A Karate Story Page 2

  Strength was another issue for me. I was quite skinny as a teenager, and not naturally strong. I think what I heard most often from Sensei Ray for the first couple of years was ‘STRONGER!’, which was often bellowed across the hall and aimed directly at me. At that point, because I was quiet and the club was so big, he didn’t know my name. In fact, I don’t think he even knew that I was Brendan’s brother.

  We trained for more than seven months before we were allowed to take the first grading examination. At that stage, our numbers had reduced from about forty to twenty-three. The group worked well together and developed strong relationships.

  The grading examination was held in Cork City, about twenty miles away. The World Chief Instructor of Shotokan Karate-do International Federation (SKIF), Hirokazu Kanazawa Sensei, came to conduct one of his regular training seminars and grading examinations. We had all heard about the legendary Kanazawa Sensei and, as beginners, were totally in awe of him.

  The training and examinations took place in the Mayfield Sports Complex. It was a vast old hall, with cold stone tiles on a concrete floor. It was hardly ideal for karate training, but it was one of the few places that could cope with the numbers of students training at that time.

  In our class there were about 200 beginners and white belts, all eagerly awaiting Kanazawa Sensei’s arrival. This was the mid 1980s and karate was at the height of its popularity. The training was naturally basic, but I remember how dynamic and powerful Kanazawa Sensei was. More than that, I was amazed by his presence. He didn’t have to do anything impressive: he exuded strength and his magnetic energy seemed to reverberate throughout the room. I had never experienced anything like it.

  Afterwards he sat and patiently signed autographs. Karate suits, books, entry tickets for the seminar – you name it, he signed it. I asked him to sign my copy of his Basic Karate Katas book and he naturally obliged. This was the first time that I got close enough to bow to him directly; and I couldn’t believe it when he held out his hand to shake mine. Little did I know that in a few years we would develop a lasting relationship.

  The grading itself was terrifying. Bear in mind that I had never really achieved anything in any sporting activity. I now found myself in a group of six, with literally hundreds of other students. I was understandably nervous. My group was one of the first out on the floor to perform our basics. I had stage fright with so many people watching, and was sure they were all looking at me. I stood with my mouth open as I went through the motions while performing the first few techniques. Fortunately I quickly forgot about the people watching as I got caught up in the moves we were being asked to perform, and by the time we did our kata at the end of the grading, I felt fairly confident.

  My friends and I were given our results together – we all passed. Sensei Ray said that Shane and I nearly earned double gradings, but our basics were too weak at the beginning of the test. We knew we had messed up, but at least we still passed. It felt like a massive achievement. We were white belts!

  In our organisation, although as beginners we wore the white belts we received with our suits, it was only after our grading that we officially became ‘white belts’. We wore these belts again after the second grading, which was called ‘second white belt’. So it was common for students to wear a white belt for more than a year after they started training, but it was a big deal to us to be ‘official’ white belts, and not just beginners any more.

  We did our second white belt grading later the same year. Now there were only eighteen of the original class still remaining, but our group formed a close-knit bond, and we all attended regularly. None of us had a job that summer, so we would meet in the local park most days and do some extra training together. We had a lot of fun working to improve our skills and practising new techniques on each other. We were fanatical about training, often gathering for several hours in the morning, regrouping after lunch and tottering off to the dojo for the evening class. I had karate on the brain: in school I would often respond to teachers with an assertive ‘Oss!’ followed by an embarrassed blush.

  One day after class, Sensei Ray had taken off his black belt and set it aside. One of the white belts picked it up, took off his belt and cheekily wrapped Sensei Ray’s black belt around his waist. Everyone laughed. One of the other white belts had a camera with him, so he got it out and took a picture. Then several others wanted their picture taken wearing the black belt. While everyone was taking it in good spirits, I had a nagging doubt about whether it was the right thing to do or not, and when Shane was offered the belt, he put words to my concerns.

  ‘No thanks,’ he said. ‘I haven’t earned the right to wear that belt.’

  ‘Come on,’ replied one of the others. ‘It might be the only chance we ever get to wear a black belt.’

  If I had doubts initially, that statement convinced me not to do it. It was defeatist. No way was I putting on a belt I had not earned, and no way was I admitting that I might not ever get to earn a black belt of my own. Shane and I were the only two who refused to wear that belt: in fact, neither of us ever wore a belt that we had not earned.

  Greg, one of my close friends from that group, found a copy of Kanazawa Sensei’s video of Kanku-Dai (a black-belt kata). Although we had only learned two katas so far in class, we started trying to learn Kanku-Dai from the video. We spent hours trying to follow it in Greg’s sitting room, looking over our shoulders at the screen and adjusting the furniture. It took a while, but we eventually had a working knowledge of the kata, although we didn’t dare tell Sensei Ray! After all, we were still only white belts…

  3. COMPETITION

  In the autumn of 1986 we were told that the national championships would be taking place shortly. Sensei told us that not everyone would be allowed to enter, and that he would select students for each category of the event. Even though we had now been training for a year, we were still in the white belt category. Training became more focused on competition fighting and on kata. We were told the rules, and held practice fights in class.

