Faris Ben-Lamkadem, the European coach for Craig Jones Invitational (CJI) 2, recently shared a revealing perspective on The Grapplers Perspective Podcast that challenges our understanding of elite athlete development in the sport.
“Most jiu-jitsu guys, we don’t have a coach,” Ben-Lamkadem stated plainly. “I never had a coach essentially when I was coming up. I had teachers, but no one was there… no one structuring all my things.”
This candid admission might surprise casual observers of the sport, who often assume that behind every successful grappler stands a mastermind coach guiding their development. But according to Faris, this simply isn’t the reality for most practitioners, even at the highest levels.
Ben-Lamkadem’s observation speaks to the unique character of jiu-jitsu’s learning culture. Unlike traditional sports with established coaching hierarchies, jiu-jitsu athletes often piece together their technical knowledge from various sources and develop their game through self-direction and experimentation.
“I’m not going to go around telling them what they should do and what’s best,” Faris explained regarding his coaching approach with the European CJI team. “Obviously, I can just kind of guide them into what I feel like would be best… but they know their game more than anyone. So I’m not going to tell them how to do their game.”
This philosophy stands in stark contrast to conventional coaching models where the coach dictates training methods and technical approaches. Instead, Faris sees his role as more facilitative than directive:
“I’m just going to let them do them and hope for the best… they know themselves. I don’t have to tell them what to do.”
Ben-Lamkadem’s journey to becoming the European CJI coach is itself unconventional. A self-described “dog” on the competition mats and a black belt world champion after his opponent was disqualified for a banned substance, Faris secured the coaching position through a blend of competitive credentials and content creation savvy.
“I think I was just, you know, causing some kind of trolling,” he explained about catching Craig Jones’ attention. “I was doing well in the competition scene, doing well in NOGI… I went to a couple ADCC opens abroad, won those, fought some good guys.”
But beyond his competitive resume, Faris brought something different to the table: a vision for creating engaging content around the European team. When pitching for the coaching role, he presented ideas that would generate controversy and eyes on the show—something he believes ultimately swayed Jones and the CJI organizers in his favor.
Perhaps nothing better exemplifies Faris’ unconventional approach than the European CJI trials he organized. Unlike the more traditional Australian trials led by Lachlan Giles, Ben-Lamkadem’s event became infamous for its chaotic energy—competitors fighting off mats, landing on couches, and spectators forming human barriers around the action.
“We just got lightning in a bowl,” Faris reflected. “The video doesn’t give it justice. It was such a good day, so fun. Everyone had an amazing time.”
While critics questioned the safety and structure of the event, Ben-Lamkadem remains unapologetic about prioritizing entertainment value. He contrasted his approach with the Australian trials:
“It was quite boring… it’s like a library. But this is the problem with jiu-jitsu though—no one’s going to watch it if you do it like that. We don’t want to watch it, so no one else is going to watch it.”
This philosophy—that jiu-jitsu must evolve as entertainment to grow—informed his entire approach to the trials. The goal wasn’t just to select team members but to create a memorable spectacle that would attract viewers who might never otherwise watch jiu-jitsu.
“I want to make people watch jiu-jitsu that never watch it and can enjoy it for what it is—the spectacle of it,” he explained. “It was almost like a school fight. That’s kind of what it was.”
Despite the unorthodox selection process, Faris assembled a formidable European team featuring athletes like Charles Negromonte, Paul Ardila, and several other high-level competitors. His selection criteria emphasized fighters who are difficult to submit—a crucial quality in the team-based quintet format where survivability can be as valuable as submission hunting.
“If you get submitted, you’re out and that other guy stays in,” he explained. “So we have to win by the margins and the numbers. If we can get a bunch of guys that can’t get submitted and can take out their top guys, it doesn’t matter if you get dominated. If you’re not getting submitted, they’re both out.”
This strategic thinking reveals Ben-Lamkadem’s nuanced understanding of the format, even as he maintains his laid-back approach to coaching. When asked about his tactical planning compared to other coaches who might meticulously map out every scenario, Faris laughingly suggested he might just “duck, duck, goose” to select fighters.
As the CJI event approaches, Ben-Lamkadem plans to gather his team in Atlanta for a three-week camp, focusing on conditioning and familiarizing themselves with the pit walls used in the competition. Yet true to his philosophy, he won’t be micromanaging their technical preparation.
Beyond CJI, Faris remains focused on his own competitive goals, particularly qualifying for ADCC—the pinnacle event he believes “changes your life.” At 29, he’s still developing his technical game while maintaining the fighting spirit that defines him.
“I feel like you have to have a bit of a niche, and my niche is just I’m just a dog. I just don’t give up,” he reflected. “I need to add the technique with the dog, you know, so I can have a little bit of something.”
In a sport increasingly defined by specialized coaching and methodical game-planning, Faris Ben-Lamkadem offers a refreshing counter-perspective: that sometimes the best coach is no coach at all, but rather an athlete’s own drive, adaptability, and self-knowledge. It’s an approach that may not work for everyone, but in the individualistic world of jiu-jitsu, it’s one that has clearly taken him far.
