A Karate Story Read online

  7. BECOMING A BLACK BELT

  The club was becoming bigger, with a lot of brown and black belts, so Sensei Ray decided to devote Friday-night training to brown and black belts only. That suited us fine, because it meant that the training was more advanced. We started learning a lot more of the black belt kata, and doing a lot of semi-freestyle training.

  Nijushiho became my favourite kata. It suited me well, being a very technical kata with flowing smooth movements and two side-kicks, and I was encouraged by Sensei Ray to use this kata for competitions from then on. And then the first time I did it in a kata final, Adrian beat me into second place. He was delighted, as it was the first time he had done that. Of course I was disappointed to lose, but Adrian was a very nice guy, so it was hard not to be happy for him at the same time. I reversed the result when the next opportunity rose, so all was well.

  As a brown belt, I also reached the semi-final of a sparring competition, but did not get to the final. At least I was showing that I was not just a kata competitor. However, I did have one success in a sparring competition – in the team event, but not for my own club.

  Sensei Timmy Harte used to run an invitational international competition every year, with clubs usually coming from England, Scotland and Wales, as well as Ireland. We were competing in it one time when I was a brown belt. Sensei Ray was talking to Paul Duffy from Dublin, who told him that only four of them had travelled from Dublin that day, so they were one man short to enter the team sparring event. He asked our sensei if he could spare a man to make up a team.

  Sensei Ray had his five-man team, and Shane was his sub. I was (at best) his number seven, so he asked me if I wanted to fight with the guys from Dublin. Although I didn’t want to be disloyal to my own club, I wanted the experience of more fighting. Also, the four from Dublin were all very experienced international fighters: Paul Duffy, Alan Campbell, Larry Hand and Paul Byrne. Paul Duffy had won a bronze medal at the European Championships in Cork a couple of years earlier and he and Alan Campbell had won the national title several times between them. I readily agreed to make up the numbers on their team. Their strategy was simple enough. They put their best two fighters out first and third, with the weakest fighter (me) in between. Then the other guys brought up the rear. I was told to try and get a draw in my fights, and they would get the wins.

  All went to plan in the first round. Duffy went first and won easily. I went out next and went a half point down in the first thirty seconds, getting caught as I tried to kick. When we restarted the fight, I could hear the guys all telling me to just use my hands. I struggled for a while, with no scores for either of us. Then, near the end of the fight, I lifted my knee to pretend to kick. My opponent went to block it, but instead I switched and caught him with a simple reverse punch. Wazari! (half point). The match finished a draw, and at least I played an active role, for the first round anyway. The next three fighters duly reeled off wins, so we went through to the second round easily.

  In the next round I was not able to score, but I also prevented my opponent from scoring, so it was another draw. We won that round 3-0 though, so my new teammates were happy enough.

  Even though I was far less experienced than the others on the team, I felt that they were doing all the real work, and I wanted to try to contribute more. I was determined to try for more than just a draw in the next round. I fought very hard against a tough black belt opponent from Wales. These guys were used to a bit more contact than we usually had; one of their previous rounds had been a bit of a bloodbath, but they were warned by the chief referee and they were more muted when they fought us. I tried for the first minute and a half to fight the way the guys were telling me – keeping my feet on the floor and just working the hands – but I was getting nowhere. There was still no score for either of us with about twenty seconds to go, so I tried to switch strategy and use my kicks. My opponent was caught by surprise, and I was almost quick enough with my roundhouse kick, but he just moved his head back enough at the last instant, and my toe grazed his nose. No score. My teammates were screaming at me not to kick again, because they were afraid I would lose the fight, so I reverted back to plan A, and the fight ended scoreless. Nonetheless, the others on the team did their job, and we were through to the final.

  We had some time before the final, so they took me for a bit of coaching, showing me their footwork and telling me how to read an opponent’s movement in order to time an attack. I told them that I felt bad because I had not won any of my fights and had not really contributed. They reminded me that they could not have entered the event without me, and that I was doing the job I was assigned. They also pointed out that I had not lost any fights either. They really took me under their wing and made me feel part of the team.

  When the final came around, Duffy went out first as usual. He dispatched his opponent without fuss. Then it was my turn. They had been telling me all day to keep my feet on the floor and just use my hands, but I had watched my opponent at other competitions, and I knew he was susceptible to getting caught with a roundhouse kick. I intended to stick to the plan and try to score with punching. But immediately after our first fruitless exchange I saw my opponent’s hands drop momentarily. Almost before I realised it, my left leg launched a roundhouse kick and my foot smacked him on the cheek. The referee raised his arm straight up in the air. Ippon! A full point and I had won my fight. Our next fighter won also, so we were 3-0 up and had the tournament won.

  My teammates joked with me about not using my hands, but they were delighted that I had won my fight. They understood how important it was to me to compete on their team, but also, that I was able to compete, and win, in a way that I found comfortable. When the trophies were being presented, Paul Duffy, the captain, insisted that I lead them to the presentation and receive the trophy, which I thought was a nice touch.

