Famous Grouse and sticky fingers...

I went to ******** for NYE. I was meeting H for a couple, then we were supposed to go to some temple or other, Shinto, I think, for the traditional new years eve ceremonies, my aren't we cultural. Well, no actually. The plan lasted about two whiskies, after which, we decided that propping up the bar until morning was much more fun.

It was Famous Grouse and they served it with a ball of ice, chipped out of a solid block each time - the ice kind of looked like a transparent meteorite, clear with a dimpled surface. H drank corona with a slice, her delicate fingers slowly stuffing the lime into the neck of the bottle, pushing gently then slowly licking the pulp from her fingertips. She seemed unaware of what she was doing, it was so natural, her sexuality lazily finding expression, irrepressible, beautiful, utterly distracting. I was captivated, each tiny bulb of pulp highlighted, outlined in light against her fingertip, on her lips, her tongue. I gulped my drink and the harsh liquor was like a slap, bringing me back to myself.

Talking for hours, laughing, slowly sinking into our chairs as the conversation sank into the gutter, and beyond. The barmats became shredded and we played with the remains, making little shapes out of the cork in an attempt to sublimate the building tension. The year passed in this way and the barman gave us a little bowl of grilled riceball with a couple of chopsticks. H warned me to chew, apparently the traditional NYE dish is a killer if one takes it lightly or eats too quickly..... (I am so glad that I give the impression of someone that does not chew his food... god, can my self image be that far from the truth?)

We drank, fooled around and chatted with a couple who came in late. I say chatted with but he was almost unable to stand, let alone talk coherently, although he cut a fine figure of a man in his electric blue shirt, open, as it was, to his white chinos. He had that looseness to his limbs, unable to stand and clinging to the wooden rail along the bar while his companion whispered pretty things to H. Actually, I am not sure they were pretty things really because, during a lull in which the woman was distracted by her disgracefully drunk partner, H turned to me with wide eyes and a smile on her lips, 'I think they are swingers' .

I laughed and ordered another whiskey.

I have no idea how much we drank but I am sure the barman wasn't charging us, he kept looking at me, waggling his eyebrows in H's direction and giving me the thumbs up, at which point I would smile raise my glass in a toast, anything but fluent yet articulate nonetheless. What followed is a little hazy in my memory but I do remember the deal, or that a deal took place, it was probably pointless but we shook on it anyway, then we left.

I made my way back home and, keeping the promise to myself, I watched the sun rise - the first of the new year.

bx


Happy New Year

11:22 - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

it’s the little differences......

So, I was leaving the cafe, heading back to the dojo and my bed, when I saw a beautiful girl on the other side of the road. She was tallish, slender with, framed by long jet black hair, the loveliest face; pale skin and pouting lips, she had the most stunning oval eyes with huge eyelashes and perfectly manicured eyebrows... I was infatuated, I couldn't stop looking at her. She was walking towards me, high heels and a denim miniskirt drawing my eyes to her beautiful legs, her heels so high it was if she was on tiptoe, dainty steps on tiny feet, her arms slightly outstretched, almost like she was trying to keep her balance as she approached the kerb. The epitome of modern, Japanese chic....

As she stood there, designer handbag in the crook of one arm, she leaned over and, looking down, she coughed up and spat out the most enormous lugy you've ever seen. Green and white, it seemed an almost solid mass as it struck the pavement, I could hear the impact from the other side of the road. I watched, dumstruck, as she touched a delicate finger to the corner of her perfect mouth and then carried on across the road.

I burst out laughing and carried on home.

05:34 - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Blink and you’d have missed it

Today was to be my second amateur kickboxing match and, after the hiding I gave my last opponent, I felt fine, not at all nervous, I might even go so far as to use the word blasé, if it weren't such an obvious exaggeration.

I was, however, late - I had thought that the four fighters from the Honbu Dojo were traveling separately so, when Ishawa-san turned up and I was in the shower, naturally I was a little vexed. I told him I'd be fine getting the train -I was not really thinking before I said it and now realise that he no longer wants to be my friend. Ah well, care less (such a useful phrase, thanks E). Anyway, me my ipod and a book made our way to Differ by train, tube and monorail (Louis would have loved it; trains and elevators, right up his street), arriving about fifteen minutes before the end of the weigh in. 90kg and change, guess I'm still a heavyweight then so I settled down for the wait - there were loads of fights, fifty or so and I was number forty five so I reckoned on 2 - 3pm before I got in the ring. It was a little easier this time around, the waiting, I mean; Ueno-shihan was there with two fighters, a girl who's name escapes me and a lightweight fighter, Murakami-san. Both of the fighters were going for their pro licences so I offered to film their fights for them; it kept me busy for a while but still, the bloody nerves began to surface. I didn't know who my opponent was and tried to get a look at the heavyweights dotted about the place. It only fed my apprehension, they all looked good and the one thing I knew about my guy was that he was a couple of grades higher than I. Which, I suppose, translates to about four more fights than I. It was all a bit meaningless without a face to put to the name and so I just tried to focus on other people's fights. It worked too well actually because, before I really knew it, it was time to wrap my hands and get warmed up. Takahashi-san had brought some focus mitts and we did a few kicks etc but it worried me - I felt knackered, not strong at all and barely focused. I headed down to the ring and everything started to move very quickly, before I knew it, I was watching the guy before me collect his winning certificate and it was my turn. I hopped about a few times and gave myself a few slaps in an effort to shake the lethargy that gripped me, then I climbed in the ring.

