No Rules on the Riviera

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You're listening to the Away Days podcast on the ground outside reporting from the underbelly with me, Jake Hanrahan.

To watch Away Days documentaries, go to youtube.com/slash at awaydays tv

this is part one no rules is no rules

episode two

this podcast is a production of h11 studio and coolzone media

I leave the hotel at 11pm and jump in the rental car that I've got.

The guy at at the desk said he'd upgraded me, giving me a much bigger car for Cannes.

Turns out the streets in Cannes are very narrow and the likelihood of scratching a car increases significantly when said car is upgraded to being much bigger.

Clearly he was looking to pocket the deposit.

Let me just tell you they really hate Brits here in the south of France.

I take my time driving through the night, following the map to get to the destination this Victor fella sent me earlier.

I drive up steep hills and I can see the sparkling lights of the harbour in the distance where celebrity yachts bob up and down.

The roads here are dark.

The few streetlights that are installed on this steep incline illuminate only big gates with high walls.

This is a compound type community for people that make huge profits.

Even in the dark the area seems quiet, discreet and affluent.

After about 10 minutes I pulled to a stop at the location.

It's a turning circle at the top of a hill surrounded by fenced off wasteland, uncharacteristic for the opulence of the rest of this area.

I message Victor, I'm here.

He's seen it.

No reply though.

I sit around waiting.

This is surely a ruse.

They're laughing now about how they tricked a nosy reporter, me, into travelling to Cannes into a rich gated community no less to see a no rules fight on concrete.

I'm sure of it.

I get out the car and wander around.

The streetlights are dull here but enough to illuminate the walled off housing compounds connected to the wasteland.

It's the tail end of a wealthy street but with a few strangely abandoned buildings on the wasteland no doubt ready to be torn down by developers.

My phone buzzes.

Victor, two minutes.

I head back to the car and wait.

Sure enough, a small black VW pulls up the hill.

Headlights and blurred faces.

Inside the car is full.

It pulls to a stop near me and lads dressed in all black hop out.

They look around.

They seem paranoid.

A few of them are wearing black face masks.

One has sunglasses on past midnight.

I exit my car wearily and greet them.

They nod, say hi, and then two of them tell me their names.

It's Victor and Leon.

Thank God it's not a scam.

I'm not allowed to record at this point but in thick French accents they explain in English that they just wanted to meet me before the fight tomorrow.

They seem more nervous than I am.

But the fight is actually real and it will be taking place in one of the abandoned buildings behind the spiked fence of the wasteland.

Honestly, I can't think of a worse place to hold an illegal underground fight, but they explained that not everything in Cannes is Rolex and Hollywood.

The palm trees, the yachts, the red carpets, that's all the rich folk turning Cannes into a playground for themselves.

They say there's another side to the city though.

That's where these guys are from.

Lower income, drugs and inequality.

Due to the ultra wealthy buying up the land and the luxury bricks and mortar of Cannes, property prices rise even for those living below the breadline.

The richest 10% of people in France own nearly half of all the money and property in the country.

As you can imagine, the beauty of the southern French coast is a huge magnet for this abundant wealth.

And so Leon and Victor explain to me that there's a deeper reasoning for them to hold an illegal, violent exit society type event inside the belly of the beast.

They tell me that this is their way of taking back their city.

Gentrification and movie stars might push them out of their own homes, but they won't stop them turning up and taking over one of their abandoned buildings for a no-rules fight.

There's some defiance to this.

As they explain it, their focus isn't necessarily political.

It's just a very straightforward fuck you to a society that's happy to abandon them.

I'm not gonna lie, I quite like these lads already.

Taking back something unavailable to them due to hyper-plutocracy, even if just for a moment, is quite appealing.

I've seen my own town back in England become more and more expensive while conditions get worse and worse.

Why?

Because rich yuppies from London are able to buy nice but cheap houses near the train station and commute one hour into the city for work.

Problem is they spend next to no money in our town and simply use it as a place to sleep.

We get all the negatives of a dying town and none of the questionable positives of gentrification.

It's not exactly the yuppies fault but it's nonetheless excruciating to see the council try to rebrand the shithole as a business hub while working families from the area get poorer and poorer.

