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 Damon "Beast" Daniels
In an effort to help people get to know the fighters/promoters/fans of MMA we are asking fighters/promoters/fans to let us know about themselves. Who they are, where they came from, how they train, what got them into MMA and what they are up to now. Below is one fighter's story. It's the first of many stories that we will be bringing to you.
This article was written by Damon Daniels. I want to thank him for his time, his story, and what he is willing to risk for all of us.
Damon is also know as user Beast on the site.
After many re-writes and revisions, I think I'm just going
to do this the way I see it. To explain my beliefs and opinions, I am going to share
portions of my past. I feel this will help show people where I come from with
my thoughts, why I fight, and why I am the way that I am.
To start, I was raised in Brooklyn,
New York, with my older brother.
It was just him, my mother, and me. I will go ahead and say that the first five
years of my life was just honky-dory. Some things I remember, some I do not. I
would have to say that life became a living scrap book from the age of six on.
From the ages of six to eight, I was molested by my brother and aunt, and
subjected to many perverse things. Along with the abuse came many fights and
beatings by my brother, being made a witness to my uncle trying to bury a
ten-inch butcher knife in my aunt, and what certain drugs will do to people.
The sexual abuse ended when I was eight, however, the beatings and threats
didn't end until my brother was arrested when I was ten. That was a good day
for me. But it was also the day I had to become my own man. What I mean is that
once the troubles of my brother came into public view, most of my mother's
attention was put forth to support him. From weekly visits to the juvenile
facility he was confined to, to the prisons he was later placed in, it was all
about supporting him. During this time, while I despised going to these places,
I had buried memories of everything that had happened. I didn't want my mother
or anyone else to know. Looking back now, I believe she had a good idea that
things were pretty bad prior to his arrest. From my hesitance of speaking about
my aunt, to my unwillingness to write my brother, most (in my mind) normal
people would have picked up on something. Oh well. Now, back to the story.
After a couple of years of going to see him (I was unable to, as I was a
minor,) we packed up and moved to Roanoke,
Virginia. It was there that I
gained an interest in competing. I got into football my freshman year, and
later, after a scuffle with one of the seniors, I was made to join the
wrestling team the following year. It was during that period of time that I
made a couple of discoveries.
Half-way through the wrestling season, my brother returned home. He was
nineteen at the time, and I was fifteen. It was okay for the first month. We
managed to coexist without incident. Then he decided to go back to what he
knew, and that was me. When he tried threatening me again, I realized that not
only was I older, but I was a lot bigger. Most importantly, I hated him. I let
him know those facts, as well as the fact that if he tried anything or said
anything at all, I would truly hurt him. A couple of weeks later, re was
arrested yet again. And yet again, I was made to sit outside the jailhouse
while my mother visited him. I wonder now if that is what fueled my wrestling
after that. My sophomore year was a learning year. I went 8-15. From there, I
got into Greco-Roman wrestling, and walked away with a state title. I competed
at Nationals that year. My junior year saw me open a lot of eyes, as I amassed
numerous top three finishes in tournaments, a district title, a regional title,
and a fourth place finish at states. I went on to win a state title in
Greco-Roman again, and again competed at Nationals. My senior year, while a
good one, was a year I hit a brick wall. For a long time, I couldn't explain
what happened to me mentally, however, in retrospect, it was my first bout with
depression. I got to states, and didn't want to wrestle. Didn't want to do much
of anything at all, really. That depression lasted for a few months. It was
strengthened with harsh words received from my mother, as I was offered a
wrestling scholarship. The offer came after I had signed up to join the Army.
My recruiter was working to pull the paperwork upon notice of the scholarship
offer, however, my mother felt the military would be a much better path for me.
So, upon graduation, I enlisted into the U.S. Army as a military paralegal. I
still, at times, felt the need to compete, so upon assignment to Fort Hood, TX
in 1999, I immediately started looking to wrestle again. While I found a few
guys to work with, I was better than them, so I lost interest. It was then that
I had my first taste of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, as a buddy of mine took me to
Shannon Ritch's Hybrid Warrior Martial Arts studio. It was fun until someone a
lot better than me damn near ripped my ankle off. I stayed away from it after
that.