Now, at this point, I was feeling a little bit of external pressure - I don't usually care if I win or lose but today was different, today I was wearing a teeshirt with Ueno-shihan's Dojo logo plastered all over it. He had asked me, before giving the teeshirt as a present, to wear it for my fights and I had assented, characteristically opening my mouth before thinking. So, I had agreed and he had told me, Japanese style, not to lose, so had his other shihan, Kimi-shihan, an altogether more serious man than Ueno-shihan. Not only that but two of the other three fighters from Honbu had knocked out their opponents and I really didn't want to let that side down either. There was a crowd but I couldn't care less about losing in front of strangers, it was all the other crap that was on my mind. The ref brought us into the middle and I took a look at my opponent and tried to forget all else. He looked to be in his early twenties, was a bit shorter than I, stocky with Yakuza ink on his left arm. He didn't swagger, actually, he looked a little nervous but that was an impression that only occurred to me after the fight - right then, I just thought he looked serious and I tried not to be too friendly to him.

The bell went and we went for each other. I tried a high roundhouse but he was ready for it and closed in as I was half turned away. He threw loads of punches and landed a bunch but the didn't bother me too much, although, it was kind of messy and I hadn't really found a rhythm so I clinched with him and chucked in a knee to his ribs. The ref separated us and he hit me in the face, rather unsportingly as the ref hadn't yet told us to fight, cheeky little bugger. We went at it again and it was almost the same, although I think I landed a maegeri to his midsection - very much on the advice of my corner, who's advice, oddly enough I could hear clearly and understand well enough to act upon. I think the third time we clinched he was with his back to the ropes, he was hitting me with more flurries and I remember relaxing, trusting my guard and finally finding my feet - he tired for a second and I hit him.

I hit him on the point of his jaw with a right cross and he dropped to the canvas, his eyes rolled up into his skull, hands at his sides and he dropped, spark out. I think I was almost as surprised as he was. The ref pulled me away and, when it became clear that he couldn't continue, I am ashamed to say that I celebrated with a Tim Henmanesque clenched fist with a half arm pump, it really is an inadequate celebration. Even if mine was accompanied with a grunting sound and, therefore a much more manly gesture, I am not proud of it.... I believe that I emphasised it by hitting myself in the forehead, I couldn't tell you why, it seemed to make sense at the time but, anyway, I am not sure and may well have imagined it - I'll have to wait to see the video of the fight to clarify that point.

So, a minute or so into the first round and my record stands at 2-0, 1 KO.

The best part of it all was Sato-shihan giving me a big thumbs up and a huge smile 'segoy Ben-san, segoy'.

15:53 - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Afternoon break in Chiba

Lying, supine, every limb aching, eyelids heavy and my feet, oh my feet hurt. Looking, staring blankly out of the windscreen into the afternoon sky, the bright sun streaming through the scratched glass, blinding me. If I close my eyes, I could be anywhere, transported by the lassitude soaking my body. Floating, I stare at the sun, eyes lidded and I dream.

It's quiet now, the hum of the traffic the barest murmur, faintly, I can hear the train announcer, lonely, unanswered. It all passes me by and I, unable to move just sit and stare at the sun. Not long now and we will leave for the day.

I think I'll sleep.

23:59 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

bloody hell, you know you’re in trouble when it’s hard to come up with a title for a blog...

a list of things in Japan

Here, you say Kakoui instead of cool. I much prefer Kakoui.
They take martial arts seriously; they honestly believe that testing the spirit through physical effort and pain is a worthy endeavor. Kancho likened the constant training to cleaning a loo. The loo being your spirit and the cleaning being the training (obviously...duh).. not, perhaps the most romantic view of martial arts but it seemed to fit, one way or another.
The phone system is horribly complicated - international calls are awkward, as is the sms message - weirdly enough, one cannot sms a mobile in another network; there is no explanation, I have asked and was told that you can't do it.. when I said that I understood but wanted to know the reason, the original answer was repeated; it can't be done. I love the fact that it is antiquated - it goes against all western preconceptions of the uber futuristic, anime Neo-Tokyo ideal.
There is a huge amount of respect in the daily life of the modern Japanese - sometimes it can be a pressure that one can do without but, for me at least, I enjoy the formal side of life here.
There are so many beautiful girls in Tokyo, it makes going for a stroll in town a pleasure.. not that I can ever get a smile out of them but still, pretty gyaru are everywhere.
Ah, yes, that brings me nicely onto the next one - Women here seem to be objectified beyond belief. Take a look at the mandatory school uniform of the average twelve year old girl with the ubiquitous micro minskirt and you can see how early the conditioning starts. As RB once said - women are seen as a sort of cock toy, an amusement at best. Ok, so this is a bit out of context and not all men view women here in that manner, I am merely commenting on the media's portrayal of the fairer sex (yes, the chauvanistic addendum was intended as a mild hypocrisy - the implication being that we in the west are as backward in our general attitudes; I'd usually say nothing but I feel it was too oblique a statement and you might mistake me for a pig of sorts... not that that would be a terribly bad thing; it seems that chauvinists get laid a lot more often than their egalitarian brothers so, perhaps I should remain quiet).
They drive on the same side of the road as the English.
If you profess a love for their country, they accept you. Contrary to the English and the condescending 'of course you do you snivelling foreigner, our country is the best in the world now fuck off back to wherever it was you said you were from' attitude that I have witnessed.
There is an abundance of bad dentistry - given that I have a face full of cavities, I feel very comfortable in company over here.
I love the feeling of community here - for millennia, the ordinary people of Japan have had to work together to survive in a country that has had tough laws, harsh weather, constant wars and brutal feudal overlords. This has developed into a mutually supportive instinct with a form of patronage that is almost institutionalised- the younger, weaker ones are always helped.
Yakiniku - korean barbeque; tasty, cheap and tasty. We don't have it in england and that sucks a fat one in my book.
I love the oddly shaped knee thing that the chicks have going on here. A famous American photographer has just done a book on Asian legs and their slender weirdness.
Onsen - again, we don't have onsen in the UK. The brits don't really enjoy public nakedness but I wish they did; Onsen are the most amazing experience for a tired body and one truly feels alone amidst the bubbling pools of herb infused water.
There are few sportsbikes in evidence on the streets. It seems that the classic look is the cool look for the, ever so polite, biker gangs around here. I'll have to try to get some pictures of them in their matching uniforms (so camp).
Slurping is mandatory when eating ramen (soupy spaghetti). I love ramen and had a conversation with an Argentinean guy in the local ramen place last night - he told me that he just couldn't adjust to it. He is living here for a year with his girlfriend but it sounds like there is trouble in paradise; when I asked him how he liked it here, he didn't really sound positive. Sho gar nei. Anyway, it is as foreign an eating habit as can be found for me; England is absolutely united in the no slurping rule. Here, though, I love to slurp.
Sho gar nei.... Love sho gar nei, love it a lot.
I don't miss my home.

