Coby Persin Reprints The Death Card

Or: How a 21 year old Internet prankster achieved in a 6 minute You Tube video what the police, social services and schools haven't been able to do in decades.

Yesterday I saw this video.

In it a young man named Coby Persin, who up until that point I had never heard of, sets himself up as an Internet predator. He created a false Facebook account and pretended to be a 15 year old boy named Jason. He used false photos and contacted young girls and after a few days of text based conversations (and in one case a phone call) he arranged to meet them privately. The first girl in a park. The second at her house. The third in his car. Twist was however...that the girls' parents were with him when he met them. Each and every parent was furious and upset with their daughters. Initially scoffing at the idea that their kids would fall for Coby's false persona, their fear and fury at what could have happened is evident when the bemused little girls,(the youngest 12, the oldest 14) are on the receiving end of verbal lashings from mum and dad, who are in complete and utter disbelief at what they'd just witnessed, I.e. Their kids trusting 100% in a "boy" they'd never met to the point where they would go and meet him behind the backs of their protectors. To make matters worse, the video makes it crystal clear that each of the girls knew it was wrong. The first waits until her dad leaves the house. The second until she believes her father is sleeping and the third until her parents are supposedly out on a "date night".

I was born in 1970. Back then we had badass TV commercials about not going off with strangers. About not throwing fireworks. About not playing with matches. And about looking both ways before crossing the road. These ads were unsettling, unpleasant and tapped into a very primal childhood fear of death. Their fundamental message was "Do this horrible thing and you will die. Or if you don't die you'll never see your Mummy and Daddy again." The commercials pulled no punches and were the TV equivalent of my headmistress at Primary school. Pragmatic, focussed, direct and straight talking (and she was a nun).

Charlie the cat would meow his way through infomercials about not going off with men you didn't know (personally I never saw the attraction of puppies so that one wouldn't have worked anyway but I got the point).

Tufty and later the Green Cross Code Man (played by Darth Vader no less) would instruct us on how to cross the road. Simultaneously, other ads would show the unspeakable misery of losing a loved one to a car accident. Not to mention little kids running out from behind ice cream vans without looking where they were going.

The scariest one I ever saw kept me awake for 3 nights to the point where my exasperated mother shouted "THAT'S IT! YOU'RE NOT WATCHING ANY MORE TELLY AGAIN EVER!!!" every time I ran down the stairs after bed time in tears in my Noddy pyjamas, screaming with fear. It was called 'The Spirit of Dark and Lonely Water' and in it a hooded and robed figure watches impassively as children stupidly playing near water too dangerous to swim in, fell in and drowned. The voice was done by legendary horror actor Donald Pleasance and as I lay belly down on the floor, my face two feet from the TV, I turned to my father and with wide eyes asked "Daddy, who's that man?" Ever the realist my father looked up from his newspaper and cheerfully replied, "Oh, that's the children drowner".

Thing is...I NEVER went near anything other than a swimming pool without adult supervision again until I was about 12 or 13.

TV for children was a riot in the 1970s. My favouritest telly show was the anarchic and wonderful Tiswas, every Saturday morning from 10 o'clock we would be entertained by a very young Chris Tarrant, Sally James and Lenny Henry (not forgetting Spit the Dog). The Phantom Flan Flinger would pie his way through the studio guests (sometimes with his wife Flandarella) and the whole thing was laughter and fun.

However...every time Guy Fawkes night rolled by on November 5th, Tiswas's presenters would temporarily switch from their tomfoolery and become stone faced, warning all us kids of the perils of throwing bangers, returning to a Catherine Wheel once lit and above all not picking up a sparkler by the wrong end.

Construction sites and farms were amusement parks for adventurous kids. If you ever had the misfortune to attend a school showing of Apaches, you NEVER horsed around on a farm again (as far as I know this is the only film to feature the on screen drowning of a small boy....in a vat of pig manure).

