High Life

6 June 2009

Rumble in the concrete jungle

This fight was the toughest I’ve ever had. I did all the attacking, he the countering. His foot sweeps were more low round kicks to my ankles than sweeps, and I returned them in kind. Yet the ref warned only me of unnecessary roughness. When time ran out there were no points scored. Flag time and I made the mistake to look at the lady judge first and she had raised blue. I had it. But not quite. The ref and the other judge had gone white. I had lost on a split decision to the winner, who had won all his matches by ippon, the judo version of a knockout. It was the first time in three years I had lost a match, and although losers tend to do this, I truly thought I had been screwed by the Jap’s reputation. I did all the attacking and should have got the benefit of this.

When I spoke to the lady judge afterwards she was very diplomatic about her colleagues, but admitted that reputations do count. As in real life. Politicians fiddle expenses and all they have to do is apologise. Poor people fiddle the dole and go to jail for it. At the end I got the bronze medal on the podium, as a German fighter had scored more points than me in the medal round and finished up with the silver. My coach, Teimoc Ono-Johnston, was the only other American (I was representing Uncle Sam, as Greece is to judo what Monte Carlo is to the nuclear club) to get on the podium.

So, I am no longer world champion, only a bronze medallist, the equivalent of a Kensington stock broker at Edward VII’s coronation. I have a dislocated left thumb and slight concussion from bashing heads with Tarras Bulba, but I promise loyal Speccie readers that solipsism time is finally over. You will not read about my judo and karate exploits until next year, which hopefully by then will have seen Ukip coming in as the first party and forming a government, sweeping out the Brown nosers and the rest of the crooks once and for all. Go Ukip. Go Boris Johnson. Down with judo referees except for one lady.