14:00 - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Coffee and tennis, sans tobacco

So, once again, I am IN A CAFE.... yes yes, well fuck you too - everyone needs somewhere to think and cafes happen to be my little room in the attic. Unfortunately, Starbucks happens to be the the only option around here; for one, it is the only non smoking cafe that I can find - the Japanese are still the cool kids, apparently. I went to shibuya the other day and took a load of snaps of cool lads with leather, fur collared jackets, skinny jeans and spikey hair mimicking the pointed toes of their boots. To a man, the boys had the longish, swept fringe mop cut that is obviously in vogue (my mum used to be in vogue), ripped jeans and the obligatory ciggy hanging off their bottom lips. They didn't stand, they lolled, hips thrust to the side, their elbow, laconically resting on whatever protuberance happened to be convenient. I'm not actually sure what they were doing, they seemed content to remain in place, smoking, waiting, perhaps for their invariably skinny female counterparts to arrive, all hips, thighs and hotpants with massive hair and colourful stiletto heels.

I've clearly forgotten the importance of standing on the street corner with my mates, seeing and being seen I suppose. It seems like a long fucking time ago now but I know it was only yesterday.

I have been catching the eye of a pretty girl that is sitting across from me for ages now. She sees me, I see her - when she moves, I see out of the corner of my eye and I can look over, if I choose to. She just did the same; I was looking around the room, in fact, I had just noticed that a Japanese gent over there is reading a copy of Hagakuré, a little book of samurai philosophy that I have a copy of back home - anyway, as I continued to look around the room, I saw her look up as I turned round to face her, she caught my eye and gave me a half smile.

Game on, I suppose. Game on, the game started ages ago but she just made a definite move with that smile and now it is up to me.

The ball is in my court. You know, as dutch courage goes, coffee is a shite alternative to vodka. I can't wait for this next fight to be over, I am going to get so drunk, it's not funny - I might even have to throw up.

Makoto-san invited me to stay at his place for NYE & christmas the other day. Family time with the Seshimes. I will have to go shopping soon - probably the monday after the fight, after work. Not sure what to buy the kids - Sou is easy; Thomas the Tank Engine stuff... Sakurako, not sure now - I would have said that Hello Kitty rubbish would suffice but she is now going to be seven and that might mean she is too grown up for that. Alina-chan is the hardest of all - eleven years old now; almost a teenager... what do eleven year old Japanese girls want for christmas..... ?

I will have to ask Shinobu-san this week.

I can't believe what a div I am sometimes! (if you don't know what a div is, I am sure the following paragraph will elucidate) A girl invited me to a party in Roppongi - she is a friend from England, a particularly attractive friend that happens to have some Japanese family that she visits at christmas. Anyway, she is coming over this week, invited me to this party and I said NO!!! what the fuck??? I mean, it is the night before my next fight and I shouldn't be drinking but, for fucks sake, I am an amateur fighter, not fucking Mike bloody Tyson, I could easily have gone along, had a couple and left for the last train... but no, fucking Mr bloody Self Righteousness, Martyr to Himself had to make a point of being squeaky bloody clean and say no... I have, obviously, seen the error of my ways but am at a loss with regards to rectifying the situation... messaging back to say that I can make it for one or two is not exactly the coolest thing to say....

Nice work Mav, real slick....

Currently reading : The Name of the Rose (Everyman's Library (Cloth)) By Umberto Eco Release date: 2006-09-26

13:44 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

me of course, duh. lots of questions, not too many answers either and an odd fantasy as well.

I am not who you think I am. I am not even who I think I am.

So, who am I?

I look in the mirror and see a mask, sometimes I want to peel the skin off my face to see if I have another underneath. Like I am wearing someone. This morning I fantasised about getting a scalpel and cutting down one side of my face, along the memory of the scar that lies, evidence of my fiction, along the hairline and pulling it all away to expose the bloody mess underneath. I imagined looking, afterwards, at the face underneath. I didn't feel revulsion when I saw the exposed tissue, bloody and dripping, the eyeballs protruding, I didn't feel revulsion, I felt relief, at ease, comfortable in the truth. It felt like I'm wasn't lying anymore, like I was seeing the real face behind the lie.

I know I am not really what you see, nor am I what you saw before I went away, or before that, even. I try to tell myself that I am more myself as I am than I ever was but I know it's not true, I know what I am not, apparently.