At school we would be read stories that focussed on the fun and magical elements of life. We would sit cross legged on the floor while the teacher read us a story before final prayers and Home Time. And every now and then we'd get one that scared us into not doing something. I still vividly recall the weeping kittens from The Dreadful Story of Harriet and the Matches, who cried just a little too late to save Harriet from burning to death after she played with fire. I was 6 when Mrs Clayton read F2 that one.

Lectures from our parents would focus on the dire, dire consequences of going off with people we didn't know, or alternatively of simply ignoring what they told us to do. My mother's favourite story to get my to finish my Cornflakes was of a little boy who didn't eat his breakfast, went out in the snow....and died.

Over the years and decades, we have lost this mentality. Showing children the Death Card is now deemed to be excessive, traumatising and even bullying.

Which brings me back to Coby Persin.

In an era where we are meant to "reason with and educate" our children into following rules that will keep them alive, no one believes that, with the right amount of patient understanding and reasoning, their little Jonathan or Julia will ever do something stupid (unless of course they are led astray by someone else's brats). In an age of mass communication and instant access to knowledge, people want to think that everything is just hunky dory.

I'm an assistant instructor at a junior Krav Maga class for little children. They are aged between 5 and 11 and we teach them how to defend themselves against being picked up, grabbed or pulled by an adult. One game involves them in teams, trying to run past us, while we stand there in helmets, groin guards and shin pads trying to stop them. Above all we let these children know that if an adult does or tries to do something to them that they don't like then they are to create as much noise as they can and get the hell out of there. They are taught also that struggling, yelling and inflicting pain on a grown up will give them an edge and an advantage. A 6 year old will NEVER win a fight with an adult...but they can make themselves enough of a nuisance that the adult will put them down and leave them alone.

Coby's video is badass on so many levels, not least of all for the maturity he shows in making it when he only graduated High school 3 or 4 years ago. Criticisms I've read levelled at this film (some from friends of mine from the link I shared on Facebook, in the comments section) are that this is sensationalist and the parents plus Coby are merely humiliating these girls for money and publicity. They argue that shaming them in this way is counter productive as it means the girls will be traumatised.

I disagree.

Experiencing what they did and having their parents there to tell them at the time just how fucking stupid they were is EXACTLY what they needed. Something I've not seen anyone flag up yet, is that the parents would never have revealed themselves if their daughters hadn't gone as far as they did. If Mikaela had walked away in the park when Coby stood up and introduced himself, her father wouldn't have burst out from behind a rock shouting at her. If Julie hadn't opened the front door, then her dad wouldn't have been hugging her as she cried while he reminded her that her mother was dead and he couldn't lose Julie too. And if Jenna hadn't got into the van with Coby late at night (read that to yourself again slowly) then her folks wouldn't have burst forward wearing balaclavas pretending to be kidnappers while Coby grabbed her arm.

This video showed a very scary and sobering story of just how gullible some people can be, particularly kids. Especially kids who think they are in control of their worlds because they are so adept at using social media. A world that is blind and deaf to those who wish to make it so.

Coby , I salute you.

Adrenaline level 3: Room 101

MY review of FAST Reality UK's Adrenaline 3 event with Krav Maga Global UK, from the KMG UK website. (click the photo)

The Investment

In late 2001 I snapped the anterior crusciate ligament in my left knee. I was sparring with a kickboxing instructor named Bertram who was basically kicking my ass. When I tried a roundhouse kick,  I kept my entire left foot on the floor instead of balancing on the ball of it, and the strain snapped the ACL. There was a "crunch" noise and I signalled to Bertram to stop beating me, then hobbled off the mat in order to soothe my sore appendage.

Next day the knee was horrendously tender and swollen to the size of a small grapefruit. I didn't know what was wrong and simply waited for the swelling to go down and then strapped the leg up and carried on. Months later I was told that I had almost certainly snapped the ACL and while I didn't think much of it, as the knee was 'manageable' and the pain almost non-existent, I found out in 2004 that this was a much bigger deal than I'd imagined.

