The Worst Four-letter Word

Language has been on my mind quite a bit lately.  In today's society, what we say and how we say it are at the forefront of everything we experience.  This surrounding brings a lot of important questions with it:  Are we too thin-skinned?  Maybe so.  Are we too politically correct?  Maybe so, but there's bitter irony in one person telling another not to find something hurtful or demeaning.  Do you ever recall being worked up as a child or teenager and being told to "calm down?"  Drove you crazy, didn't it?

Here's something that drives me crazy.

Let me first be clear; I don't have many issues with language, foul or otherwise.  Like the philosophical musing that defined George Carlin's career, there are words that others find troubling, so it is important to respect and honor other people's reasons.  But, in the end, words won't hurt you.

For the most part, I agree, but there is one word in life, and in karate, that will hurt you as sure as any physical barrier.

That four letter word is C-A-N-T.

I hate that word.  It has defined stages of my life when accomplishments seemed impossible, and I feel strongly that any successes I have been fortunate to experience have been in direct opposition to that detestable concept of "can't."

The big problem with the word is that it implies permanence.  "I can't keep my guard up."  "I can't get that form right."  "I can't fight as well as he does."  None of this is useful.  These sentiments are defeatist, and they run counter to the defining principles of karate.

As practitioners and teachers (and, to me, everyone who advances can be a teacher, if even just by example), we must avoid the negative in our language because as quickly as we form them, our words become the thoughts of those that hear them.  "Can't" spreads faster than smallpox.

Of course, as instructors we must be very cognizant of students' real limitations.  Failing to do so can be just plan cruel.  But, for the most part, the kinds of limitations that I'm referring to are clear if we pay close enough attention.  As for the rest, we must expect excellence, and we have to squash "can't."  "Can" lies at the very center of our ethos, and when our students inevitably face the "can't wall" and feel that there isn't hope for them in the art, that it when the lesson of "can" is most empowering.

The WYKKO's motto is "Rikki Hitatsu," "make effort and you will achieve."  It's not a conditional.  It isn't "make effort and you might achieve."  WILL achieve.  WILL triumph.  WILL be fulfilled in this great discipline.  To define OSU again:  "PUSH ahead; NEVER give up."

I don't have take much stock in absolutes, but I am all about "never give up."

We live in a time where quitting is seen almost as a human right.  What I mean is this:  someone who doesn't feel like achieving can simply quit and shut away from scrutiny.  This isn't new.  Ever since the acquisition of skills became recreation rather than avocation, we've been bombarded with the idea that something must be fun all the time.  Karate is not fun all of the time.  I find there are days when the last thing I want to do is suit-up and come to class.  I do, however, because if I don't, then I deprive my students of the choice to come to class and achieve.  Without exception, after about ten minutes in class, I'm pumped up and enjoying myself just like practically every other class I've attended.

Before the Glory comes the Grunge.  And "can't" has no place in our Association of Continued Improvement.

OSU!

Winning Well, and Losing Better: Thoughts on Sportsmanship

I hear again and again that respect is something that must be earned.  "You don't just give it...blah, blah, blah...otherwise you're going to be a doormat your entire life."  I'm hearing it more and more in the social/cultural zeitgeist, and I just don't agree.

 Those worthy of real respect give it freely to all.  The only respect I have to truly earn is self-respect, and that is a process I have to learn every day.

Lately, I've been to several competitions and watched even more streamed online or on television.  I'm struck by the characters on display when it comes to the act of winning and losing.  I saw it a few months ago when Cam Newton, a local hero was praised weekly for marquis theatrics on winning, and then flayed by the same audience when he couldn't bring that same smile to the loss of the big, big game.

It's a simple matter of sportsmanship.  Both public responses were his fault...and ours, too.

We seem to live in a society now that insists that "winners win and losers lose."  Again, I absolutely disagree.  In  any zero-sum competition, there will be a winner and there will be a loser of the contest.  Whether those players are "winners" or "losers" is entirely up to them, irrespective of how we respond.

I've seen overwhelmingly good sportsmanship in my martial arts life, but even that sanctum is now falling to more and more of our culture's sense of "winning" and "losing."  Especially in competition fighting, there will always be a winner and a loser of the individual contest.  Most of the time, especially in the two organizations of which I am a member, the contest ends in a hug and congratulations on a good fight, good form, and good competition.

When the tone of the competition moves in the other direction, it absolutely breaks my heart.  Seeing semi-taunting victory, bitter loss, arguing with judges--this is all in dissonance with everything I believe about karate.  I used to see these responses very seldom, but now I'm seeing them a good bit more.  Fortunately, in the martial arts organizations I love so much, corrective action follows those behaviors, and it is clear that they are not okay.  In many cases, these are formative lessons for younger practitioners who are, although responsible for their actions as young adults, still at an age where an emotional response to loss or a perceived injustice such as a judge's call still makes sense.

It's hard to lose.  I've lost a lot in my life, and I've won a lot, too.  Funnily enough, the losses shaped my skill set more than the victories.  After taking a very hard jumping back-spin side kick to the solar plexus (which I felt for days), I spent a lot of time thinking about ways to neutralize that position.  I haven't been hit cleanly by that technique since that important lesson.  Of course, now that I've mentioned it, I'm sure that one of my esteemed colleagues will find a way to get one of them past me, but that's part of the learning experience, too!

The ability to compete is a gift.  I spent the last month preparing for sparring and forms for traditional tournament, but I sustained a minor (but painful) knee injury two days before tournament that severely limited what I was able to do.  Next year, I'm committed to bringing some real competitive spirit to the tournament.  I might win and I might lose.  I'm not particularly concerned either way.  I'll be competing with friends who I plan to know for the next thirty or forty years, and I plan to honor their effort and achievement no matter the outcome.

That's what makes tournaments great, and I'm hoping next year will be a big one.

 
OSU!