How many have there been? How many are there? My friend said that I was once auditioning to play a role. He was talking about the way I behaved when I was with Her, remarking on the difference. I didn't argue with him, how can you argue with something you believe is true? The thing is, I've lost track, it goes back so far that I simply have no idea who I am, really. You know, so much of what people say and do is for someone else's benefit. We want to be better for someone or fear reprisal for the expression of our true selves, the judgement brings circumscription. Wearing propriety, we pass unnoticed, obscure, safe. Surely it is the same action, taken to an extreme but it's not wholly abnormal.

Is it part of growing? Change, I mean. Do you think that you are a different person than a few years ago, do you ever look in the mirror and see a stranger? Come to think of it, do you ever look in the mirror? I know our lives change, our situations change but this is not really what I am talking about. Superficialities, what are they anyway? Are they my job, where I live or my haircut, my hobbies, my partner and my friends? are they the people I love, or hate, the opinions I hold, or the dreams and ambitions in my heart. What about my needs or desires, are they superficial, are they skin deep, or the food I like or the films I watch... is what I think superficial or what I do, or both? Does it matter what I read? How much can you change before you are not you? Is any of that important? Or does all of that boil away, does any of that make me or is it simply my morals, my ethics that make me me? What are you prepared to do, what actions do you find unconscionable, when do you turn a blind eye, how do you touch the world around you?

I can't even answer a simple question about my favorite film but I can tell you how I would act in a given situation. Does that mean I know myself or just that I have learned some rules? Are you confused as well? Do you ever think about this kind of thing? I know, it sounds awfully self centered, no surprise there then. I can't help feeling, though, that this is a bit elementary, am I showing my naiveté?

I remember, a couple of years ago, when someone was telling me how much they admired my strength of character while decrying the chameleonic aspect of a relative as despicable. I said nothing, shocked at how this person saw me and without the faith in our friendship to refute her. I hate for people to dislike me, fear it, even, enough to keep quiet anyway. I know this can be fixed. I know there is a Reason. It is the world in which we live, there will be an Answer somewhere. I know I can ask someone with a framed certificate hanging on a dark paneled wall to tell me who I am. I'd like to say I don't because I don't believe they have the authority to tell me but that isn't true either. The truth is, I don't ask because I know I will believe them, I'll let them make me.

You lie and you lie, you change, bit by bit, altering consciously everything about yourself, editing, cleaning, adding bits you like and taking away that which does not fit the Picture. What picture? That Picture, you know, I am sure you have one too, surveys say so so don't try to tell me otherwise.

I know I'm not alone but does that make it right?

You know what I am talking about, don't you.

Currently listening : Time for Heroes By The Libertines Release date: 2003-01-27

07:59 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

wait....there was almost some content there....wait, wait...nope, it’s gone....

Do you ever look at someone that you have known for some time and experience a moment of realisation that put's them in a completely different light? Well, I did today and I have come to the conclusion that a friend of mine is completely insane, completely and utterly out of touch with the reality that the general population seem to share....

(shit, that fucking disclaimer at the end of the statement has put me in a position of clarification that I in no way intended to be at the beginning of the sentence. Two choices, discuss or pretend it didn't happen and move on.... the second one please)

I'm not sure if this affects anything other than my opinion of him (or her, no names today) but it was an interesting moment...

...for me, anyway.

11:52 - 5 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

...

I have a secret

09:26 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

blah blah blah awful, blah blah not so awful, blah blah dog, baby.... that’s it

I have to say, last week was awful. Well, it began badly anyway but, as sometimes happenes, it went the other way too.

On the Friday before last weekend I was writing about what happened in August, a letter to Her mum actually (a letter that has been re-written so many times I sometimes think I'll never have the guts to send it). I was writing, thinking about what happened and it, as it always does, put me into a bit of a tailspin. That night, my mind in another place entirely, I sparred with Takahashi-san, the other in-house heavyweight and I took a beating. Comprehensively - I couldn't find a rhythm at all and he hit's very hard indeed. Over the course of the next week I dodged half of my training sessions - not only was I miserable about what happened but my confidence was knocked by the sparring debacle and the two together put me into a bit of a dark place.

I spent the week avoiding doing anything constructive. Oh, I worked a fair bit, I did some training - I missed three out of six evenings and the same of the morning sessions too. I felt though, that I was skiving and that too reinforced the mood - but, for the most part, I spent the time reading, watching comedy on youtube and dwelling on problems that aren't really problems. Towards the end of the week, I pulled myself up by my bootstraps, gave myself a talking to and got on with things. I sorted out my tourist visa so I am legally allowed to stay in the country until the end of March next year, I pushed myself to attend the gym and continued the morning runs in the park. By Friday, I was back to a semblance of routine and feeling much clearer.

It's funny but, with the visa thing, I was a little worried - on the way back into the country from Sri Lanka, I was questioned by the immigration people as to why I had made so many entries this year - they seemed to be a bit reluctant to allow me in. So, I thought I'd have more trouble with the visa extension. On top of that, the impending expiration had held me back form committing to the rest of the stay - being here till next March seemed to be a bit farfetched and in my head, a little, I think I was half way to the airport. I think this mentality affected my approach to every aspect of my life here. While, I have been here since August, I have only really been giving fifty percent, I've not committed more (of course, the events of that month have a lot to do with being half way home - I very nearly didn't get on the plane back here at all). The visa extension, however, was so straightforward, it caught me a little by surprise - I went there with an official letter from Shidokan Japan, telling the immigration dept that I was formally invited to stay until April and a carefully prepared spiel but they barely glanced at the letter and, after seeing the UK passport, merely asked for the 4,000 yen fee then stamped the visa. Quite apart from the surprise felt, on the way back to the Dojo, I felt quite clearly that I belonged here, more than that, I felt as if I had been accepted.