I like the idea of Leon and Victor's fight club.

I agreed to head back in the morning, very early in the morning, though, they said, like in four hours.

They want it to be low-key before the rich folk wake up.

I head back to my hotel and set about 10 alarms.

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After a few hours of trying to sleep, my first alarm goes off.

Great.

I couldn't sleep.

Honestly, I'm pretty buzzing to see my first properly organized No Rules fight club as opposed to just two lads meeting up like Joey and Bash did.

I get ready fast, down about a a pint of coffee and drive up to the gate community where the fight will take place.

As the sun rises the beauty of the coast is visible from every corner of the winding roads up to the fight area.

The view alone must add an extra 50 grand to the house prices here.

Must be incredible to wake up to that every morning.

I drive up the hill and the total and complete contrast dawns on me.

The safe, sanitised, wealthy neighbourhood and the organised ultra violence that's about to take place.

It's perfect.

No rules is more than just fighting.

I pull up to the wasteland and I can see it all now.

A few broken down buildings behind a spiked iron fence.

Overgrown shrubbery in every direction.

A huge concrete water tower nearby.

It's a strange mess at the highest point of what's otherwise a beautiful place to live.

One of the lads steps out from the makeshift fight venue, all in black head to toe.

balaclava hood up

he motions for me to come through a bent out gap in the railings so i jump out the car and off i go

how you doing

not bad through the gap

this is the arena

fight over here yeah

it's a crazy view

so this is the view

there's a lot of people live around here yeah don't worry about the police you're gonna see what you know

if you didn't catch that i said are you not worried about the police and victor said we're gonna see proper delinquents

As for the building, it's a crumbling concrete block with two floors.

It's maybe an old observation post.

Everything Everything is covered wall to wall with random graffiti.

All the windows are put through and some of the stairs are falling down.

The floor though is spotless.

Whilst I was trying to sleep this group of young French tearaways spent last night getting the place ready.

They swept out the broken glass and piles of rubbish and mopped the concrete ground till it shined.

They're very proud of it.

This is their first proper event as the recently formed No Rules Fight Club, which now has a name.

FPVS.

What FPVS stands for is hard to translate properly into English, but it basically means this.

Don't come around here trying to suck our dicks when we get big.

No, I am not joking.

That is about the clearest interpretation you can get.

The two lads who founded FPVS, Victor and Leon, are both 20 years old and they look it.

Neither have quite grown into their frames yet and they're hardly the typical street fighters you might think of.

But they're lean, alert and they hold themselves in a way that shows they're probably prone to mischief.

Despite being up all night getting things ready, they're still full of energy or cocaine or a mix of both.

Either way they cannot wait for the chaos.

What is it about fighting that you love?

Sadly and Alindra, you don't have any

another problem or you just think to fight, concentrate, have a good confrontation and see who's the best.

Leon has an air of old-school French arrogance about him when he speaks.

He's quite a lot like the guy that upgraded me with the big cap.

He's aloof, shrugs a lot, that's just him.

Victor is the opposite.

He can't help but be friendly and candid.

They're an odd duo, but it works.

Both are well organized, highly motivated, and they both love fist fighting in a world that thinks they shouldn't.

I can express myself not in the fact to hurt people, in the fact fact of extrovert energy inside me.

The society always you always be counted by people.

You can't really explode that.

And when there is no one, no rule and no glove, you're just free.

Like you're just one and one, no knock knife, no just end one and one and we see.

Like it's the greatest thing.

I think it's the best.

You feel like you said that like society is always telling you like calm down, calm down.

Do you think there's something inside you that like inside everybody that they can't always do that?

I think.

Here I think it's really important because here it's a city where they want to show to people who they are.

But there are nobody, you know, there is rich people in front of the beach.

There are nobody.

You can't explode.

You can't express who you are really

inside of you.

So...

Do you prefer it that it's illegal?

Yeah.

I think.

I think, yeah.

I think it's it's growth adrenaline, you know.

It's it's more magical.

Like you see when it's legal, like you need to uh to a lot of wool, a lot of

paper, you need to do this, to do this.

