BaffledExperts by Adam Norman

1: Introducing judo

There are some very good judo books, but even the best (like those from the Kodokan) make a simple mistake: they explain what judo fighters should do, not what we actually do. We fight and train covered in sweat, barely able to breathe, against large, unwilling, expectant opponents. Judo in practice is much messier than in the books. In the books, half the people just stand there and get hurled while the other half do the hurling. Real judo isn’t like that. Judo hurts.

I can’t say that this is a good judo book, but it is a different judo book. Instead of showing all the throws, I’m going show the ones we use. I’m also going to try to explain the principles behind them. And, instead of skipping quickly over the wrestling phase of judo as most books do, I will spend quite a bit of time on it.

This book also focuses on the basics. Let me be straight with you: as a writer, I need to focus on the basics, simply because I’m not very good at judo myself. I’m too old and frightened to compete, and even after all these years of practice, I only have my brown belt. But don’t stop reading! Because I’m neither physically gifted nor particularly hard working, I flatter myself to believe that I am the perfect writer for a beginner’s book: I’ve been a beginner for so long that I really, really know what it’s like.

Also, I believe that the basics are hardest things to learn, and I know that many fine fighters have only an instinctive grasp of them. That’s understandable—we spend many strenuous hours to do just that, to make our actions instinctive and eliminate thought, so it would be strange if fighters didn’t grasp them instinctively. I hope, though, that I can speed up your progress in judo by being explicit about what judo fighters do.

Oddly, many people learn by doing the same thing repetitively, adapting and changing their actions only unconsciously and randomly. A judoka might try the same throw 100 times, even 500 times, before it works, and she might never know why it finally did when it hadn’t for so long. I really hope that I can help you cut out some of that slow evolution by showing you the basics and the principles of throwing, which, while they are the only things I know, I learned that hard way.

Be warned, though. This book is my book, and it reflects my thoughts. Your teacher may have other, better ideas. Your teacher should have other, better ideas. Like I said, I’m only a few steps ahead of you on this long path.

Just what is judo?

Judo only goes back to the turn of the twentieth century, so it is a fairly new martial art. Judoka (judo fighters) try to do two things:

1. Throw, trip, or otherwise knock their opponents down to the ground
2. Subdue them by dislocating a joint or by strangling them.

Doesn’t that sound like fun?

We have several dozen throws; some are rather gentle, and some are quite deadly. Sometimes we throw our opponents over our shoulders, sometimes onto their bums. Sometimes we throw ourselves and drag our opponents after, so that we end up in a superior position or land on top of them, crushing their ribs. Judo fighters have spent more than a century figuring throwing out, so we’ve got it more or less down pat.

Still, we have a backup plan. If a throw is not perfectly executed, the fight continues on the ground. While this wrestling (called newaza) is less interesting to the average spectator, it happens to be my favourite part. From the outside, there is much apparently pointless rolling until someone gets pinned and the fight ends. But from inside the fight, it is entirely different thing. It is inches and angles. And when a fight on the ground goes well, it is completely decisive: the winner ends in a position from which she can easily kill or maim her opponent.

So, seriously, doesn’t this sound like fun?

This is, alas, a brief description, and I’ve made judo sound more nasty than it is. Like most other martial arts (and like most sports), judo has evolved a code of conduct. Good judoka try very hard to protect each other. While it is a combat sport, judo is only about as dangerous as hockey or soccer.[1]   Judo is so safe that many people practice it solely for fun and never expect to use it for fighting.

Other people, though (and I am one of them) practice judo to learn about self defense. Because we do not allow strikes, judoka can practice at full speed and full power without pads. I’ve never fought outside a dojo (and I sincerely hope I never do), but I suspect that this fairly rough and tumble practice has made me a little bit tougher than the average fellow. Certainly, I’m a big softie, and any practiced fighter could kill me. But I have strangled people hundreds—no, thousands—of times, and I fancy myself quite good at it. I could at least strangle better than the average person if I had to.

Still, sport and self defense are only two of many reasons to take up judo. Judo unites the intellectual and the physical. It is about comradeship and competition. It is a vent for frustration and a way to make friends. It is (poor) exercise.

Judo for me is the single greatest joy outside my home. It is hard to tell from off the mat just how much fun it is to defeat someone, or even to be defeated. It seems absurd, even masochistic, and I know it is hard to imagine, but it really is fun to fight. It’s really, really fun. An outsider cannot see the strategy, strength, training—and luck—that separate victory from defeat. Nor can an outsider see the camaraderie and companionship that even opponents have. Every Wednesday and Friday I quite literally place my life in my friends’ hands. They could kill me, maim me, or even just hurt me, and they never do. Judo builds bonds of trust like this.

If you are looking for a place to meet people, you could do worse than your local dojo. If you are looking to stretch your muscles and learn something new, judo is great. If you want a place to tucker out the kids, take them. And, of course, if you want to learn how to kill a man with your bare hands, well, that’s something we can teach you.

So let’s get this out of the way: Judo has a dark side. At its root, it is fighting. I’m an English and philosophy teacher. I am a peaceful person. I have a white collar job, a small pot belly, and slightly-longer-than-acceptable hair. I have no criminal record and no tattoos; I don’t even drive fast. And yet I still want to know how to kill. I want to know how to take a person’s back, sink my hooks in and wait patiently and securely until he gets exhausted or makes a mistake. I want to be fearsome. And this is why I study judo.

It is possible to hold two contradictory ideas: that violence is terrible and that one should know about it. I study judo because I want to know how to kill—and yet I would never, ever, ever use violence to get my way. I know, too, that I will never have to defend myself; I live in a nice neighbourhood in the safest city in North America. And I know that, if I were truly worried, I would be much better off with a can of pepper spray or a cell phone than with my meagre judo skills... but still, I want to know how to kill.

I have spent time trying to rationalize this: judo is a last-ditch skill, in case I get sent to prison. I learn it to protect my family in the middle of the night. Judo is so that I, among few others, can be good and fight evil when I see it.

And I know very well how stupid this sounds.

So there it is. Many other respected sports are merely stylized expressions of the same urge to dominate—polo resembles mounted combat, football the clashing of armoured warriors, and even chess is war writ small. Judo too is about conflict; it is about much else besides.

I suppose you should be comfortable with judo’s heart, though, before you go much further.

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