  A couple of the guys from my home dojo commented that they would have refused to fight for another dojo, but Sensei Ray defended me by saying that it was great experience, and that it was good for our dojo that I had been on the winning team. Personally speaking, it was just nice to win a trophy that wasn’t for kata for a change. The experience really afforded me an opportunity to step up my game, and see what was needed for black-belt standard. I also earned the respect and friendship of these seasoned international fighters. Every experience was helping towards the goal of becoming a black belt.

  Sensei Ray is a firm believer that those preparing for black belt should be involved in teaching classes. He used to have a children’s class on Saturday mornings, so I was sometimes invited to go along and help him with that. Then one day he told me that one of the other black belts was starting a little dojo in a village a few miles outside Bandon, and asked me if I would go along and help him. On the first night more than ninety adult beginners showed up for training! We split the class between us, and I got my first real taste of teaching students by myself. I helped him for a few months until the numbers naturally declined to a level where the black belt could manage the class numbers single-handed.

  Brendan’s training was sporadic while he was in college, after which he moved to Limerick for work, but there were no karate clubs near him. He started training in different arts, including judo and Tang-Soo-Do, but it meant that he did not grade in karate for a few years and was stuck on second brown belt. I ended up overtaking him when I got my third brown belt, and then it was time to really focus on the big one – the black-belt test.

  Shane and I trained at each and every opportunity we got. We were the only two left from our original class. There was a third student in the club, Mark, also preparing for black belt. He had started the year before us, but now we would be testing together, under Kanazawa Sensei. We had all trained and tested with Kanazawa Sensei several times before. His power, energy and sheer presence were incredible, and he was an inspiring instructor. I particularly loved the way he broke techniques down into their components and explained everything in such detail. It suited the way
my brain worked, so I always got a lot out of his classes.

  We had three days of training with him before the actual grading, which was held on Sunday morning. I didn’t sleep much the night before: my mind was restless, and I meticulously rehearsed the different sections of the syllabus in my mind, hoping I had done enough. I even jumped out of bed a few times to practise a couple of techniques. I was fuelled with a bubbling nervous energy.

  All the students got to the dojo early and had warmed up before Kanazawa Sensei arrived. We could tell he was in a serious mood that morning. There were no smiles or jokes – it was straight down to business. He took the examinations very seriously. I had heard stories of the pile of paperwork of those who failed being a lot bigger than that of those who passed, and I began to wonder on which pile my paperwork would end up that day.

  Twenty-three students were testing for Shodan (1st Dan) that morning, plus a few others for Nidan (2nd Dan). We were called out in groups of six for the basics first. As fate would have it, Adrian – my rival and friend from kata competitions – was beside me for the basics, and Shane and Mark from my dojo were in the same group. Although Kanazawa Sensei had somewhat impatiently given corrections to the previous group on the floor, fortunately he didn’t seem to have as many problems with our group.

  When we sat down after the basics while the next groups went out, Adrian and I spoke about the upcoming partner work. We knew we would be partnered together from the way we were out for basics. Not for the first time I was a little disappointed that I would not partner Shane for a grading, but I knew Adrian had a very good standard and it would be fine. We discussed which defences we had prepared so that we would not catch each other unawares. For one of the attacks, the back kick, one of the prescribed defences involves catching the leg and lifting the opponent, throwing them to the floor. We both agreed not to do that one, in case we injured each other and would not be able to finish the examination.

  Our group was called out and, as expected, Adrian and I were paired together. I attacked first. We were always told to attack hard but fair, so I attacked with strong spirit and good control. Adrian did all the defences he had said he would, and did them very well. Then it was my turn to defend. Adrian attacked strong also, and there was a lot of positive energy between us. We were really getting stuck in. When it came to his back kick attack, I was so hyped and running on adrenalin that I never thought about the agreement not to throw each other. In fact, I didn’t think anything at all – I just reacted. Before I realised what I was doing, I had caught Adrian’s leg and lifted him high in the air. As I was dumping him I remembered to control his fall and held him just before he hit the ground. Adrian looked shocked for a second, because he wasn’t expecting it, but he gave me a quick grin and a wink as he stood up. He knew it was a good technique, and he knew that we had both done well in a tricky part of the examination. As we walked off the floor I whispered my apologies. He laughed it off and told me not to worry about it, which was typical of his good nature.

  We still had our kata to do, but we had to wait for the other groups to do their partner work first. Anyone who has done grading examinations or tournaments knows that the constant stop-start makes it difficult to keep the body adequately warmed up as adrenalin smoulders under the surface, but a bigger problem is maintaining focus and keeping the brain switched on in situations like that. Some of the people on the floor seemed to have lost their focus and were making silly errors. Kanazawa Sensei was getting visibly irked, and we started to worry that he might just fail everyone.

