps into the back of the audi with one of his friends. I following my car. Joey's entourage follows in theirs. We drive through the middle of Hastings in a small convoy. Our headlights flood past neon petrol stations and blocks of flats for what feels like forever. We finally arrive at a built up residential street close to the fight destination. A dozen of Bash's people are waiting. A blur of North Face and Stone Island. Bash emerges from the middle of his crowd.
He's about six foot tall, broad covered in tattoos. He's half Arab, half white, and has a face worn from years of brawling. Coincidentally, he too has a six to sixty six and a crucifix tattooed on his neck. Joey hops out the car. He's aggressive, all action, ready to go. He's pushing past people who are trying to keep him back. Joey is transformed the mad as a hat a smiley demeanor. He's gone now looks like an angry dog let out a cage. This lad shouting is a big lump from
up north who previously fought Bash and won. He'll be the makeshift referee for this fight. Joey and Bash are having words AND's call for calm from the gathering crowd. Bash turns back with his guys and they move off the pavement down a side road. Bright headlights spill out from the shadows. That's where the fight's happening.
To boys, here the fact is going on, and where.
The fact is he happening. The makeshift ref emerges a couple of minutes later and waves for us to come. Joey pulls off his coat, tenses his shoulders, and strides up the path. He's wearing a T shirt by the Underground Fight where Brand Militant an emerging force in the British hooligan and No Rules scene. The logo is a knuckle duster wired across the chest. Fitting we turn a corner. It's here about fifty square feet of fuck all. The scene is lit with headlights from a box. He landrove
defender packed at the back. The floor is rough, concrete, jaggled and specked with grit for wear and tear. If your head hits this, it's bursting open. Bash stood at one end of his space, moving on his feet, fluttering the defender's headlights. Joey bowls in his back is up like a dog. When a firework goes off. At each side, people stand watching their phones up ready to record. Lady shouting as her phone torch on brighter she films. She stood next to Bash. I recognize her. I've seen her online.
It's his wife. She's biggest fan and could be heard cheering him on during most of his fight videos. It's kind of romantic, honestly. Joey's boys cheer him on as he approaches Bash. There's a brief pause. Both fighters stare at each other for a second. The tension is in the air, heavy like fog. Then Bang, Bash leaps towards Joey, throwing it spinning back kick. He misses. Joey throws a stiff right jab into Bash's face. He's knocked off balanced, dropped,
Bash hits the concrete. Joey moves over him, but stops for whatever reason. Both fires decided beforehand that they wanted to do no rules, but with one rule they wanted to do a stand up fight is in no groundwork but with no gum shields. Makes no sense to me, but that's the chaotic realness with no rules fighting. The ref moves in sebashkan stand up Off they go again. Joey kicks Bash and throws two huge harks. Bash kicks Joey and throws back. They both end up in the
tangle of sweeping punches, some miss, some land. Joey is all power, pushing forward, grabbing, punching. Bash looks tired, but he's fighting, and he's definitely sober for this one. The crowd is on fire at this point. The two men swing it out in the shadow of the headlights. After a round a minute or so, Joey grabs back and lands three solid jabs in his jaw. Bah goes down again and scrapes his head off a brick walk is he living on?
He done?
Reflects him get up, but he shakes his head as he does. It's over. Joey is human. Joey's eyes are wired with adrenaline. His fist still clenched. Joey wants more. I can tell he's not happy that.
Nothing else, nothing else, drinks.
He disappointed times what happened? Then you just give up?
Man.
Bash has had enough though. The fight is over. So what's happened is basically just said, you know, he's done. He didn't want to fight anymore. Joe he's coming for expecting like a much bigger terror. Disappointed. I think you wanted to continue fighting. But now they're gonna have a drink party and everything's good, So I'm good stuff. So that's how it works. If you've seen all this from the sidelines without knowing anyone involved, you'd be forgiven for
thinking it was some kind of blood feud. But Bash and Joey and now shaking hands and getting on like old friends. There's a perception, of course, of street fighting men that Joey doesn't agree with.
I'm not a bad person, like I won't do it. There ain't no bully. I fucking hate bullies. I don't know. It's kind of hard to tell you unless you know us. But they're the ones missing out, you know. They don't know how much kind of.