That evening, after karate with Ueno-shihan, he, through Shinobu-san, told me that his friend needs someone to work for him over the next four months and asked if I would be interested. I jumped at it and found that, in one day, both of the seemingly awkward problems that I was facing were resolved for me. All I had to do was get out of bed that day and everything came together. On Saturday, I did little - I wasn't supposed to be training because the following day I had a kickboxing match, my first and I had to be fresh for it. So, I bummed around, ate loads of pasta, skyped with mates and watched more comedy on youtube. So, most of the activities that I had been pursuing with such focus during the earlier part of the week, Saturday, though, was a much lighter place to be.

Sunday was an experience, I've written about it separately, feel free to read about it here.

That's it, apart from the dog. The dog was one of those loathsome Chihuahuas, a little white one with the grossly bulging eyes that characterise the horrid breed. No, I am not overly sympathetic to the animals. For this one, however, I felt a modicum of compassion; it's owner, a blandly dressed man in his early thirties, had tied small, furry reindeer antlers to it's head and a small santa to it's collar. I was outside the cafe and watched as the man tried, unsuccessfully to get the animal to heel - he called and the dog just looked at him, then me, then it walked towards a group of young schoolgirls standing across the covered way from me. As the owner trotted to pick the dog up, it tried, half heartedly to shake off the seasonal accouterments, it seemed to know that the attempt was futile though and gave up as the owner approached. Somewhat exasperated, the owner picked it up and hurried away with it under his arm, all the while trying to straighten the father christmas on it's back. As they passed, the dog looked at me with a resigned air and seemed to ask me to witness the indignities that it is so routinely subjected to. The tiny reindeer antlers bobbing along as it raised it's eyes to heaven, with a mute expression of utter contempt for the owner written on it's little face. I think that, were dogs able to understand the concept of suicide, Chihuahuas would be extinct within months.

It was good to talk to B on Saturday, skype is so bloody great - here I am, almost penniless and living on the other side of the world and I am able to chat to my mate and see my goddaughter try to break his laptop - I almost felt like I was there.

Almost.

09:25 - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Chiba Fight Report - kickboxing this time

It was an hour before my fight when Sato Shihan told me that my opponent had pulled out with an injury and, instead of a no show, I was to face a welterweight pro fighter instead. Sato pointed to the tallest guy in the room as he told me and my heart sank. I felt like I was being stitched up - I was supposed to be fighting someone with as little experience as I, also, of a similar age and weight. Instead, I was to face a younger, faster, professional fighter with the confidence of experience, my only consolation being that I outweighed him by almost twenty kilos. At that moment though, having received beating after beating in sparring from a short welterweight, Muto-san, the weight difference meant very little and I knew how hard this fight might be for me. I didn't even have the advantage of reach on my guy - he was a little taller than me and I had no chance of keeping him at the end of my jab, in fact, it looked like I was going to have to work to get inside his guard. My first reaction was dismay, then bitterness - for a moment I thought that the non Shidokan gym wanted to teach me a lesson by chucking in a ringer and giving me a hiding - then it solidified and I forced myself to become determined, grim, even. If they were going to stack the deck, then fine, fuck them too... If I was to lose to this guy then I would make him pay for every second in the ring and make sure he didn't get the satisfaction of knocking me out.

Chiba is on the other side of Tokyo from where I live and it took us a good couple of hours to drive there. Ishawa-san, a middleweight fighter from Honbu Dojo, Lek-san and myself left at half eight in the morning and I settled in the back of the car with my ipod and a book (Foucault's Pendulum, if any of you care). When we finally arrived, the gym was in the same building complex as the train station and was a tiny little room - about the size of three boxing rings - with mirrors along one entire wall, a boxing ring on a raised podium at one end with about thirty chairs lined up in front of it. We bowed and were shown to the fighter's preparation area upstairs - an empty shop unit on the floor above with no furniture, nothing at all actually except the sixty or so fighters and an old set of scales in the corner.

I stripped down an weighed in at eighty nine kilos, just under my normal weight, then settled down for the wait. I had already seen the list of fights and, out of thirty two, I was fight number thirty, the last of the amateur fights and it meant that I had a good three hours to wait. The fight list told me that my opponent was two years older, ten centimeters shorter and about five kilos lighter than I. He wasn't a complete novice - I was to be his fourth opponent and his record was one win, one loss and one draw; so, he was no Mike Tyson and, on those stats, I felt fairly confident about facing him. It was eleven am and reckoned to be fighting at two or three, so I sat down and got the book out again.

Lek-san came over to me after a while, maybe an hour, to bandage up my hands. Ten minutes later, with fists twice their normal size and feeling less out of place, Lek-san and I went down to the gym to watch the fights.

Sato-shihan had come with two of his fighters and he had brought Shinobu-san too. I was really happy because Shinobu is a huge support to me here in Japan and had told me the day before that she couldn't make it. On top of that, Halal-san, another guy from Honbu, had come too, again hugely unexpectedly - Chiba is miles away - and the fact that the gang was all there was a huge boost to the morale. While I wasn't feeling massively confident, I wasn't that worried either - I just spent the time watching the fighters and running over everything that Lek-san had been drumming in to me over the past few weeks. Lek-san is a really good teacher; he told me to stick to a couple of basic tactics in the ring, conserve my strength, pick my moment and hit hard. From watching the amateurs fight in the last three event's that I've attended, the pattern seems to be that the less experienced fighters tend to go at it hammer and tongs, knacker themselves out by the middle of the first round and then lurch around getting hit for the rest of the fight. I planned to take a confident but a measured approach, keep my gloves high, lead with my low kick and look to hit him on the counter.