  Shane and I loved partnering together and used to have some good fights. On the Thursday night before the national championships we had a particularly good one. Shane caught me perfectly with a couple of jabs and reverse punches, as well as a good mawashi-geri (roundhouse kick). We both liked that technique, and I returned the compliment with one of my own; and I also managed to sweep his front leg as he attacked, catching him with a reverse punch as he lost balance. Sensei Ray had been going around observing all the students, and each time one of us pulled off a good technique he just happened to be watching. That was our last training session before the competition, and still none of the white belts had been told whether he or she could compete or not. By this stage we felt we must not have been selected, because we didn’t have any more classes to prepare.

  The following evening I went to watch the advanced class. I sat shivering with a mix of cold and adrenalin, watching the great training and wishing I could take part. At the end of class Sensei Ray announced who was permitted to compete in the championships, and who would fight on the team. Surprisingly, he also said he had selected two white belts, and named Shane and me – after a year of training it was the first time I had heard him actually say my name! I was delighted to have been picked.

  Most of the people in the advanced class were competing, but as only two white belts had been chosen, there were a few disappointed people from our class that weekend. To their credit, they all travelled with us on the bus to support the club. There was a great atmosphere as we headed up the country early on Sunday morning.

  By the time we arrived at the venue, large crowds had gathered. The children’s events ran first, so we were waiting around for hours before anything really got going. We were particularly eager for the men’s black belt kata event, as Sensei Ray had been champion for the previous few years and we were willing him to retain his title.

  Before that, the men’s white belt kata event was announced. Shane and I went
to the arena and lined up with at least fifty other competitors. Shane was unlucky to be beaten in the third round, but I somehow managed to keep going. After the fourth round our numbers had been whittled down to four, and the referee announced that we made it to the final, which would be held later in the day. I was in shock. I couldn’t believe it – all my friends congratulated me on doing so well, but my sense of elation didn’t last very long as Sensei Ray immediately brought me back to Earth with a bang.

  ‘You haven’t won anything yet,’ he reminded me. ‘I want you to win it now. Second place won’t do.’

  ‘Oss!’ I responded, bowing. ‘What kata should I do?’

  ‘Do you know Heian Yondan?’ he asked me.

  I was surprised that he was suggesting this kata. I did know it, sort of, but it was the fourth kata – an advanced kata for white belts. I told him I wasn’t sure of it. He thought about it for a minute and then took me aside and worked on it a few times. He wanted me to do it because my kicks were good.

  Before the kata final we had the sparring event. Shane fought well, and was narrowly beaten again in the third round. I thought I had scored with a roundhouse kick in the first round but the judges didn’t award it. Instead, they gave a half point to my opponent for the punch with which he followed up. I was annoyed, and it cost me. I wasn’t concentrating when the match restarted and my opponent stepped in with a simple reverse punch for another half point. Match over.

  I was gutted to have done so poorly, especially considering I had been selected because of my sparring in the dojo. The kata finals would have to be my redeeming grace.

  Four of us from the dojo made the finals: me in the white belt section; one in the intermediate sparring; one in the brown belt kata; and Sensei Ray in the black belt kata. Sensei Ray brought the finalists together for a chat just before the finals started. He told us that he wanted at least three first places from the four of us – no pressure then!

  My final was on first. Each finalist performed their kata, after which the judges gave their scores. I did Heian Yondan as my sensei had instructed, and tied for first place with one of the others. The judges had us come out together to decide the winner and made us do Heian Shodan (the first kata) again, and at the end, all judges raised white flags. I had won. It was my first sporting victory.

  My friend in the intermediate sparring final also won his event, but the guy in the brown belt kata came third. Sensei Ray won his event with an amazing kata, so we had met his three-titles target. I had never even won so much as a participation medal in school, so I was delighted that my first ever trophy was for national champion, even if it was only a white belt event.

  It was late that night when we returned home. I placed my trophy on the kitchen table for my parents to see when they got up. When I came down the next morning, my father was eating his breakfast. The trophy had been moved off the table, and not a word was said. This was typical of him – a man of few words.

  Funnily enough, a few years later a friend of my father’s was visiting the house and I was left to entertain him for a few minutes while my father finished a phone call. After I poured the man a drink, we started to make small talk. He asked me if I was the one who did karate, so I pointed out that three of us did karate. But he persisted, saying that one of us kept winning all these trophies, and listed off several of my achievements. I was embarrassed and asked him how he knew all of this. I was stunned when he told me that my father ‘never shuts up about it’. He never uttered a word to us directly, but it seemed he was vocal enough when he wanted to be.

  4. INSPIRATION

  Back in the dojo after the competition the only thing that changed was that Sensei Ray now knew my name, so now he could yell ‘Stronger, Seamus!’, just in case there was any doubt about who he was unhappy with.