No, no, we do what we want, what we want to do.

We don't have any restriction.

We like our activities, we like our art, and this art is much important if it does

the right way.

So you see this as like art?

I think it's art.

You think this is art, yeah?

I think it's art.

That's really interesting.

No,

I don't know the definition of art, but when it's beautiful and you like it, you crave it a little bit, you see it, you are happy a little bit.

It's a shock for everyone to see people hurt the other body, but it's art.

I don't like Picasso, I like this.

You like fighting?

This is art.

I don't like Picasso, I like this.

For young lads like Leon, no rules is a kind of art.

The two lads who will be fighting for FPVS today in Cannes are named Louis and Warren.

The FPVS guys lead me up the stairs to meet them.

They're both in their early 20s and are up on the remains of the abandoned structure's outdoor patio area.

They're shadow boxing amidst piles of broken glass and concrete debris.

From here I can see the perfect blue of the French Riviera's coastline in the near distance.

The sun has risen into a cloudless sky.

The famous yachts at the harbour are twinkling, reflecting the light from the sun.

Directly in in front of me though, on the patio, two thrill-seeking lads are preparing to knock fuck out of each other as part of an underground fight scene.

Even amidst the beauty of the Court d'Azor, the unapologetic ugliness of prearranged violence is most compelling.

Several FPVS members, of which there are around a dozen, help the two fighters get in the zone.

They wrap their hands, hold pads, G them up.

Warren is black, about 6'2 ⁇ , muscular, lean, and has a fighter's gait.

Louis is white, about 5'9,

skinny fat, and honestly seems out of his depth.

I asked Louis why he came here, why he's decided to fight in such a hardcore manner.

Why are you wanna do it?

To

myself, to be a better fighter.

What about the concrete floor?

Are you not worried about that?

It's quite dangerous.

I know for what I'm saying.

As for Warren, he looks fine, confident, ready to go.

Very excited.

You see me?

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Not nervous.

Yes, no, not nervous.

You don't need to fool?

No, I don't know.

First time?

Yes, first time.

Hope you did.

Good luck.

From where I'm standing, the odds don't look great.

And let me tell you, as a teenager, I got my head kicked in plenty of times.

I'm speaking from experience.

This doesn't look great.

Warren is shredded head to toe and Louis looks entirely uncoordinated without any real conditioning.

It's of course true that muscles don't win fights and with no rules anything can happen.

But still, I feel a bit worried for Louie.

I asked Leon what he thinks about the clear size difference.

Indifferently, he just tells me they weigh the same.

He shrugs it off and reminds me that Louis put himself here.

He contacted the FPVS guys via telegram.

He told them he wanted to fight, so now he's here to fight.

If you can find the right people and are genuine about fighting, it can be that simple.

Warren and Louie are still warming up with the FPVS crew.

They're all male and all around 18 to 25.

They're a mix of several different races and each of them is dressed in a black track suit with various different brands of trainers.

They're a blur of night tech and Balenciaga, Burberry and EA7.

Some of them have specially printed FPVS hoodies and T-shirts.

They mill around helping fighters, chatting and rolling spliffs.

They're the kind of lads the upper class of the Riviera probably crossed the road from.

They seem jovial enough to me though, and I get on well with them.

Now, I'm obviously an outsider in this world, but they're all pretty chilled about it.

No one has a real issue with me being there.

I sit chatting to one of the guys as he holds pads for Louis, who is throwing wayward punches here and there.

The FPVS guys cannot wait for the violence to start.

Then we hear a shout from downstairs: it's time.

Leon gathers the fighters and everyone heads down the half-collapsed stairs into the main area where fights take place.

There are two pillars in the center of the room.

Red and white caution tape is wrapped around them loosely as a means to cordon off the area where the crowd now stands.

On the floor in the centre, the FPBS logo is spray painted onto the concrete.

A wolf with red eyes.

The air smells like weed smoke and stale sweat.

Everyone inside is buzzing.

Some are Warren's friends, some are FPBS and others are unaffiliated hooligans and street fighters who just come to watch.

The show is on.

Louis looks nervous.

Warren calm.

He cracks his neck and bounces on his toes ready to go.

Louis picks at the wraps on his wrist and clenches his hands tight.

He looks extremely uncomfortable.

Leon walks into the centre of the concrete room and signals that everything's ready.

The two fighters join him on each side, and before the ball in starts, everyone in the room sings the French national anthem with their hand held on their hearts.

An unexpected show of unity amidst this underground scene.

It goes on and on and on.

Everyone in the room, both masked and not, sings along.

Everyone but me, of course, I'm British.

I want to be sick.

No, I'm only joking.

A bit.

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Le Marseille ends finally.

The two fighters bump fists and head to opposite corners of the room.

Leon signals by nodding at Victor.

Victor gives the go-ahead.

It's on.

Fight.

Two fighters meet each other in the centre.

Louis throws a badly timed roundhouse kick that bounces clean off of Warren's leg.

Warren throws two jabs straight into Louis's face, catching his chin.

He's dazed, his guard drops.

Warren shifts in, grabs Louis, picks him up, drops him down to the concrete.

Louis tries to throw some defensive punches, but Warren is all over him like a dog.

He rains down elbows into Louis's face.

Louis goes fetal, covering up his head.

Leon moves in from the sidelines ready to see if the fight needs to be ended.

The crowd is wild with excitement.

They want blood.

Warren continues dropping elbows.

A few miss, a few smash into Louis's forehead and temple.

Louis throws up his hands and taps the floor.

He's done.

Leon grabs Warren and pulls him off of Louis.

The fight is over.

Louis is helped up off of the concrete by FPVS lads.

Welts, bruises, and bumps already pattern his face.

He's got blood at his lips.

He's well and truly beaten.

But he's smiling, so is Warren.

The two fighters embrace sincerely and the crowd cheers even louder.

Win or lose, respect in this world is essential.

You're brave man, you're brave.

The fight lasted about one minute total.

Louis got battered, but I'm not sure the outcome really mattered that much for him.

He showed up, which counts for a lot when you consider the stakes.

That's part of the notoriety of this.

There's something uniquely daring about no rules.

You could end up permanently disfigured, brain damaged or dead way easier than every other combat sport.

No rules isn't sport.

I ask Louie how he's feeling as makeshift FPVS medics, whoever's holding the plaster as an antiseptic, tend to his wounds.

He tells me he feels good, he says he lost, but that's part of it.

He's got blood in his mouth and knuckles have grazed the skin around his eyes, but it'll live.

Could have been a lot worse.

No serious damage.

Half joking, I ask what his family might think when he comes home with his face bashed up.

Louis pauses for a second, then he laughs and says, don't tell my mother.

In contrast, Warren is completely unscathed, not a mark.

He's barely even broken a sweat.

He tells me he travelled overnight for this and wants to fight again.

He's a nice lad, they both are.

Pretty normal other than this.

Outside of the chaos of clandestine fighting, Warren works as a laborer on a building site and Louis is a waiter in a restaurant.

These violent young men build homes and serve food.

They keep the world turning.

The clandestine FPVS event was a success.

News of the fight club is spreading fast across France already.

All across Instagram and Telegram.

Afterwards I head down to a pub in the city with Leon and Victor.

Out of one world into another.

Hours ago we were in the bando watching two fighters try to incapacitate one another.

Now we're in Central Cannes amongst Rolex shops, Palm Dior Smam and the ugliest Italian sports cars ever built.

Over Guinness the FPBS lads tell me how they're different to cops and that they never pay anyone to fight.

No one involved gets a penny.

If anything they're in a deficit after preparing it all.

It's just for sport they say somewhat ironically.

However, Leon and Victor explained to me that whilst they're different from COTS, they are of course inspired by them.

All of the new Norul's fight clubs across Europe wouldn't exist if it wasn't for them.

All roads lead to King of the Streets

Before they started King of the Streets Hype Crew was one of many active football hooligan firms in Europe.

They'd meet mostly in the fields and forests of Scandinavia fighting their rivals in packs of 10 against 10, 6 against 6, 15 against 12, 25 against 25, whatever was agreed on between organisers.

This kind of activity takes place in secret all over the continent every single weekend.

It's nothing new.

Haiku though was.

When they started fighting they were unique from the get-go.

They're a football hooligan firm without a football team.

They're just all about the violence.

This is not as unusual as it sounds.

Amongst the seeing it's an open secret that plenty of football hooligans in mainland Europe don't actually care that much about the football.

It's the aggression, camaraderie and sense of belonging that they love.

Football is a base to gather for young men looking to be part of something the world over.

For hooligans the fighting sets that in stone.

No matter how advanced or progressive or civilised life gets, it will always be true that there is something primordally special about forging bonds of friendship through fighting together.

People might say they have your back, but do they?

Perhaps your best friend remembers your birthday every year, calls you when you're lonely and supports your endeavours, but would they stand and fight if you were attacked?

Would they run?

Would they abandon you to get your head kicked in?

The vast majority of people will never have to find out and probably don't even think about it and that's a good thing I guess.

But things like this don't matter until they do.

For hooligans they already know.

Their friends would stand and fight every single time.

This is the foundation of their bond from the get-go.

It's almost like the course of a friendship in reverse.

The most literal form of backing your friend up is what they begin with.

Anything else is a bonus.

To your average law-abiding citizen, this is a horrible way to live.

They have no decorum, etc.

etc.

But honestly who cares?

They don't.

They're choosing to live outside of society.

Now my point is the reason King of the Streets is so clandestine yet so well organized and so influential is likely because it started off from this base of arranged fighting hooliganism.

Some hype crew members were hooligans for various different firms in Sweden before forging their syndicate of what is essentially a freelance firm with no loyalty to anything but each other.

This, I believe, is a big part of what's kept King of the Streets so consistent and so well respected in the underground.

When I get back home to the UK, the lads from FPVS contact me and let me know that everything went well.

They haven't been arrested, all the fighters are happy, and their fight club is getting dozens and dozens of new applications to fight now that the footage is all across Instagram.

All in all, despite the pretty basic fight, things were a success.

It also turns out the word has gotten out in the clandestine fighting underground that there's a reporter trying to make a film about Norul's fighting, little old me.

Some don't like it, some don't care, but others are pretty interested.

It seems in general that these people trust what I'm doing and understand I don't have some snitch ulterior motive to out them as lunatics or whatever.

I'm just interested.

Also, to be honest with you, I don't really see what's wrong with grown adults deciding to fight each other consensually in private in a controlled setting.

That's their business.

Just because it's illegal doesn't mean it's wrong.

There's also some irony in the way states condemn no rules.

For example, one fighter who's undefeated on COTS was banned from fighting in professional MMA in his own country for doing no rules.

The state decided he was too violent.

Meanwhile, that same government sent millions to a foreign country to assist them in carrying out daily war crimes in the Middle East.

You tell me what's more violent.

No rules fighting or bombing children.

Now I don't mean to be dramatic but this is something else I find fascinating about No Rules.

It unintentionally exposes human nature's undying connection to violence.

No rules is just unapologetically honest about it.

Now as you can probably tell tell, this is a male-dominated scene.

However, I've got word since returning from Cannes that there's about to be the very first female no-rules fight.

It will be happening soon in Germany.

More on that in the next episode.

You've been listening to the Away Days podcast.

Next week, episode 3.

To watch independent away days documentaries, subscribe to our channel at youtube.com slash at awaydays TV.

The away days podcast is a production of H11 Studio for CoolZone Media.

Reporting, producing, writing, editing and research by me, Jake Hanrahan.

Co-producing by Sophie Lichterman.

Music by Sam Black.

Sound mix by Splicing Block.

Photography by Johnny Pickup and Louie Hollis.

Hollis, graphic design by Laura Adamson and Casey Highfield.

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Ah, smart water.

Pure, crisp taste, perfectly refreshing.

Wow, that's really good water.

With electrolytes for taste, it's the kind of water that says, I have my life together.

I'm still pretending the laundry on the chair is part of the decor.

Yet, here you are, making excellent hydration choices.

I do feel more sophisticated.

That's called having a taste for taste.

Huh, a taste for taste.

I like that.

Smart water.

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This is an iHeart Podcast.