I Have Writers Block

Hello little red gash on side of head.

Long time no see! I've missed you. I used to have lots of gashes just like you. Not that you're not special, I'm sure you are. You're your own little red gash. An individual in your own right. But, well, there was this time last year, see, when I was going Judo very very often, and there were always little red marks like you all over the place. Judo's rough. Always has been. Got one over my left eye like Kakashi when Tang threw me and landed on my face. Now that hurt. You don't hurt. I like you already.

I'm back at Judo again. Probably explains why you're there at the side of my head. I want to represent Sarawak one last time, before I head off to college (and a potentially non-dojo existence). I want to win. Or at least I think I want to - but today at the dojo my arms felt like wood and my throws weren't fluid and I got armbarred four times in two minutes. I was so so tired after two rounds on the mat. How pathetic is that? I used to have the best technique in my weight group, but now even Osotogari feels forced. Like I hadn't put two years of work behind that throw. I'm scared.

I'm scared of going up against all those black belters again. You know they're black now, right? Well yeah, I'm brown, but I haven't upgraded and I'm trying not to upgrade because I don't think I'm as good as any of them and I'm not fit to be brown and Sensei says he's coming in April to upgrade all the brown belters to black and that's just really scary. It's just ... well every competition I panic. I blank out and my throws regress into their stupid little stiff white belter versions. It doesn't matter that I'm okay in training - in competition they all look like the fake moves with the fancy names like the Chopslam or the Noodle Ball you see on WWE. Okay maybe I made the Noodle Ball up, but only because I'm hungry. And don't look at me like that. You know they're fake too. But anyway I don't have mental strength. It's not easy to face somebody else on the mat in competition. It's also not easy to know that your coach is at the side and if you lose he'll be so so dissapointed. And you know how Judo feels like after eating and sleeping and studying for two months? It feels shitty. It feels like swimming in a septic tank. A viscous septic tank. I'll let your imagination do the rest.

I'm tired. Did I mention that? I'm tired and hungry. And overweight. I need to jog roughly 6kg off to be back in competitive shape, and Tim told me at training tonight that in Penang they did 4km or Else. So I'll have to do intensive 4km too or Else. Sucks when you know how much the others in Malaysia train, no?

I unbandaged quite quickly today. Only two other injuries, other than you. Tripped when I fought just now. Sore ankle. And my knee's gone all weird too, after I knocked it against Malcolm's something (okay it was very fast okay and I couldn't see what I hit other than it hurt). It's probably going to bruise tomorrow. But I'll live. I'm slowly raising the amount of Judo I do, because the people who came back for state team training last year after their SPMs all got injured. Scary to see so many people breaking and pulling things. I hope I'll be safe. I hope I can play well this year. I hope many things.

Good night little red gash on side of head. Now go heal fast and disappear soon thank you.

Consummatum

Dear Sensei.

You're leaving now. After so long with us. I don't know why the state government refused to let you continue teaching us, to let you finish what you started. But it doesn't matter anymore. You're going. To where not even you know. Maybe you'll be done with Malaysia and go to that German Olympic Training Centre you were offered several years back. Not likely, I know, because you promised your sensei to improve the standard of Judo in Malaysia. And you're tied to that promise. Binding words, those are - and we know you're a man of your word.

But anyway, thank you. Thank you for being there for us. Thank you for teaching me my Osotogari. Thank you for clapping your hand on the small of my back before my first match at the Nationals, against that national player. Thank you for yelling at me whenever I lost a match.

Thank you for teaching us about spirit. About never giving up, no matter who the opponent. Thank you for telling us stories (the one about Kankenai, for instance, changed the way Tang and I thought about life, forever). Thank you for tending to our injuries, no matter how trivial, or how bad. You were there at the hospital when Vincent broke his collarbone, you were constantly on the phone with the doctors when Shahirah compressed a disc in Johor; you taught us conditioning to prevent most major injuries from happening. Remember when I passed out from a choke last year? You stopped the match when I turned blue, treated my neck muscles after the competition and joked about it in training afterwards. Stupid of me to have fallen forward.

Thank you for yelling at us when we were running. That the only reason we were to stop was if we passed out of exhaustion. Thank you for telling us about Steffi. Being compared to a girl was precisely what we needed, nevermind that she was one of the toughest judoka you ever taught. You told us she got up faster than all of us during Randori - and we didn't like that. So we got up. Again and again. Every time you slammed us to the ground.

Thank you for lying to us in the gym. I've lost count of the number of times you've said "One last time!" on the bench press, only to have it repeated again and again as we strained against the weights. You taught us style and you taught us technique, and you were never satisfied with our performances. Our Judo was shaped by your hands.

