By Robert Hentschel
The noise of traffic recedes as I descend the stairs towards the door of the small hall that serves as a judo dojo. I bow at the doorstep and enter, being careful not to walk on the mats that have been laid out – green in the centre and red on the outside.
I exchange greetings with some of the other students and change into my gi – the traditional uniform worn by judoka (judo practitioners), which consists of white pants, white jacket and a belt whose colour designates the wearer’s rank.
Beginning students wear a white belt and progress through different colour belts until they are deemed to have achieved a level of competence sufficient to be a dan grade. Then they wear the black belt.
“Line up,” calls out sensei Peter Williams, the head instructor. We move quickly on to the mats, lining up in order of rank.
“Sensei Ni. Rei.” We bow towards the instructors.
“Shomen Ni. Rei.” We bow towards the front of the hall, where a photo of Kano Jigaro, the founder of judo, stands.
“Otaga Ni. Rei.” We bow symbolically towards one another.
“Onegaishimasu,” we all say together, by way of formal greeting and setting a respectful tone for the class.
We start with warm-ups before moving on to practising breakfalls.
“Forward shoulder rolls, terminating down,” says Wayne Varndell, the dojo’s senior student, who assists with instructing.
I launch myself into a roll, the world spinning around me, and slap the mat with my left hand as my feet hit the floor.
“Robert, straighten your left leg more as you come out of the roll, and finish more on your side,” says Wayne.
“Okay,” I say as I go on to practise more breakfalls.
“Newaza,” (ground techniques) calls out Peter, and we kneel, forming two lines facing each other.
“Seiza. Rei.” We move into the formal kneeling position, right foot over left, and bow to our opposite number.
“Hajime.” Begin.
The tempo picks up as we spar, applying various chokes, arm locks and counters. The hall is filled with the sounds of panting and straining.
“Mate.” Stop.
“Back into your lines.”
“Seiza. Rei.”
“Mimi and Michael with Wayne, John and Robert with me, and everyone else with Ross,” says Peter.
It’s time for John and I to prepare for our grading.
Founded by Kano Jigaro in 1882, judo is a martial art, combat sport and Olympic sport. But it is more than that.
“Judo in reality is not a mere sport or game. I regard it as a principle of life, art and science. In fact, it is a means for personal cultural attainment,” Kano said.
Judo gradings assess technical ability, understanding of judo principles, and personal development. The judoka is required to execute throws, holds, and groundwork; demonstrate practical application through free sparing (randori); and exhibit an understanding of judo terminology, rules, and philosophy.
Those seeking promotion to first dan (shodan) black belt have the option of grading via participation in a special competition – the batsugan. This is the path that a teenaged Wayne Varndell chose.
To pass he had to fight 10 judoka of the same or more senior rank and win each fight by an ippon – scored for a throw, a pin, a choke or a joint lock. There would be no weight categories and no rest between fights.
Prior to the batsugan gradings, Tony Reay, former secretary of the British Judo Association, made his way to the centre of the room and, with deadly seriousness, explained to everyone the significance of the upcoming competitions.
“This represents a different path. This represents a series of challenges which one person must pass. One. If they falter, they fail. It is over. So do not make a sound. Do not cheer. Because the next person on might be the next person coming off. Every challenge gets harder.” Such was his gravity that the room became deadly quiet.
Varndell’s strategy was to survive the first two-and-a-half minutes of each three-minute round and then go as hard as he possibly could for the last 30 seconds.
His first bout began. He was shocked when he heard “ippon” announced. He didn’t remember throwing his opponent but must have done something to have the ippon called. “Was that really me?” he thought.
There was no time to dwell on it. He bowed to his opponent and moved on to the next.
A feeling of impending doom started to creep over him. “I’m going to fail. What the hell am I doing here?”
Fighting to stay ahead of the feelings that were hounding him, he won his second and third bouts by taking his opponents to the ground using O-soto-gake (Major outer hook throw) and finishing them with strangles.
Now he tried to think a bit more strategically. He was tired, and some of his opponents were massive.
“I have to bring out some of the big throws,” he thought. “I have to make them move.”
He won the fourth bout because his opponent threw up and was medically disqualified.
On to the fifth bout. The size and weight of his opponents were going up – or at least it felt that way. The fatigue was really setting in, and his grips were starting to become more unco-ordinated.
The following bouts were a blur.
His seventh opponent threw him around like a rag doll, setting him up for an Uchi-mata (Inner thigh reaping throw). Countering it, Wayne managed to get one foot on the ground and shoot it between his opponent’s legs, even as his opponent was already bent far forward and had him on his hips. Varndell wrenched back and managed to take his opponent backwards with an Ura-nage rear sacrifice throw.
His next opponent tried a Hiza-guruma (Knee wheel throw) but didn’t manage to connect his foot to Wayne’s knee. Varndell brought his leg up and managed to haul his opponent over for a Tomoe-nage (Stomach throw), then flipped and got on top of him to pin him down for the win.
Wayne’s mind was racing as his final opponent walked towards him … and then he noticed something. “Why are your feet coming up?” he thought. “Why are you walking and not sliding?”
He went in and faked a Morote-seoinage (Two-handed shoulder throw), as an entry for a Ko-uchi-makikome (Small inner reaping throw). It was over in seconds, and resulted in a clear ippon for Varndell. He looked at Neil Adams, his sensei and two-time Olympic silver medallist, and saw a look of disappointment on his face. “Did I do something wrong?” he thought.
Wayne and his opponent got up, returned to their positions and bowed to each other. The batsugan was over.
Belts were awarded. Adams had a frown on his face as he came up to Varndell, put the black belt around his waist and said: “In recognition of your achievement by British Judo standards, I award you your shodan.”
He was still scowling as he said to Wayne: “I couldn’t get that bloody throw to work. But you made it look easy.”
Featured image: Australian judoka Anthony Clarke performing Uchi-mata (Inner thigh reaping throw) at the 1996 Atlanta Paralympic Games. Photo: Australian Paralympic Committee/CC/Wikimedia Commons