The summer of 2000 was a traumatic awakening for me. I was working at a local
night-club at the time. It was a fun one, but with a nickname like "The
Slaughterhouse," one could only guess how much fun is had there. Outside of the
occasional brawl, it was pretty fun. One night changed that, however. A
disorderly patron (DP for short) got out-of-hand with several ladies, and had
to be escorted out. I escorted him out. Moments later, he found his way back inside.
When we took him back outside, he attacked me. It was apparent that he was
pretty whacked out as he had no balance. I dropped him quickly and asked his
boys to take him home. They agreed, but I guess he didn't, as he attacked them.
They opted to leave him, and the DP opted to put hands on another couple. I
immediately put him back down on the ground and had the cops called. One cop
arrived, was told what happened, and it all went downhill from there. I was
told to get off of the DP, and when I started to, I was attacked again, so I
restrained him and told the cop to go ahead and cuff him. It was around then
that the DP started humping my leg. It was also then that we both got
faces-full of pepper-spray. I got up and began gagging, and the DP got up gagging
and swinging. The cop proceeded to beating him with his ASP. When I was able to
see and breathe, I saw the cop continuously beating the DP (he was still up and
swinging,) so I ran towards them, yelling to the cop to allow me to restrain
him while he cuffs him. I got an arms-length behind the DP when the cop shot
and killed him. I liken that night to an awakening of sorts. I say that because
after sitting in the police station until dawn, getting verbally blasted by my
mother, and the cop walking free, I was a mess. It seemed that that night
opened the door to all of my memories from my childhood, and that left me in a
depression that I fought off and on (a lot more on) for the next six years. The
doctors diagnosed me as suffering from depression and social-anxiety due to
PTSD. I just called it hell.
While in treatment, I somehow found my way to competing in wrestling again.
This time, it was for a spot on the All-Army team. Trial camp lasted for two
months. It was pretty good up until I hit another brick wall, and just couldn't
function for about a week. Upon coming out of that, I found myself having to go
one-on-one with Dominic Black, the defending national champion. Our match was
more like a clinic with my feet on the ground for less than five seconds. I
look back at that match and can't help but laugh. I was so not ready for that.
But it was a good experience. It let me know what I needed to work on, and got
me into competing again.
When I relocated to Korea,
I found that wrestling wasn't as popular, and you had to be an NCO to do BJJ,
so I got into Tae-Kwon-Do. I found that I wasn't bad at all at it, so I kept
going to classes and training for almost the entire two years I was there. I
was on the cusp of obtaining my black-belt, when I became jaded with the
concept of doing all of the training, all of the drills and forms for a silly
colored belt. The payment of nearly three-hundred dollars for said black-belt
also played a huge factor in my decision to leave TKD. Along with leaving TKD,
I left Korea
for the NOVA/D.C. area. It seemed like a good deal as I was as close to home as
I'd ever been. Looking back, I think that maybe I was too close to home, as
things took a turn for the worst both mentally and emotionally. Simply put,
meds became a more important part of my life, and I realized that I had some
severe anger issues. Does getting locked in an office due to said anger issues
count as a problem? It was during this time that I truly began confronting my
past. Part of that was letting my mother know everything that went down and how
I felt about it. That didn't go over so well, as her remedy was to just forgive
and embrace. I felt really betrayed by that. To this day, things are still
strained between us, however, I have a better grasp on where I stand with my
"family." I realized that from that point on, I needed to start doing things
for myself. If they didn't care about me, then I would. I soon moved to Fort Carson, Colorado,
where, while still in treatment, I started training with the Army's World Class
Athlete Program. I still had a lil bit of wrestling in me, so I spent the
winter training with them. When my interest finally dwindled, primarily due to
boredom and too many rule changes, I saw a flyer for Modern Army Combatives. I
decided to give it a shot, as I didn't have anything else to do, but lift
weights. Who knew that as I walked in the door to the gym for that program, I
would begin my path to competing in MMA.
 After the first day of training, I was hooked. All of the concepts, sweeps, submissions
that came with BJJ left me completely enthralled. I loved it. I was constantly
trying to roll with those better than I was. Notice I didn't say bigger and
better. I learned the error in that type of thinking when I got choked out by a
5'3", 125 pound man, whom I thought I was getting the better of. A very
humbling experience indeed. After around three months of constant training, I
traveled to Torrance, California
to train at the Gracie
Academy. I learned three
very valuable lessons there. One, I hate fighting in a gi. It is totally
unrealistic to me, therefore, I see no purpose. Other than to die of heat
exhaustion. Two, I'm not into BJJ for the sport or tournament aspect. I just
couldn't get up for the NAGA tournament I competed in. And the third, and most
important, while I was strong and capable of doing things, I didn't use my body
like I should. What I mean is that I wasn't truly controlling my opponents with
my body like I should. I was just trying to out-muscle everyone. I learned
after it was beaten into me by both Rener and Ryron Gracie. I learned this fact
even more in depth when Keith Wilson had his way with me in training at the
Tool Shed. It was around that time that I was bouncing at Icon nightclub, and I
watched Mike "Big Chick" Chickering beat the snot out of some pug. Everyone was
pumped after watching that, myself included. A thought occurred to me then. If
he could get in there and pretty much brawl his way to victory, I could do it
too, and possibly make it a bit more entertaining. I immediately sought out a
couple of the fighters to find out where they train at. I was pointed to the
Kongo-Do fight team, and Chuck Daly. That following Monday, before
Thanksgiving, was when I officially began training for MMA competition. While training
at Kongo-Do, I was still loyal to the Combatives program on Fort Carson.
I was still learning new ideas and techniques from the head instructor, Staff
Sergeant Keoki Smythe, so I balanced my time between the two camps. Through
training at both places, as well as the home of Spencer Hooker on occasion, I
managed to amass an amateur record of 3-0 in MMA competition. It was after the
third fight that I volunteered to go over to Iraq.
I have mixed feelings about coming over to Iraq. I volunteered mainly because
my soldier, who had just begun her Army career, in my opinion, wouldn't do too
well over there. I couldn't, in my right mind, allow her to be sent, when I had
plenty of experience, and most importantly to me, no family of my own. So, I
went in her place. Prior to departing the states, I fought twice more, winning
one, and losing the last. Three weeks after that fight, I departed for the
sandbox.
After being over there for four months, I've seen and experienced things that I
will never forget. From the fallout of our invasion, to the constant bombs
dropping on us, to the soldiers we've lost and will continue to lose, this
whole conflict, in my unworthy and to some people, ignorant, opinion has been
based on lies, and is now more of a clean-up. For every death we suffer, the
question that always comes up is "why are we here?" While it's pretty bad in
certain areas, we can't possibly pull out of this place. This is mainly because
we were the ones to make the mess. Listening to a lot of our interpreters and
locals, they feel that they were better off when Saddam was in charge. While
they agree that he did a lot of terrible deeds, they didn't have to worry about
being executed because of their beliefs. They didn't worry about getting blown
up by car bombs, or having their mosques blown up. They didn't walk and live in
filth. When they step outside, they didn't gag on the smell of burning trash
and fecal matter. Things were, for all intents and purposes, better.
These next few months and years will be very interesting. While it's extremely
stressful over there, one of the ways I "decompress" is through shadow-boxing,
and trying to keep in shape. I had just recently gotten the go-ahead to start
ordering supplies to run my own lil training gym. The interest level in BJJ and
MMA is pretty high. I've already run into quite a few fighters out of 2d BCT,
and then some fighters out of the Michigan National Guard. The training, as I
said is more a source of stress relief. I fail to see the use in getting all
huge lifting weights, or the benefits of getting fat doing nothing but eating.
For me, I need a goal. Mine is coming back to Colorado in one piece, stronger,
conditioned, and more focused on being the best. The strength part is simple. I
usually alternate daily between weights and calisthenics. The conditioning is
proving to be trying as I hate treadmills, however, I refuse to run outside.
I'll probably come up with a way to make the treadmill interesting, but until
then, I'll keep using the bike and my jumprope. We'll see. My overall goal is
to return weighing around 220 pounds with a lil less fat on me. Once again,
we'll see how that turns out. As far as keeping abreast of the MMA community, I
pretty much stay on MMA Buzz, Sherdog, UFC, and Martial-Arts Radio, while I'm
over there. I won't say what my specific plans are upon my return, but I will
say, expect a totally revamped fighter out of me. Prior to deploying, I fought
to satisfy my anger, which I still contend with on occasion. Now, after coming
back to the states briefly, I want to do it because I can. If I can overcome
having a bomb dropped in my barracks and office, I feel pretty strongly that I
will overcome any man that steps in the cage or ring with me.
{mos_sb_discuss:15}
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