Most of all, Sensei, thank you for teaching us about life. Like politics, for instance. In Penang, you sat us down and talked to us till late in the night about our country. About how being sent for competitions on state money was no small thing - it wasn't the government's money, it was ours. About how our government heads were our servants, not our leaders - leaders only if they gained our respect and if they were willing to lay down their lives for us. Through Judo you taught us about obstacles, and how to deal with them; you taught us respect - for officials, opponents; you taught us attitude. To know what you want in life and to work hard towards it. No nasi lemak culture. No shortcuts.

We made an agreement with you very early on in 2008 to give up our social lives for Judo. And for academics. You gave us our priorities: exams first, Judo second, everything else after that. Those were the conditions of being in the state team, and you sat us down one Sunday to explain it to us. We agreed. We never complained afterwards, because it was clear what you expected of us. And everytime I came close to falling from exhaustion I reminded myself that it was this deal I made with you, that we made with you, and it was my choice. And somehow I always managed to carry on. Thank you for pushing me to my limits, and for making me find out that my limits aren't so clear cut after all.

And do you know that Horng Eng's leadership style, Tang's management can-do, my teaching technique for debate, these were all from you? We learned more about leadership from your Judo than we did from anywhere else (the *ahem* prefectorial board, for instance - but that's just ironic considering Horng Eng and Steffi were both head girls). You were a great leader. And yes, we know you're not without your faults - but you taught us that being human was no excuse for stagnating. Come to think of it, you didn't like excuses. Period.

My last lesson with you was on Saturday. I didn't know what to say, when I shook your hand: "Goodbye Sensei. Thank you for -" and my brain froze up. Circuit overload. I struggled for the right word, and settled for: "- everything."

You smiled. "You're welcomed," you said to me. "I hope you learned something."

"I did! Spirit ... Not giving up, Judo." Clipped. Staccato. A rush of images behind each word.

"Good, good." I stepped back to collect my shoes, my gi, to leave my last lesson under you. "Oh and - ?" you cut in. I turned.

"Remember to pay your fees."

Damn.

Goodbye Sensei. Wherever you'll be, whatever you do. We'll miss you. I'll miss you.

Take care.

Slowdown

I find myself in an old world. The faces are different, the belts new. But the laughter and the joy and the smell of sweat … these things, so precious to me, are still here unchanged. This is a world I told myself no longer exists, simply because the people who made it real in my mind had long left. But here I am, looking at it – some God has chipped off a piece and hidden it safe under the earth, silent behind my back. I find myself old in it.

As I change into my gi I scan the dojo – the white belters are resting in the front, on oversized fitballs we used to throw at each other. They are still doing that today – except it is no longer me and Garrick and Desmond throwing them. At the other end of the dojo there is a pile of boys, laughing. As I watch one runs and jumps and lands – bang – into the pile, and soon they are all a mess of knees and elbows.

When I spar with Tang later the Thomians sit and watch. Tang has a bone to pick with me – he once represented Sarawak but has since declined. He is my president and he is one of the most flexible fighters I have ever encountered – three of my Osotogaris whips him downwards, but like a snake he twists and never concedes a score to me. Tang throws me with a loosely controlled footsweep and I get up and we laugh.

There are two new ones today. Jeryl, Jylene’s brother, impresses all of us with a jump and a hard landing on the floor – I never dared to do anything like that before I started Judo. Carlucci sits by the windows throughout the sparring – he is panting and for once I don’t push him to get up and fight. I am beginning to realize not everyone comes to Judo to push themselves. Some, like Carlucci, just want to have fun.

Later in the class we all shout at him because he is spending too much time in the toilets.

There are some things in life that never change. I am surprised that the Thomian judo class – 10.30 to 12 with boys and laughter and body piles – is one of them.

It feels good to be back.

Compromise

So yeah. I've lost count of the number of people asking me why I got banned from Judo, so I guess an explanation is in order.

Shortly after the gathering I told my parents that I had to go to Judo the next day. It was 12 in the morning, I was cranky and in severe need of sleep (apart from gaying Daniel up I had gone to the state gym and was aching in places where boys do not want to ache) and I wasn't very diplomatic. I yelled down the stairs: "Oi tomorrow I need to go Judo aa!"

Now you may not know my parents, so let me introduce you to them. My parents are as Malaysian as they come - they are Chinese, they are old enough to be cynical of Bolehland, and they are very, very exam oriented. I had warned them earlier that this coming sem exams wasn't going to be anything nice to look at, and, yes, dear son would study over the hols. They latched on to that - "How the hell are you going to study if you go Judo!? NO MORE!" and after 10 minutes of yelling up and down the stairs I slammed the door and made two calls and went to sleep.

That was the end of the conversation. Ultimatum. No turning back. Shuddap and study.

I had known for ages, though, that I'd have to stop Judo in the middle of the academic year ... the only question was when. This question was now answered, and the most I could get from them was one last day at training, to settle all the outstanding Judo stuff I had yet to do.

I told Sensei shortly after changing into my gi. We sat down by the windows, the rest of the state team warming up, and I explained to him what had happened the night before. He kept quiet as I talked, looking away from me in that thoughtful manner of his, and he turned back only to reply.

"It's a pity, really." he said, squinting in the sunlight, "You're doing quite well."

The rest of the training session I could feel his gaze like a solid thing, watching as I tried a new variation of Osotogari I had worked out in my head the week before; watching as I did moving uchikomi; watching as I did free throws. I guess I represented to him all that was screwed up with our education system - an athlete shows promise, then the exam oriented society steps in and smashes any chance that athlete has of doing well. But that's life, isn't it? You take the chips you get and you move on. Swallow and look ahead. Stand tall.

At the start of 2008 I told myself that I wanted 3 things. One of those things was to represent Sarawak in Judo.

I did, one month ago, for the Nationals.

And I suppose that's enough. I mean, I've done loads for one year - I've set up what Ravin started, that Thomian debate club; I've trained a new generation of debaters; I've redesigned and rebooted The Square; I've dealt with enough teacher politics to last anyone a lifetime. One outing for Sarawak in 2008 is wonderful stuff - God I thank you - and I'm not going to complain.

So maybe it is for the best. Maybe when I'm done and finished with 2008 I'll look back and say: "Yes, it was all worth it." It'll be something to look forward to, but it'll be for later. Now I've got to get myself together and start studying my ass off.

Till that day.

Fatigue

This boy went to gym. This boy ate pizza hut. This boy tried to make sure everyone had fun at the UGS gathering. This boy cleaned up. This boy had a shouting match with his parents, and is now forbidden to go Judo for the rest of 2008. This boy slept at 12.30. This boy woke up at 7.30 and went to Judo at 9. This boy went running with the state team. This boy ate salad chicken rice under the dojo. This boy helped out with the 3 o'clock open class. This boy learnt the kata for his brown belt.

This boy is very, very tired.

11 hours of Judo is never a good idea. Thank God the gathering went well.



Note: 3rd guy I threw was Christian, that debater dude from Chung Hwa. 4th guy was Chong. 5th guy (who threw me) was Aaron. My coach yelled 'ATTACK!' at precisely the wrong moment. Bang.

Slippers

Training has been gradually getting more and more tense. Less hard, true, but more focused on things that we'd find opponents using: takedowns, leg grabs, one-armed drop throws. It's very worrying, to tell you the truth - I find it a lot easier to deal when I'm focusing on my own techniques - not theirs - plus I've got this perpetual sweater on me throughout training to lose weight.

Yes, you heard right. I'm on a diet. No carbs at night, lots of running in the evenings, aerobic exercises. I lost 3 kg in 2 hours the last competition, but those two hours were spent running with four layers of clothing (one of which being a garbage bag cut out Flintstone style). And I'm not allowed ice cream. Or cream buns. Or donuts. (Okay yeah I did eat one UFO, but that doesn't count because it was in the afternoon right right right?!)

As I received the parental release forms at the end of training today Sensei looked up and frowned. "This is your first Nationals, isn't it?"

"Yeah ..."

"Right. There are two things you have to remember bringing. Very important."

"Uhhuh ..." I leaned forward. Have to admit I was thinking of painkillers and romance novels and protein shakes here, but that's beside the point.

"Two things, ya," Sensei said, counting them off on the digits of his hand, "1: Shoes. 2: Slippers."

I blinked. "Slippers."

"Yes."

"Uhr ... why ... again?"

"Oh, for the contest arena. Then you can get on and off the mat easily, without troubling yourself with shoes. We all wear them."

And for a brief instance I had a flash of a huge stadium, glaring downlights, and lots and lots of black belters by the sidelines.

Gulp.

The Sukma Selections 2008

There are just some things you don't want to talk about. This is one of them. There a few people I've to thank - the first being the original five Thomian judokas who brought me out for lunch after the comp. And also to a very special friend, who taught me optimism isn't overrated after all.

And yeah. Here are the snippets of the best throws in the comp. Joash has done an amazing job with the vid (hey if you're reading this man: great choice of song!). I'm in there from 0:28 to 0:42. And. Yes. I was yelling.

Photolog: After Sukma Training

Photolog - Trouble

One Of The Worst Matches Ever

Photolog - Piala Presiden

The Piala Presiden

We knew it was bad the instant Sensei sat us down.

It was a semicircle in a corner of Chung Hwa No.1's multipurpose hall, and he gestured for even the girlfriends of the judokas to have a seat. "Come come," he said, "You're all involved in this together." They sat. We stared.

He began with a frustrated sigh. "I really don't know what to say. I am very glad you people are not representing Penang."

Penang was Sensei's hometown. It was where he originally played Judo. We kept dead quiet, heads bowed.

"Now, there was a stage where I was very frustrated in Penang ... I could defeat everyone in Malaysia, but I couldn't get anywhere in SEA. So my instructor said, 'I've taught you all I know, maybe it's time for you to go somewhere else.' And that's why I went to Japan. And now here I am, trying to teach you all I know, and how am I going to do that if you keep giving me this kind of shit?!

"I got back from Japan ... the Germans came and invited me to teach at one of their Junior Olympic training centres. Germany has quite a few of those, you know, to train people up for their sports ... Judo, football, you name it. But I thought for awhile ... and I said: well, my mother is here, my country needs me, and I was in the Kodokan so long because they (the Japanese) wanted me to raise the level of Judo in Malaysia. So I declined. And now I wonder why I don't leave Malaysia. It's so hard to train Malaysians! Heck, if I'd accepted I'd be earning three thousand Euro instead of two thousand seven hundred shit here!"

This was made with a gesture much resembling taking off a cap and throwing it on the ground. It was frightening, seeing this side of Sensei. He didn't look angry ... but his words and his tone of voice betrayed his emotions. Disappointment. Frustration.

"I sometimes don't know what to do with you people ... how to push you people. At first I did light training, then I pushed and made it harder, and y'all couldn't take it. So I went back to light training. How to motivate you? A good example is some of you telling me you're going to your church camp. You are representing your state here. All the people of Sarawak ... and you tell me you want to go to a church camp last minute?! Take representing your state seriously ... I understand about studies and exams. I've already given you much leeway in that aspect. But when you're free don't go out for birthday parties, go dating your girlfriends (and here he gestured at the GF group), or having a good time! Studies first, that I grant. Judo second. Everything else later.

"Now you look at the Malaccan group. They are not as good as you are technically. Physically they are not stronger than the sports schools, and to top that off the sports schools play a very strange form of Judo. They don't have the facilities, and they're even banned from participating in the Nationals because of a political problem. And yet ... did you see how many of the sports school people that were taken out by the Malaccans?! They just refused to give up! That match between Nurul and that Malaccan green belter ... do you know who Nurul is?! She is a National Champion, for goodness sakes! The match was impossible! And that 15 year old green belter, what is she?"

"Nothing." mumbled Max.

"Exactly! Nothing! And she refused to give up! And eventually Nurul started to slow down and that 15 year old attacked, and - whup!" He didn't need to say any more. All of us could still remember the throw - a fast standing seoinage, perfectly executed to the right. It was breathtaking ... beautiful.

"So ..." He paused and looked at each of us, one by one. "I come to Sarawak expecting to bring up a pool of strong athletes. And then I find out that the men here ... are women! Some of you did worst than the girls! You girlfriends over there, I don't know who is with who, the boys you are dating here are not men ... they are women!" Sensei chuckled to himself, and some of the judoka secreted a sideways look at Gan. His girlfriend was sitting two rows behind him.

"Joking aside," Sensei said, " Why are the Malaccans better? Why are they tougher, so spirited? Is it because their parents pamper them less? Why? Why? Keep asking yourself that."

He paused here, letting us mull over the question. The shadows were growing long by then, and the lights to the multipurpose hall was off. Dank and grey - a perfect complement to our mood.

When Sensei started again he was on a new tack. "Back in Penang my instructors told me there are two kinds of Judo players: the normal, average Judoka, and The Fighter. The Fighter never gives up. Even with the odds all stacked up against him he just keeps on going at it. This Fighter, when he fights, he fights to the death. I've never seen a Fighter cry when they got injured. I really dislike it when I see somebody crying when they sprain an ankle or tear a ligament or what. Real fighters don't do that. Normal Judoka okay la ... understandable ...

"Even the Senseis I had in Japan made the same distinction. Two kinds of Judo player. And this is something I have only begun to understand recently.

"Oh, and do you know that if you can feel pain in a match something is wrong? When you're really fighting, you're so pumped up you don't even know what happened to you. I remember one tournament where I injured my ankle. I didn't even feel anything! I finished the match and then only when I stepped out of the arena I collapsed. And then I was wondering what is wrong with my legs? And I looked down and it was -" Here he curved his hands over his ankle to indicate the seriousness of the swelling "- that big. So they pulled me out and sent me to the hospital and I had to rest for 6 months.

"You need to be so pumped up that you can't feel pain. And The Fighter knows when his confidence is slipping, and he pumps it up when that happens. There are actually people that can maintain that same level of confidence no matter what. And you can't!

"Christina, when you were fighting that first match, you gave up so fast. She was just pushing you away ... all you had to do was to take that arm out, and keep doing it! Instead you slowly gave up on taking the arm out, and the match was hers.

"Cedric, when you entered that match with the Under-15 boy your spirit was very strong ... even higher than the boy, in fact. But then as the match dragged on and your techniques failed, then your spirit dropped, dropped, until it was the same level as his. And the match went from your hands and into his!

"Heng Lim, Enoch ... same goes for you. You started off at around the same level, but then as the match went on one of you rose and one fell. So Heng Lim won.

"Are any of you Fighters? I can see some of you can be, and also some that just isn't made out for this. And this applies to every sport, not just Judo. Badminton ... ah badminton."

Badminton

"When was it that Rexy Manaiky wanted to quit coaching that Malaysian doubles pair - was it last year?"

"This year," I said, quietly. The irony of my reply struck me: if it hadn't been for UGS and all the badminton freaks there I wouldn't have heard of this. And the last person I expected to talk about badminton and Judo in the same sentence was Sensei. Sensei, of all people!

"Well, Rexy is my friend. He's Indonesian, and we went to the SEA games together. And he said Malaysians have no fighting spirit. Oh, when it's easy the Malaysians are happy. But you stretch the badminton match a little bit and they give up. And all the other countries walk all over us. What is wrong with Malaysian culture? Why do we keep on producing such weak people? Is it because your parents pamper you so much?"

Sensei shrugged. "In Japan you can probably find 3 Fighters in every 10 people. And in Malaysia? Probably only 1."

Spirit

I don't remember all the things he talked about. But Sensei closed with this:

"Have you heard of Talent Scouting? No? We have this in Malaysia: those people will go from school to school and they will measure your arms, your legs ... they will go 'oh, this boy is tall, he'll be good for basketball' and 'oh, this boy has strong legs, he'll be good for athletics' and 'oh that boy has strong arms, he'll be good for shotput. And come a few months they'll take this boy and place him for shotput, and take this boy for athletics ... and take that boy for basketball.

"So this German consultant came and he told us that this wasn't 100%. It wasn't effective. There is one element we cannot measure. So he told us to send the boy for competition, and watch him. If he wins, don't need to watch. He's happy, everyone's happy. If he loses, however, now is the time to watch closely. Do you get a knock on your door the next day, that boy at your doorstep telling you he wants to train harder? If you do you've found yourself talent."

By then the gold slits of sunlight were long, and the caretaker of the school was impatiently jangling his keys. Sensei looked around the semicircle again. All of us here had represented Sarawak today, and most of us here were guilty in one way or another of not giving our best. We were upset, and we were tired.

Sensei took a deep breath. "Are there fighters in Sarawak? I need to know, because we need them. I need tough people. This doesn't mean you have to be muscular. You can be like Max, who has more fat than muscle. The toughness I mean is up here ..." And he tapped his forehead.

"That is something you can keep all your life, because - face it - real life is a lot tougher than a Judo match."

We went over the minor details of the day again, that the Junior Circuit in Terengganu wasn't confirmed, that there would be no joint training on Monday because Malacca wanted to go shopping (hah! he said, look at our Malaysian spirit!).

And then we got up and we left, and the hall was empty in its darkness.

Under 15 Team Competition (Piala Presiden 1)

When I got to Chung Hwa No.1 Sarawak was already involved in the messy affair of losing. They told me Chong was thrown as he tried to get up, and the ref didn't do anything about it. Chong is one of the first Under-15s to have joined Sarawak Judo. He has a wicked Seoinage like you won't believe, only he had no chance to use it.

I sighed.

Both Sarawak teams were up against Malaccan Central judokas. They had cute girls like you won't believe really good spirit. One Malaccan ah mah was in the front all the way through, yelling at her boys.

Rough translation from Mandarin: "You wait fiiiirst! Wait fiiiiirst then enter! Don't simply waste energyyyyy!!!"


Our judokas were better. Stronger. Faster. I know that from personal experience - having sparred with the U-15s. But the Malaccan judokas made up with their sheer spirit. They had a drive to win, and you could tell that from the look on their faces as they stepped onto the mat.


One in particular looked like a gangster out of control.

Charlton was glowering by the time that match ended. "That green belter play like c**** wan. You know before, my leg injured, their coach come and say 'No worry, you'll be alright.' Then when we play, he tell them to kick my leg. And they keep on sasai that leg only!"

"Hey, you didn't do so bad wad ... there was one part in the match where you went into guard position -"

"I know! He press down on my leg then lah!" Charlton spat. "You think I care so much? I don't care shido or disqualify, I feel like letting go and punching him in the face ..."



The Malaccans won, of course. There was one match where it was Malaccans vs Malaccans, and one side completely ipponed the other. For points. Which was really smart of them.

"What are they doing? Practicing how to fall, izzit?" Frankie said. He collected his team's forms from the official table, laughed, and went off with his back to the mat.


Whatever it was that happened you had to give the Malaccans some respect. They played well - rather defensive, but when they saw the opportunity they went in for it. And their spirit was astounding. The tiny ones didn't even flinch when they had to go up against a Sarawakian Goliath. (That was Brendan, if you're wondering, who can throw even me. Whoosh.)

And us Sarawakians weren't completely bad. After losing the first round they went up and pulled off a number of fantastic throws. Ali did a nice Uchimata, and Chong did two beautiful Seoinages (one of them in the video below):



We gathered in the Chung Hwa dojo for the weighing-in ceremony for tomorrow's match. Sensei came in and sat us down in a circle, and he spoke.


"When I saw some of you laughing out there on the mat, I felt like crying."

As he continued we grew quiet. We looked at the floor, wiggled our toes.

"When I first saw Douglas, Chong and Ali, I thought to myself: 'Ahh. In a few years time this will be the people who will clean all the medals.' Back then if I saw potential I would train them. Try to turn you people in champions. Now? Now if you come I'm already very happy."

Tang and I shot glances at each other. As first gen under Sensei we knew what he was talking about, and it wasn't nice to hear.

"Back in my time it was a big thing to represent your state. A huge responsibility. Now it seems Church Camp is more attractive, even when you've already signed up for the Piala."

"Church Camp got pretty girl." said Max.

We sighed in unison.

The Thomians, plus Tim, Benjamin and Brendan

Tomorrow is the senior's turn, and we intend to do our very best.

Collapse collapse

In three days I will be fighting national players in the Piala Presiden. To say I am scared is an understatement. They are Mongolian style players; we are Jap style. They are very strong. Malcolm has to lose 1 kg in that time, Tim has to rest his injured neck muscles, and I have to stop thinking so much.

Purple

It's a good thing I haven't been going everyday for the past two weeks - Sensei has been on a weight loss regiment for all those near the lower boundaries of their weight categories. Not that I might need it anytime soon: my new judogi is a sauna, and I frequently throw it off during training. It is bloody uncomfortable, bloody hot.

Red

The under-15s will be playing this Saturday. For them it is a team event. I've a feeling I'll be going to watch and get a feel for our opponent's technical range. Sensei says they'll be slower than us, but this is made up for by their immense strength. They are sports school boys, and they train everyday.

Yellow

It's at Chung Hwa No.1. If you want to see the Sarawakians get thrown us playing, come on Sunday. 9 a.m. Note to self: Lose the defeatist thinking, you idiot.

Blue

I am afraid.

Green

Did I mention that? I think I did.

I am afraid.

PS: Fitting, isn't it, that of all the colours kodokangear could pick for their shirts, Osotogari is green. Fate, I tell you, fate.

Spirit Or Stupidity

My last conscious thought was "Thank God it's not Osaekomi."

And then there was a bright rush of colour and an absence of sound, and I was free and it was peaceful and I was not on a mat. I was flying: that was it ... that was the only explanation. There was a bright light; heck, there were lots of bright lights, and then the images started, flashing sepia and beautiful. Most were too quick for me to snatch and hold, to remember, but there were a few: one was a ferris wheel, swinging in reverse; and then a city at night, from above; and feet ... moving feet, to and fro. To and fro. Sensei's face broke in. To and fro. What is he doing here? To and fro, interrupting my peacefulness? To and fro.

I was brought up to my feet, my vision of the dojo swimming. The green was too green, Max was too round, the voices rushing back into my head.

"What happened?" I croaked. My throat felt raw. It hurt. I realized the match wasn't over, that in all probability I would need to fight again. My shoulders tensed ...

"He choked you. You blacked out."

... and relaxed. I had lost. Lost, and gotten a hell of an experience in the process.

Stumble, stumble, back onto the floor, the solid, solid ground, and then Tay was next to me, one of those rare times I've seen him worried, his voice gentle: "Are you okay? Your face blue."

I waved him away, ("Okay, okay.") the pain in my back excruciating.

Opinion on what happened was split two ways: people like Tang and Tim (who choked me) thought my spirit was amazing, that I didn't want to give up in the middle of a choke. Others like Frankie and Vivienne thought I was stupid - "Kenapa tidak tap out?"

And you know what? I don't know which one I was. Maybe I was strong, never wanting to give up, wanting to win. But the truth was that it felt more like I was stupid. Pick up and move on.

The pictures in my head, though, were quite something. A ferris wheel in reverse? Something is miswired up there, I swear.

The PLPB Open (Psst: I Got The Shirt!)

I lost my first match.

It happened so quickly: one moment I was upright and taking an inside grip, the next I was on the ground and staring up at the ceiling and hearing Sensei call out ippon!

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

Forgive me this swearing.

Shit.


Let's take a look at it before continuing any further:



The throw Gan pulled off on me was an Osotogari. My throw. I can handle losing, I can handle doing my best against a left hander (left handers always have the advantage in Judo), and coming out second. What I cannot handle is being thrown by a throw I know inside out.

Alright lah, not inside out. But a judoka takes pride in his specialty, and we don't usually like been thrown with the one throw we feel is ours. Logical, correct or not? You've practiced that one technique over and over again for two years, and slowly you'll get to know everything about it: the possible combos, counters, how to pull it off, and how to stop it.

I was beyond pissed.

I sat down next to Malcolm, simmering in this pot of self hate. And he turned to me and said something that changed me; changed my view of the entire competition.

"I think you think too much. In the match. Stop thinking."

Click. A row of windows aligning themselves in my head. I look out from one end and there is light somewhere beyond, and I examine these windows one by one.

The first is Malcolm's words, but they are already echoing in my head, and I understand them.

The next is Jasper telling me not to respect my opponent. That the laughter and friendship kicks in only after a match, and to hell with them while you're in the middle of a competition.

Gary talking: "In Judo competition anything can happen, no matter how good you are. This is just the way it is. Split second and bam."

And the last window, where I decide for myself that I want something from this competition. And that whoever gets in between me and that prize will have to pay the sorry consequences.

Then these thoughts clear themselves away from my head, and I spend the rest of the competition not thinking at all.

My sister calls this picture sen. I was not responding to conversation.

I lost my first match, and so I am entered into something called Repercharge. If the person you lost to reaches the semis you'd be entered into something called the Loser's Pool (hate the name) with the ultimate aim of third place. Any loss along the way means elimination.

It was obvious that I could not afford to lose any of the matches I was going to play.

My first repercharge match was against Vyneriddo. I threw him in a minute or so with a perfect Osotogari, though I had to make two tries at it. I was pumped up, my movements were fluid, and I was keeping my mind empty.

But my heart fell when I saw who I was up against next. It was Enoch, the same guy who had defeated me with a koka in the State Selections. My Osotogari had a curious history of failing around him - he was taller, and he was heavier, and damn his legs were long.

Here's what happened:



An explanation: that was an Osotogari, which was overdone and made him fall on the back of his neck. I scored only a yuko for it, and then he attempted an armlock. A few seconds after this video ends I threw him again, this time with an Osoto-makikomi. I then dragged out the match, messing with his shoulders (and quickly losing whatever stamina I had) for 4 whole minutes.

I won with two yuko. Enoch didn't manage to score.

And the worst was over. It was with a cruel sense of irony that I fought Tay for third place, since he was doing wonderfully outside the Losers' Pool. Tay insists he was lucky to go that far, but I disagree. No amount of luck could've helped him if he hadn't been training for the past few months.

Here's our match, all 22 seconds of it, ending with an Osotogari:



And that was that. I got 3rd, Tay got 4th (woohoo for St Thomas'!). Tim got 1st, Aby got 2nd, Jerom got the other 3rd position, under me in Repercharge rankings, and Gan got 5th.

Oh, and one last thing:

The dojo is in that happy state of chaos after a competition, and I head for Sensei, catching him before another official asks for his help.

"Sensei!" I say, grinning.

"Yes?"

I take a deep breath. "Now, about that shirt ..."

I Want. That. Shirt.

I have my eye on the orange Osotogari shirt for the entire duration of the Piala Pengarah. It is my throw, and my longing for it is entirely understandable.

Steffi, another Osotogari specialist, is very happy to get hers ("Eep! Osotogari ahh? I want!"). Horng Eng sticks her tongue out at me throughout the entire competition, flaunting it.

You see, all officials get the Osotogari shirt free. But I am a competitor, I couldn't get it free, and I wanted it so badly.

"Sensei, can I have that shirt?" Pointing at the officials table, all decked in orange.

He has that familiar twinkle in his eye as he replies.

"Now, what I'm going to do is to print some extras, and keep them."

I groan inwardly. This is exactly what I don't want to hear.

He continues: "Ahh. Now you train hard, and in the next few competitions if you do well I'll give you one. Got many chances for you to prove yourself wad. The PLPB Open, The President's Cup ... where the Perak judoka will be invited again ..."

And this time the groan escapes my lips, curling in the air. Trust Sensei to come up with something to push me harder, a carrot slowly revolving above me. Upwards.

That shirt belongs to me. I want it.

And the PLPB Open is tomorrow.

Constipation Pushups

We are together in a circle, at the end of a training session. 20+ judokas, all sweating and tired and to some degree ready to crash. "Pushups!" Sensei shouted, "We go in a circle, with Anderson counting 10, and then Shahirah, and then Cedric, and Chong, and so on. 100 pushups!"

Shahirah did some quick maths. "Setiap orang 10 ... kami berhenti dengan Sensei la!"

I looked around and counted 10 people. Yes. The 90th to the 100th was Sensei's. Anderson started counting.

Judo pushups aren't like the normal ones you get in BB, or the very laughable ones the girls in GB do. They develop the glutes and broaden the shoulders, and they are the reason all judokas have well defined upper bodies.

But whatever. So there we were, doing pushups, when Gan starts making this odd urhh urhh urhh sounds. They got louder and louder, and by the time we reached the 50s it was sounding very much like an old man with constipation.

"Oi!" Sensei shouted. "We see you people in Waterfront ... acting so macho with your girlfriend ... and then you come here and what do you get?"

"Siapa?" Shahirah asked. I jerked my head in Gan's direction - we usually saw him and his girlfriend in Judo competitions. She supporting him, of course.

Shahirah collapsed in laughter.

By the 60s I found it difficult to lift my arms above my head. By the 80s they didn't feel like arms. Wooden blocks, probably. Gan's cries grew louder and louder with every push.

Finally Sensei! The last 10! Oh my kingdom for the end of this torture! I swear I could hear the angels singing!

"1! 2! 3! 4! 5! Eh?" Sensei paused. "What number already? Forgot! Nevermind ... 1! 2! 3! 4! 5! ...!"

And Gan's constipation cries now had a defeated edge to them.

The PLPB Novice

First competitions can be scary things. Scarier even, than first trips to the dentist. Think back. Your very first dentist trip was when you didn't know what to expect. Perhaps it was the smell that warned you, or the description of a dentist (a tooth doctor ... doctors do painful things, don't they?). It is the 2nd trip that you start to cringe and cry and hold on to your seat, to lengthen the simple act of getting out of your car and walking, knowing soon you will be seated with nothing to save you from the metallic taste of pain.

But no.

Competitions are different.

Competitions test your mettle, they whittle you down to your core. Who are you, really? How will you handle the stress, the fear, the different kind of pain of disappointment? How will you interact with your fellow competitors, the friends who are not your friends? They wish you the best and then attack you.

The mental struggle is delightful. And frightening.

I saw all of this at the morning of the PLPB novice. Nobody said it out loud, of course, but the tension was there. It is electric, hidden behind friendly faces and illustrated in the tiny changes to the competitors. Soft people are softer. Loud people are louder. They all joke, become quiet, joke again.

The red and white belts help differentiate competitors in the heat of a match.

Beautiful morning, really. Tay picked Gary up, then came over to pick me. The sky was a brilliant blue. We stopped by the dojo to wait for the rest - we were going to PLPB via carpool and most of us had not the foggiest where that was.

Charlton looking sexy.

I followed Malcolm. That turned out to be a big mistake.

Malcolm the transporter. Not.

We squeezed into his car, playing with handphones, and I felt an odd, uncomfortable sensation as Malcolm zipped out of the parking lot. It wasn't that he was not competent - he kept close to the Isuzu Bighorn leading the way, and nipped in and out of lanes with the confidence of a chimpanzee crashing through the rainforest.

Then we hit the highway, and Tay overtook us, and Malcolm hit 90. We passed the new bridge, paid the toll, and he let out a raucous peal of laughter as he overtook Tay again. The laughter was free. Crazy. And was usually followed with a firm foot on the accelerator.

Hunting Tay down.

Oh. My. God. We did not travel at speeds slower than 70 after that.

WAKAKAKA!

Wobbly knees after we reached the campus.

Red tatami. Nice, yes?

Tay, Gary and the rest of the competitors changed into gis. I taped the referee's seats, and then was resigned to the role of photographer. With a big, fat DSLR. Oohlala.

Gary and Tay warming up.

No, seriously.

Honest!

Urgh.

Oh, and this is Tim. He's only been playing for only 4 months, and he can already throw me. I suspect that it has something to do with the fact that he is a left hander (and I can't fight left very well), but he trains. A lot. We expect him to win the whole competition off the bat.

Tim. Uchimata.

Tay's first match was cacated. He didn't dare to attack, and I knew the things going through his head, though that fear was a matter that he will have to overcome by himself. His footsweeps were static (which means they have no chance of working), and he didn't dare to reach out in any big throw apart from Taiotoshi (which is the hardest to pull off, really). But I think he did pretty well, considering. I'd performed far worse than him in my first competition.

I probably looked like this (the flying guy) back then.

Gary Tay had previous competition experience (Sarawak wushu), and this helped. The first match saw him like this:

Gary was the one flying. A beautiful, beautiful Osotogari.

But he won his second with an Osotogari counter. The Thomians cheered for him, and Tim in particular helped by yelling out advice from the sidelines.

Tim was the one that surprised all of us. He defeated Tay in the first match with a clean kosotogari, won the second by a pin, and then lost the third to a white belter. I hit the shutter the precise second Tim fell - too late. I got a picture of him on the ground. It was deashibarai! A footsweep so fast most of us only saw the results of the throw, and not the throw itself.

Deashibarai is a timing throw. You sweep one of your uke's feet from the outside, as he is coming foward, and then he falls down upon himself. It is very, very hard to do that against an opponent of equal ability. And a white belter! God!

Tim won in the end, of course. But by a very narrow margin. Gary got 2nd place in the lightweights. And the girls? Heh. There were only 3 of them, so everyone walked back with a prize. Ern Chee at 1st, Siat Ying at 2nd, June at 3rd. They banged their heads while fighting. The dojo erupted into hearty laughter. Sensei closed, I took pictures, everyone was glad it was over. The guys changed out of their gis, talking and pushing each other around. We told Malcolm he blew the ending whistle like a sissy. He told us he was falling asleep. And we all ganged up on Tim and shook our heads and made tutting noises.

Too soon the trip back: into the car with Malcolm, and the horror again.