Anyway, that was the plan and when Sato-shihan approached me, an hour or so out from my fight, with the news of the fighter change, it all went out the window.

I am alright with losing. I mean, I hate it but I understand that it doesn't really matter, it's hard enough just getting in the ring - I believe that alone deserves as much respect as anything. The culture in Japan is vastly different, however, winning is everything, losers are beneath contempt and people who try their hardest are merely behaving as they should, in Japan, to try your hardest is to do the minimum required. I'm so glad that I'm European. Still, having said that, I was not looking forward to my fight anymore, I felt that what had previously been a fair match up had changed - there was an air of foul play about the situation and I was feeling a little like a sacrificial pig. Anyway, that last hour was not the best but there was very little to be done, so I tried to forget it and think only about how I was going to fight the man.

Ishawa-san was called to the ring and, as he was fighting just before me, I also went to our corner with Sato-shihan for final prep. I noticed that my opponent was also in his fighting kit now and I got a good look at him - he was gangly and not heavily muscled; he had a massive reach with both his legs and arms and I expected him to be quick with his hands. I discussed it with Sato-shihan and he told me to keep it simple - jab, cross, then low kick; if he uses the maegeri to keep me away, then palm it round, get inside his guard and hiza the body.

As I was stretching, the owner of the gym came over and started talking to Sato-shihan. More good news - for my fight, there was to be a rule change, low kicks were disallowed. Five minutes before I got into the ring for my first fight, against a pro fighter no less, I was being told that I couldn't use my most practiced tactic, gutted does not describe my feelings. Sato-shihan asked me if I understood and if I was ok - he explained that it was the weight difference that prompted the rule change; since I was nearly twenty kilos heavier, it wasn't fair to my opponent. I have to say that I didn't really take the news with good grace - I explained to Sato-shihan that he might be lighter but he was a pro fighter, half way through my reply, I changed my mind and just told him, ok, fine, no problem.

I was fucking seething.

It didn't occur to me for a moment that my opponent would be as worried, if not more, than I was. In my usual self obsessed idiom, I merely thought that the gym was behaving incredibly badly in stacking the deck. The one positive effect of the news was that it fired me up for the fight. All nervousness was banished and replaced with a surge of energy, I entered the ring buoyed on a tide of anger and impatiently hopped about as I waited for my opponent to get in. He did, we met in the middle with the bespectacled ref, touched gloves, muttered polite greetings - onegaii shimas - bowed and went to our corners to wait for the bell.

I battered him. Emphatically.

I spent the two rounds backing him into the corners or onto the ropes and preceded to dish out a hiding. He started the first round well, he hit me with a jab and then, as I came in, a good cross but I was ready for it and hit him on the counter with a left hook and a hard right cross that sent him reeling onto the ropes. I know I had shaken him because, after that, he was leaning way back onto the ropes and trying to keep his head out harms way. So, as he bobbed his head around, I managed to plant a couple more on his chin before the ref separated us. As I came in the next time, he tried to hit me with a kick to the head, I blocked, countered with a cross then landed a decent hiza to the ribs. For the rest of the round, he was completely defensive - trying to keep me at the end of his maegeri and moving constantly away from me. I really had to work to close him down and, when we were close, had to be very sharp to land squarely on his head; he had an excellent guard. Still, I hounded him around the ring and landed loads of solid shots - I threw a few decent maiwashi-chudans too; he had a moment of being a bit clever with his feet and tried to fake a left but throw the right; I saw it, blocked it then did the same in return - he was surprised that it got through (I have fast feet for a heavyweight) and I wanted to smile.

When the buzzer sounded for the end of the first round, I felt very calm. I was breathing heavily but I felt calm and in control - of the punches that he landed, I had only felt one, that first cross and, at the end of the first round, I felt confident of being able to take his best shot in my stride. In my corner, Sato-shihan was telling me to up my work rate, keep pressuring him and throw more combinations while Lek-san advised the opposite. I decided to do both, in their own time.

There is not really much more to tell; the second round went as well as the first - he did land a decent hook and I felt he would have been able to do much better if he was more positive but, instead, he concentrated on trying to keep me away from his head at the end of his jab. It didn't work - I closed him down, hit him a couple of times and grappled him till I could throw a hiza or two and we were separated. This went on for the round - I backed him up, took a jab or two on the way in and did my best to knock his block off - I don't think I took one backward pace for the entire fight. I noticed that my focus did narrow in the second round - I lost track of time a little and don't remember seeing anything but him, not the ref, not the judges, just him and the ropes. It's not happened before and I found that, at the end of the fight, I was a little disorientated and thought there was another round to go.

There was an odd moment at the end; the refs all had the red flag up - indicating that my I had won but the ref didn't raise my arm in the middle, in fact, he didn't even call us into the middle to decide the winner. After I had bowed to his trainer I went over to Lek-san and asked him if we had one more round - I thought that maybe it was a draw or something. He told me no and Sato-shihan explained that there was no official win or loss, it was a no contest due to the weight difference. Officially, the fight did not take place. I can understand it - he was a pro fighter and didn't want to mar his record with an unfair bout but he really shouldn't have got in the ring if that was the case; maybe he thought he'd win.

Anyway, they gave me the winner's certificate and I went to bow to the gym owner and the fighter one more time before getting changed.

I didn't feel like I had really won - again, the circumstances were unusual, the fight uneven and I felt as if I had got away without being tested - I didn't have to reach inside for my guts or find any grit to get through the fight.

I think it was too easy.

I know, it's an absurd thing to say but, given that I was initially concerned with merely remaining on my feet for the two rounds, to have so comprehensively thrashed my opponent, as I did, left me feeling curiously out of place.

