The building worked great as a mechanic's shop five years ago.  Now the oil-stained concrete has been painted and is layered with squares of wrestling mats entwined and locked like Legos. Eddie Bravo is centered on the mats, his own legs, hands, arms, and even toes also entwined. Locked in Eddie's limbs is a slight man, a fight promoter who runs this building, this mixed martial arts studio, this place where a full-size cage sits in the corner.  The man in Bravo's self-named "Stoner Control" has sacrificed and advertised to amateur and pro fighters and wanabees because, he, like many in the world of MMA, believes in Bravo. In a flash—smooth, but not fast—Bravo takes the man's back and locks in a body triangle.  Bravo is animated as he talks about going for a choke or striking or..."Well, I don't know, there's a lot of other stuff I've been thinking about trying too." That's Bravo.  A supposed 'know-it-all' with as many questions as answers. The world around Bravo—jiu-jitsu, the musical scale, women, cannibas—is packed full of "what if" and Bravo seems born to shake the gates till answers run free. It wasn't always so.  His biological father was replaced with a step, who, according to Bravo, abused him emotionally and beat him physically, lending the Mexican-American youngster a self-image cloaked in fear. ...