  Brendan and I used to practise in the kitchen at home. The oven was at the perfect height to act as a mirror for us to check our techniques, so we often worked on kata or kicks there. One day I was sitting at the kitchen table, watching Brendan working on the kata for his next grading. He was doing Tekki-Shodan in preparation for his brown belt test. I gaped at him, mesmerised by the kata and wondering how he could perform such complicated moves. I remembered that I had struggled with learning the turns in Heian Shodan, so if I found such a basic kata difficult, how would I ever be able to do this one?

  As I watched, full of admiration for Brendan’s kata, I resigned myself to my fate. Maybe I’ll be able to get as far as purple belt before I have to give up, I thought, because I’ll never learn that kata. But shortly afterwards something happened to make me want to try to go further than I had thought would be possible.

  Brendan was allowed to train in the advanced class on Friday nights, so I used to go along to watch. It was traditional for the class to go for a couple of drinks after training on Fridays and I used to tag along, just because I was there. I was only seventeen. I didn’t drink and was always broke so I often didn’t even have enough money for lemonade. I was also very shy, so I rarely said a word. I just loved the atmosphere, and listening to the various karate stories. It was nice to be involved, however modestly, in these social events.

  One evening shortly after the national championships we were sitting in the pub chatting as usual: well, as per usual, the others were chatting while I sat and listened. Soon people started talking about the recent national championships, and how dominant our sensei was in the men’s kata event. One of the black belts asked him if he felt anyone could claim his title in the coming years. Everyone was immediately interested to hear his answer, so the group went quiet and listened expectantly. Sensei paused for a few moments before he answered. Then he pointed out that he was a semi-professional instructor; he mused that it was not really fair to compare him with the others in his category as they didn’t have such readily available facilities to train. He also doubted that there would be anyone to challenge his standard for some time.

  Then one of the brown belts asked him who would take over his kata title when he eventually retired from competing. At first, he wouldn’t answer. Students asked if it would be the guy who was runner-up at the nationals, and he shook his head. Then they asked about some of the other prominent competitors, including some of the junior black belts, but again he said no. By now everyone was intrigued, and then he really confused us all by saying that he knew who would be the next person to dominate the men’s black belt kata title after him; and that person was among the fifteen or so people who sat there with him.

  We all looked around, wondering which of the brown or black belts in the group he meant.

  Then he pointed at me, the most junior person in the group. Everyone was stunned. Some of them didn’t even know my name, or if they did it was only from hearing Sensei Ray yelling at me to be stronger. I felt my face burning as I went puce. I wanted to disappear. He must have made a mistake, or gone crazy – possibly both!

  ‘If Seamus keeps training, he will be the one to take over my title,’ he said calmly.

  The rest of the guys cast sidelong glances at me for the rest of the evening. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I was convinced he had lost his mind. In fact, to this day I still do not understand how he could have made such a statement, or what capabilities he could have seen in me at that time. After all, I was only a white belt, and there were plenty of other karate-ka in our dojo and across the country who had much better kata than me. Over the next few days and weeks I became determined to fulfil his prediction. I convinced myself I would not quit; that I would train as hard as I could; and I would live up to his expectations in me. It was a strange and bold statement for an instructor to make about such a junior student, but I believe that it had a profound influence on the rest of my life. I consider that statement to be one of the main reasons I kept training, even after all my friends dropped out, one by one.

  By this time, the SKIF European Championships were fast approaching. Normally this would not mean anything to such junior students, but
that particular year they were held in Cork, very close to where we lived. A large group from our dojo went to watch with a mixture of eager anticipation and jealousy. Perhaps, more importantly, we knew Sensei Ray and several others on the Irish team and we wanted to show a united front for the home team.

  It was wonderful to be a spectator: the competitors’ standard was exceptional, and our group of spectators was enthralled. Sensei Ray became SKIF European Kata Champion that day, and there were several other Irish medal winners also. We all secretly dreamed of one day making the Irish team and getting to represent our country, though none of us would admit to it because it seemed impossible. I never forgot the experience of watching the international competitors that day. As I progressed through my karate training, the impossible dream slowly became a steadfast plan.

  5. COLOURED BELT

  Our training varied week on week. Although we followed the syllabus for grading examinations, we also learned more advanced and unusual techniques. We were never really told which techniques were standard learning for our grading syllabus, and which were more advanced. Sensei Ray often had a general class where everyone, from white to black belts, was invited. Oftentimes, the lower grades performed the black belt combinations along with everyone else. While it was a challenge in class, we were more than prepared when the time came to grade.

  Our third grading examination was now approaching, approximately fifteen months after we started training. Twelve of our original class of forty remained. Of course, there was now a new batch of beginners in the dojo, so we were no longer the most junior students. We were excited about this grading because it would mean getting rid of the white belts and finally having a yellow ‘coloured’ belt, assuming we passed. The grading examination was to be conducted by Sensei George Reilly, the chief instructor for Ireland at that time, and he had a reputation for being a very tough examiner.