Anyway, whatever, Lek-san was happy with the way I controlled the fight and has put me in for another bout in a month, the 21st of December actually. Who knows, I might get a proper go at it the next time round, or, at least a bloody nose for my trouble.

Until then

Osu

09:50 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

ahem....

is this familiar to anyone?

06:04 - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

rash judgements

I had a thought about half an hour ago - I was idly wasting time on facebook and I clicked on a friend's profile icon and the, now familiar, 'facebook search' box popped up, indicating a private profile, normal, nest'ce pas? Absolutment, c'est normal.

It wasn't a surprise to find the private profile, actually, I expected it to be private - the thought was that I expected it to be private. And in that thought, I, for a moment, had the temerity to mentally question the type of person that has an open profile on one of these social networking sites and how I would, sort of, doubt them or think them a little odd. I don't know, at the least foolish and perhaps even a little creepy.

Then, of course, I realised that, not only is my myspace page open to all but I am also a blogger and as such (most of) my life is open to all in as much detail as they want. It honestly didn't occur to me to include myself in my casual dismissal of idiots not savvy enough to protect themselves on the internet.... you know, I don't think it's hypocrisy anymore, I am actually starting to believe that there are two people in this head

12:30 - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

I’ve always wanted to be Batman

um, except, I'm not really that keen on being involved in violent confrontations with criminals on the city streets - it's far too dangerous. So, perhaps I could settle for the obsessive compulsive disorders, the misanthropy and the billions...

...hmmm, two out of three already, not bat..er bad.

12:12 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

sex, violence and alcohol. it’s all I ever write about. well, the last two anyway...

The Hammatsu Junior World Cup Nov 2nd 2008.

Sato-shihan and I had to pick up the swiss Shihan and his friend from Narita before we made our way down to Hammamatsu. So, I met Sato-san at 7am in Niza, north Tokyo and we set off... after a somewhat less than enjoyable experience on the Tokyo freeway system, we arrived at Narita three hours after setting off and an hour late to meet Alberto. Alberto was in good spirits though, so, he and Dino jumped in the car and we got on the road to Hammamtsu. We had been hoping that we would have no more traffic worries but the roads Kami had other ideas.... we arrived seven hours later - it should have been two. Enough said.

After yet another interminable delay, somewhat less annoying than earlier in the day - we had got used to waiting around by then - and much confusion with mobile phone shops, Sato-san and I finally got to our hotel. It was still fairly early, around 7pm so, considering that we only had to be up at 7 the following morning, we had all the time in the world to relax. So, I had a coffee.

Yes, I am a fool. I knew it would be trouble. I sat there, in the tiny hotel room, looking at the plastic container. It's colourful label telling me how much I would love to drink it right now (Well, I assume it did - it was in Japanese though and I can barely recognise the Kanji for Tokyo, let alone a bloody takeaway iced latté label). I waited, I put it aside, I told myself I wouldn't be able to sleep - I told myself I'd been here before and didn't like it the first time; I even gave myself examples of past misfortunes, blame for which had been laid at the door of a missed nights sleep (given the lack of external conversation in my life, the internal dialogues have, at times, developed to the level of structured debate). But I didn't listen, I never bloody do, so I drank the lot in about a minute before bashing out several lengthy emails and an entry in my diary (I love to write after drinking coffee... actually, I rarely write without it). Well, anyway, as I feared, that coffee was the nicest tasting way way to say goodbye to a decent nights sleep.... I eventually dropped off at about four am and woke at 7 wondering if I would ever arrive at a fight feeling fresh.

The fight festival was to be held in a large domed sportshall, about half an hour out of the centre of Hammamatsu and was really a kids event. Well, the main event was the Junior Shidokan World Cup competition. The adults competition was far less of a big event and, as such, it attracted fewer fighters. There were to be three rounds for the lightweights and middleweights but only two rounds for the heavyweights - there were only four of us. I had a look at the opposition in the festival brochure and was happy to see that I knew all the heavyweights. One of whom was the green belt that I had thrashed in my first fight back in June - I had barely broken a sweat against him and I felt confident that I could handle him again. The second was a young fighter from Kodama Dojo, he was also a green belt but is a great fighter and has a huge spirit. The last was a big guy from Murakami Juku, Ishoi. I've trained with him a couple of times and I like him very much; he is always smiling and joking around - most un-Japanese, I know. Anyway, he is a big bloke and I looked forward to fighting him - that might sound strange but I was more concerned with fighting the smaller guy than Ishoi. Smaller guys always fight harder.

I was nervous again. It may have been that lack of sleep but I could feel my heart thumping, the anxiety in my gut telling me to fight or get the hell out of there.. It's funny but there is nothing you can do about it; the reflex is to run but when you have to wait around for your turn, it seems to worry the animal inside. Makoto called all the fighters over and we all lined up before trooping out to kneel on the mat. The opening ceremony was incredibly long; we had to listen to a, seemingly endless, procession of Japanese and Brazilian dignitaries deliver painfully verbose speeches (the tournament was also promoting Japanese/Brazilian relations in the area and Kodama-shihan had flown the minister for sport in Brazil to attend), that we had the pleasure of hearing in triplicate - Japanese, Brazilian and finally the English translation (which was usually paraphrased, for which one can hardly blame the interpreter, on the contrary, I felt like thanking him). I'm sure you can imagine how much fun listening to all that while in seiza was, yeah, I loved it. Finally, the speeches ended and Kodama-shihan performed a couple of very complicated Kata to end the opening ceremony. The Kata were performed to the beat of a huge Taiko drum; The combination of perfectly executed kata, the grace and power of the dance-like, almost hypnotic moves, coupled with the ever-increasing pace of the deafening Taiko drum resonating through the hall left my heart pounding in my chest. The atmosphere was palpable and I found all the nervous tension had been transformed into an exhilarating feeling of readiness. Which, unfortunately, dissipated over the following two and a half hours that I had to wait until my fight.. once again, the heavyweights fight last.

