T.T. Binkley's Diary

April 2002

Somewhere in the South of France

In sooth I know not why I am so sad: it wearies me....

Reflecting on these words of the Bard and my 40 years of karate experience (I should say 30 if only to sound younger) it does indeed weary me to see the state of karate tournaments today with their layers of rules and officious judges who lord it up and down the shiai areas with such a lack of presence they must make up for it by being rude to anyone who questions the reasons why a kick is always worth more than a punch and one to the face more than one to the body. I squirmed in my seat as I forced myself to sit through 2 such tournaments recently both in the States and here in Europe in the name of research.

I am referring, of course, to the WUKO (ohh, alright, the WKF) way of doing things and their Westernization of karate as they choose to present it to the masses and, perhaps more importantly for them, the Olympic committee. It's the classic lowest common denominator theory. Why should I say that? Because, their logic says that each one of us must have exactly the same chance to understand and appraise all that confronts us whether or not that person is an expert or otherwise. I don't claim to be an expert in anything especially but I know a darn sight more about a karate match than the average mother or father who is now allowed to win any argument against me because what they saw from their boy was a kick to the head and therefore worth thrice-fold the jodan-zuki of the other lad. Never mind that the kick was delivered off balance with the big toe barely grazing (at an iffy angle at that) the top of the opponent's forehead and that the punch was straight smack on the chin with all the other hip and speed elements spot on: one gets three points and the other just one. I am now defeated by their rulebook and left speechless by its omnipotence. When talking to a powerful advocate of this system, who shall remain nameless, I am told that these rules allow even a poorly skilled referee to be able to judge a match competently. Not very inspiring, is it?

The reason this wearies me so is that in the old days there was infinitely more dignity to each shobu. Now in the WKF you have one of 3 scenarios: (i) The opponents are both talented and evenly matched and so the match goes on ad nauseum with both fighters winning point after point and gaining a similar number of injuries; (ii) one opponent is superior to the other and humiliates him by winning by 8 points; (iii) the opponents are both untalented and evenly matched and the matches become a horrible scrap-fest.

Let's turn the clock back to the JKA golden age with the same 3 cases: (i) You witness an exciting match with both competitors vying for the edge as the tension mounts (watch any Kurosawa duel) and in a breathtaking moment one of them gets the decisive blow and the match ends bursting the nail-biting edge-of-the-seat suspense; (ii) the stronger of the two moves and feints, you sense something devastating is about to happen, but the underdog, heart-pounding, always has a chance of an upset if the former isn't careful, and then... whack! The latter is put out of his misery and dumped on his backside as all the judges’ blast their whistles and the flags shoot skyward; (iii) nothings happens. You go and get a coffee.

The best of the WKF matches could certainly be called displays of athletism (the standard way to address each competitor is now "athlete") but what I would like to see is karate re-elevated back to the art form that I always thought it was.

I'll concede that we are living in the information age but does that mean we really need to be subjected in such a bland and condescending fashion to karate by numbers that we may understand it? It's like comparing the work of the guy who plastered pieces of shit over an image of the Madonna that Rudy (thank goodness) had removed from the Brooklyn Art Museum to that of Pollock. One has depth, intelligence and mystery that draws you in to discover things about yourself and our place in the universe. The other requires the brain of a peanut to understand that it's a stupid effort to represent the times.

Let us have enough respect for the art we love to give it back some mystery and grandeur so that creaky old spectators like me can once again debate whether or not Yahara did really beat Mori in '78 on pure spirit alone!