Guarded we are.
Yes, we are mad crazy people because we fight bit fish in the street. No Rules, all this and aff but you know, it's just a man. It is what there's that people can think, Well the fuck they won't, don't give a shit.
I first heard about No Rules in twenty twenty two through a friend of mine who's a long time football ooligan. They're gonna be so standing here, you shy chugg on. Not the original British kind where pub men suited in Stone Island and Aquascutum would fight throughout the streets and stadiums, but the European version, where well trained, combat ready firms meet secretly to fight in secluded forests around match days
and derbies. Naturally, this hooligan friend of mine has his ear to the ground when it comes to organized violence. He showed me videos from some early No Rules events. The fight where the guy got part of his ear bit and off, a fight where someone is headbottied unconscious, a fight where is screaming, starred up neo Nazi has his eyes pushed in with an eye goug. It goes
on and on, serious ruthless but consensual violence. All of the fights in the videos were arranged by King of the streets or COOTS, essentially the Tyler Durdan of contemporary underground no rules fighting. KOTTS is run by a group non is Hype Crew. Hype Crew is made up of Hooligan's organized criminals and seasoned street fighters. They pretty much
burnt No Rules as far back as twenty eighteen. At first, Hype Crew filmed these organized fights on the streets in Sweden on concrete, no rules, no federation, no protection, all raw. They uploaded the videos to YouTube under the COTS banner. The channel eventually blew up, gaining over one million subscribers in the space of six years, and so Hype Crew created what has now become one of the most hardcore countercultures to emerge in Europe. For decades now, there are
several no rules fight clubs completely unaffiliated with COTS. I found them in Germany, England, Sweden, Spain, France, Denmark and beyond. Don't get it confused. Though everyone involved with their is aware that no rules fighting is not a sport, no one cares about the money. Hype Crew themselves started cut for free. After their success, they now pay fighters anywhere from six hundred to over one thousand euros if they win, also paying for all travel and accommodation for the fight losers.
It's said, get around half that if they put on a good show, nothing if they don't. The money is hardly the point mode. Nobody involved in no rules fighting is doing it for a paycheck. This isn't about profit, It's about adrenaline and exclusivity. As Hype Crew associate and undefeated COTS fighter Brian always says, your favorite fighter's favorite fighter is scared to do this shit. What Hype Crew has created is not a combat sport, it's a counterculture.
Whilst the violent counterculture of no rules is new, organized no holds barred fighting is actually as old time. It dates back to at least the eighth century, where men in ancient Greece would brawl for fun, entertainment, and glory. They had a specific style known as Pancreteon, which it can be argued, was an ancient progenitor to Hypecruz no rules. Pankreteon was a combination of boxing and wrestling with almost zero physical restrictions. The only real rules were no bioting
and no eyeglgin. The Greeks believed that the mythic hero Theseus created. The fighting style was defeating the mine at all, a half bull, half man monster. The historical channel Up for Education, run by a former martial arts teacher, has this to say about the sport.
Despite its seemingly ruthless nature, pancreation was not just about brood strength. It required a tactical mindset, a deep understanding of leverage, timing, and the ability to anticipate and opponent's moves. It was a true testament to an athlete's physical prowess and mental agility, and.
So the aim of pancretion was to incapacitate your opponent as brutally as is allowed. It was hugely popular in ancient Greece and was one of the main events of the Olympic Games after being introduced in six forty eight BC. There's pottery, mosaics, and even bronze sculptures from that era that celebrates fighting. One of the best preserved examples is the termae Boxer, a sculpture that was made somewhere between
three point thirty BC and fifty BC. The relic was dug up out the ground in eighteen eighty five on the side of Crinal Hill in Rome. The sculpture depicts a lean beard fighter sat on a rock, hands wrapped, an expression tired after what was clearly a brutal fight. Half a dozen cuts etched into the bronze of his face. His shoulders are slow, lightly hunched. The muscles he's built
are for violence, not for vanity. Now, all that is to say, ultra aggressive organized fighting is not just a symptom of our nightmarish, sickened lying modern society, but actually a natural practice as old as ancient Greece. So perhaps those involved in No Rules have the same fire in their belly as the pancration fighters of old. I want to find out by attending as many of these clandestine
events as possible. Whilst researching the No Rules scene, I came across a small but new underground fight club looking to recruit. They're extremely low key. By asking around on the telegram app for fighters, no one will be paid, but they get to fight. A message the anonymous user
looking to learn more about this fight club. At first, he was naturally suspicious, but after we spoke a while, he seemed to accept that I wasn't undercover law enforcement or some rap type purporter looking to do a hit piece on underground fight clubs. I showed him that I am genuinely fascinated with the counterculture and I'm looking to make a documentary about No Rules. I showed him my previous work with my platform, Popular Front, and he liked it.
I also explained that I myself had been involved in combat sports since I was fourteen years old, having joined up at a tie boxing gym as a teenager. I still trained there to this day regularly, and I consider the people there part of my family. I understand the combat sports camaraderie to some degree. The anonymous user accepted it, and he told me his name is Leon. Leon and his friends were inspired by King of the Streets years
back when it first got popular on YouTube. There were teenagers at the time, jed up on adolescent angst and the general mischief of board young men that decided to fight each other in the vein of cots. First, they did it only amongst themselves, holding their first low key gathering in the parking lot. They liked it a lot. When they realized, though, that a police station was close by to the parking lot where they were fighting, they decided to find a better location and put on a
proper event. This is why they were on telegram looking for fighters. The first proper fight club would be open to anyone, even a persistent and probably annoying journalist from England. They decided I'd be allowed to attend on the condition I protect their identities. Of course I agreed. It took three weeks of this back and forth, but we sorted it. Next stop France. Now I'm stepping off a plane in the south of France. We don't actually have the address
for where this fight club is. All we know is they're going to be contacting us at some point and telling me when and where, and we got a quick whenever it is that they say. Now, when I say south of France, you might be surprised to know that we're literally in Can. The fancy film festival city where Hollywood movie stars come to act, important, a place where the rich and famous fawn over each other and croff champagne, a place where film's directed for other directors are screened
and applauded. Can is hardly the place for an underground, no rules fight club. But here I am. As I walk with my bag on my back en route to a cheap three day hotel, I passed by Rolex shops and Gucci stores. The streets are clean, palm trees lined the roads, and I can see literal yachts in the harbor where the hell is Leon and his mates planning to fight. I'm starting to think something is not right here. That's just occurred to me that this might all be
a bit of a stitch up. So why would there be brutal, no rules fight club in one of the flashiest cities in Europe, Can of all places where film akers that I think they're too important go to stay in the mirror whiles playing their films. Maybe Leone has wound me up here. Maybe he's thought, you know what, I don't like reporters. I'm going to send this idiot on a wild goose chase and waste his money and just tell him that the fight club is in can
and see if he goes there. And well, we around so part of it doesn't add up to be honest, it's so flash around here I can't see it being Where would they even have it anyway? I don't know. We'll see to me fair if he has done that, it's annoying as it would be kind of fair play, like it's a pretty good wind up if that's what he's done, but I hope not. After checking in at the hotel, I get a message on Telegram from another anonymous user. He tells me his name is Victor and
he's running the can Fight Club with Lyon. I'll try to chat to him for a bit, but he's not interested. He sends me coordinates and tells me to meet him there at midnight. No cameras, no equipment. It's a solid thirty minute drive away from my hotel in what looks to be a gated community, a place where rich people live, especially rich if it's in can At least that's what it looks like on Google Maps. This has got to
be a trick. I'm sure now that I've traveled all the way to Can just to be mugged off by some rowdy young fighters who have no regard for what I'm trying to document. Whatever it is, what it is. Either way, I tell this Victor Feller that I'll be there at midnight. See that. Let's see what happens. You've been listening to the Await Days podcast Next week episode two. To watch independent Await Days documentaries, subscribe to our channel
at YouTube dot com. Slash at Awaitaze TV. Your Wait Days Podcast is a production of H eleven Studio for Cool Zone Media. Reporting, producing, writing, editing and research by me Jake Hanrahan, co producing by Sophie Lichtman. Music by Sam Black, sound mixed by Splicing Block. Photography by Johnny Pickup and Louis Hollis. Graphic design by Laura Adamson and Casey Highfield.
Six