My first fight was against young guy from the Kodama dojo. He was a good fifteen kilos lighter than I but he always makes a go of his fights - I saw him get put out in the first round of the All Japan but he fought so hard I thought it a shame that the decision went against him. Also, I've seen him fight Oyabu-san and, again, he fought till the last bell. This fight was no exception - when the buzzer sounded, we went straight for each other and he landed an almighty punch on my chest. I was surprised and thought that he had no right hitting that hard at his weight; it must have been because he was moving forward. Anyway, we started trading body shots and it became clear that his first hit was out of the ordinary because I could have taken the rest of his punches all day long. We went at it though and I hit him with a couple of good hizas and a couple of decent maiwashi-gedans. He really put his back into it though and we tore at each other. Unfortunately, I do not remember much of this fight because I was so involved - as was he. All I remember is the two of us hammering at each other with gusto - I do remember hitting his ribs hard with a maiwashi-chudan though, and he felt it, so I went for the same spot time and again and it started to show - towards the end of the round, he was much more interested in blocking my strikes than dishing out his own. Ah, also, I caught him in the face - right on the chin actually and he dropped like a stone. Bit of a mistake; it glanced off his shoulder - he made a song and dance of it too - I mean, I had caught an elbow of his in the eye when we went down at some point, I have the black eye to prove it, but I didn't mention it to the ref. Anyway, whatever, he had to carry on; I was warned and that was that... maybe he just wanted a bit of a lie down - he did look a little tired. So, at the end of it, our first round was a draw and we went to a hikewake. This being only a minute, we both upped the ante; to the extent that my entire Do-gi got ripped down one side.... gutted; they are seventy odd quid... oh well, I could always repair it I suppose. It was an example of how hard we were going at it though - those Do-gi are tough. Anyway, at the end of a grueling hikewake, I was declared the winner. I think it was close but I had hurt him a lot more than he, I. Although, if we were being scored on effort, I think he took it - he just couldn't hurt me though, I was too heavy for him - quite glad I ate all those pies now.

As I left the ring, I gave Ishoi, the Murakami-Juku heavyweight, a slap on the back and wished him luck; he looked a little nervous but I knew he would win - his opponent was not strong enough. I was very nearly wrong. It seems that, in the last four months, the Kodama guy had trained hard - he was vastly improved from when we fought in June. He gave Ishoi a really hard time and their fight also went to a hikewake. I was happy the Ishoi won and even happier that he had had to work for it; we would be equally tired in the final... even stevens.

The final fight was not as epic as the first round but it was tough. Makoto-san gave me a little advice before the start; he said that Ishoi was slow to move forward so I should go at him. Also, he had a tough body, so I shouldn't trade body hits with him; back off and strike the legs, or close quickly, hiza and back off again. Sagacious advice that went out the window the second that the buzzer sounded. Having trained with him, I knew that Ishoi had a good low kick and I had seen Murakami-shihan giving him advice before the fight to use it. So, I guessed that he would come at me with a strong low kick and I planned to be ready for it. It worked; the first second we went for each other, I saw him shape up and throw the kick - so I hit him with a fast and high front kick - very straight to the chest and, as his leg was already in the air, my kick knocked him on his arse. The look of surprise on his face was almost comical - I didn't smile though, I like him too much for that. Then, when he got up, I hammered him with a low kick, then again - I figured to beat him at his own game. He blocked the second so I hit him with a fast maiwashi-jodan - he was expecting the low kick so I got through and hit him clean on the side of the head. It wasn't too strong though - it landed with the end of the foot - so he stood up to it and we went in for body shots. He had a bloody strong punch and, as we traded, one got through to my left side and it felt like I'd broken a rib. I knew it was trouble so I clinched him and kept my left arm close to my side as I threw a hiza to his body. I could hear the guys in his corner shouting 'hit his left, hit his left' but he couldn't get past my guard and the second or two as the ref separated us was enough for me to suck it up and go for him again. I hit him with more hizas and then we started trading body shots again - this time though, I was more careful and he didn't take me unawares again. The fight was rough but I was moving him back, especially with the hizas to the body; he didn't know how to block them and I think it was too manic for him to think of anything except punching my body. The buzzer eventually sounded and Sato-san pulled us apart - he had to actually because neither of us had heard the buzzer and were carrying on... we probably would have continued until we fell over; it was a good round and I thought we were pretty even. I was disappointed when the judges gave it to me actually - I felt that we were even, or, if anything, he had won it and I wanted to go another round to knock him out or make the fight convincingly mine. It wasn't to be though, three of the five judges found it in my favour, the other two calling it a draw, so it was over, I had won. Ishoi was gutted, so was I, but that's the way it goes.

All in all, I loved the day - the fighting was right up my street with very little floorwork; just toe to toe stuff - great fun. So, with a few bruises to mark the occasion and after a brief slice of cake (actually, it was a sickly sponge cake with an Shidokan badge icing), I piled in the car with Hashimoto-shihan and his student for the trek back to Honbu.. this time it was much faster - only six hours instead... mmmm, gotta love Japan motorways...

That's it for the scraps for a couple of weeks - I have a kickboxing match on the 23rd, my first, so it's back to the gym in the morning.... love it, the simple life.

13:56 - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment