Everyone who trains has a little guy. He is sixty kilos, he is completely unbothered, he has been doing this four years longer than you, and he taps you with the same thing every single week, and you know it is coming, and it happens anyway. This is that Tuesday, set the way it deserves.
TONIGHT'S CARD, in heavy condensed poster type, stacked in tiered bands behind plain double rules like a fight bill nailed up outside a hall. MAIN EVENT, ME vs. THE LITTLE GUY, WHO ALWAYS TAPS ME. And down on the undercard, one fall: your own ego.
It names no belt and claims no rank, on purpose. The little guy exists at every level, and everyone who has ever stepped on a mat knows exactly who theirs is.
Soft and easygoing, broken in from the first wear, set in two flat inks across a range of deep, dark colours. Ink on dark is the whole look, and it is what you already wear to the academy anyway.
If you are buying this for someone else, you only need one fact about them: they train. They will know who the little guy is before they finish reading it.
See you on the mats.