  That was out of our hands. All we could do was to keep focused and do the best katas we could. Our group had all chosen Bassai-Dai as our first kata. I don’t remember anything from the beginning until I shouted my kiai at the last move. I generally consider it a good sign if I can’t remember performing my kata, because it means that I did it in a state of mushin (the concept of ‘no mind’ – not thinking, but letting it happen). Of course, this is a different thing to not being able to remember the kata at all. Drawing a blank is not the same as mushin!

  Kanazawa Sensei chose our second kata – Heian Shodan. A basic kata, but this must not be confused with being easy. There is nowhere to hide or bluff in this kata. Everything must be correct. When it was over, we were dismissed without comment and the other groups were then brought out for their katas. Our test was over, and we could do no more but wait for the results to be announced.

  Usually the results are announced immediately after the Dan grade examinations, but this time Kanazawa Sensei said he needed more time to consider and reflect, as he was unhappy with the standard. He said he would announce the results after doing the Kyu gradings. This meant further torture for us, having to wait three or four more hours for the results. However, we made the most of it by offering support to the people in our clubs who were taking part in their own examinations, and the time went quickly enough. After the Kyu examinations were over, all the candidates for the Dan exams were hanging around expectantly, but Kanazawa Sensei still had not made up his mind. He announced that he was going to take the papers back to his hotel and study them again, and that he would give the results at his hotel that evening at 6 pm.

  We were disheartened about having to wait, and, not being able to hang around all day, decided to leave. Adrian was from the city, and volunteered to go to the hotel that evening. I gave him my number and asked him to call me when he knew the results. I then got Shane’s and Mark’s numbers and promised that I would ring them in turn. There were no mobile phones in those days…

  It was after 7pm when the phone eventually rang. Adrian told me that I had passed. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, while he went on to say that Shane and Mark had passed too, as had Adrian himself. However, of the twenty-three who tested, only seven passed outright. Six more students had a deferred pass (automatic pass, but deferred for between three months and six months for the student to improve one or two areas), and ten had failed. They would have to take the test again the next time. I congratulated Adrian, and then I rang Shane and Mark to tell them the good news.

  It was a shame that we did not get to hear it with a formal announcement in front of everyone, and it was a bit of an anti-climax to be told over the phone, but it didn’t really matter. We were black belts, and we felt we had certainly earned them that day. In any case, I got lucky the next day, because I had to go back to Cork City for college, and I happened to meet Kanazawa Sensei out for a walk with some of the senior members of the organisation. One of them recognised me and called me over to say hello to Kanazawa Sensei, and he remembered me from the previous day and congratulated me on passing my grading.

  Shane and I had started on the same day, frequently partnered together in class, and came up through the grades together. It was fitting that we got our black belts together. We were the only two out of the original class of forty students that made it to black belt. We were also the only two that had refused to wear Sensei Ray’s black belt after class all those years ago. Was it just a coincidence? Maybe it was. Or maybe it showed that our attitudes as white belts differed to that of our peers: we were adamant that we would never wear a black belt until it was earned. I think that mentality is part of the reason we stuck with it, and finally succeeded.

  Either way, it felt sweet to think that we would now be able to walk into the dojo wearing black belts of our own.

  8. WILDERNESS YEARS

  It wasn’t long before we felt that we didn’t really deserve our black belts after all. Of course, we showed up at the dojo for training the following Tuesday, proudly wearing our new belts, but Sensei Ray made sure that we were reminded very quickly that we were just beginners. We had to spar with all the other black belts in the dojo. Needless to say, they picked us to pieces. We got the message loud and clear – we were just beginners all over again. There was never any chance of egos getting out of control in that dojo.

  My days of winning competitions were also over for a while. As new black belts, we
were now the most junior people in the senior black belt events. Although I had fought some black belts in team events before, I was among the most inexperienced competitors in the category. It was tough, but being a black belt is not supposed to be easy.

  At my first national championships as a black belt, I was defeated early in the sparring event. I knew the kata event would be tough, but it was worse than I had feared. In the second round I was drawn against Sensei Ray. I knew it was over before it began – he was the undefeated champion for over ten years! I did the best kata I could, but he easily beat me, and went on to win the event … again. At least I knew there was no shame in my loss.

  For the first time, I made our club team for the sparring event. I was the most junior person on the team, so I was put out as the fifth man. It was hoped that we would have done enough to win the round before I went onto the floor, but in a couple of the early rounds I needed at least a draw. Fortunately I succeeded, and we were through to the final, where we were faced by the event hosts, Trinity College Dublin. They had some great fighters, but we felt we had a good chance against them. All the fights were very close, and after four matches it was still a tie. Now it was down to me.

  The guy I was fighting was very tall and stocky, probably two or three inches taller than me, and built like a rugby player. I admit that I was quite intimidated by his size. The first minute was very cagey: we were both trying to size the other person up, so we danced around each other as we tried to find a target, with neither one of us wanting to make the first mistake.