I applied for the City of London police Special Constabulary (volunteer cops) and was rejected on medical grounds due to declaring the knee injury. The force medical officer was polite and to the point, and said that if I'd waited to apply in 2005 it wouldn't matter as new laws were coming in that would make it wrong for them to reject me on these grounds. However...now the old rules applied and she reluctantly had to say no to my application. I asked if I could be allowed an appeal, if I could get the knee repaired. She said yes.

So I went back to the doctor and began the long process of consultation, MRI scan and visits to a specialist. After several months I was booked in for an operation and spent the night in a hospital bed, in preparation for my early morning op, kept awake by two old men squabbling in the adjacent beds. Morning came and the anaesthetist arrived to prep me for my time under the scalpel. Then he told me to put on a backless gown and wait. An hour or so later the consultant surgeon arrived (a man I had only glimpsed from afar up to this point and had always been seen by his underlings). He breezily asked me to swing my legs up on the bed. I'd had the foresight to keep my undies on, despite being told not to, which was a good job as he was with two junior, female doctors. To make matters worse, one was very pretty. He then proceeded to twist and manipulate my lower leg, regularly asking "Does this hurt?" When he realised it didn't he then said "Leg's healthy. You don't need the operation. You can go home."

Overjoyed, I sped home and sent the forms off to the COLP medical officer who then accepted me as healthy, I got interviewed, accepted and joined in October 2004

However....

It turned out that far from what I naively believed had been a case of 'self healing', the leg muscles around my knees had simply grown bigger due to the amount of cycling I was regularly doing in London. The ACL was still broken but, like having a strong set of core muscles in your belly, all that exercise meant that the knees were now having the majority of the strain on the surviving ligament, dealt with by the increase in muscle.

Years later and the knee still twinged. Like tectonic plates grinding into each other, the knee cap would rub into other bits and acidic, sharp pain would shoot up my leg. I was rejected by both the Territorial Army and the RAF Reservists on my paper applications, without even being seen, solely due to the ACL damage. Both said "Get it repaired, then reapply after 18 months."

In Krav training I would have to wear not one but two knee supports on that leg and also take a shit load of painkillers after gradings, due to the soreness and swelling after 4 hours of beasting, with at least 30 minutes of full on sparring to top it all off. I couldn't sit on my heels when I knelt down. I was advised in the strongest possible terms by a knee specialist that I NOT go jogging. The impact would cause inflammation to the knee and put me back. Cycling was fine but running, which I love, was out.

This year I decided what I really want to do is be fully fit again. I want to run, jump and twist without fear of having to open the Ibuprofen. I want to grade in Krav Maga without fearing that someone will boot me in the kneecap and send me howling to the floor. I want above all to be a Fast Defence instructor with Wayne Hubball in 2016.

I went for another MRI scan on my knee a few months ago after referral from my local doctor. I then got to Warwick Hospital to see a consultant. They put me on a waiting list and last week told me that my operation to repair the ACL will happen on the 25th of August 2015. Convalescence time is 6 months, meaning no Krav for that entire time.

This dictates that I will miss both chances to retest my P5 exam in October and December. I will miss shit loads of training and also the seminars run nationally and by my own club Krav MagaMidlands. Guys who are currently P3 will be probably taking their P5 the same time as me. Guys who are currently P4 could well be taking G1.

But....the light at the end of the tunnel is that I will come back fitter, healthier and with more endurance. Things I cannot do now without pain and physical instability will be much easier to perform. I will be able to fight without the paranoia of wondering if my knee will get hurt during the kicks and punches, takedowns and ground work.

It's an investment and one I wish I'd taken a long time ago

Short term gain gives short term pleasure. One thing Krav Maga has taught me is that sometimes you need to be patient and put your ego and desires to one side in order to be all you can be.