Bodies Hit the Floor: A Look at the
Randori Nationals
By Tim Dubbelman
Jiu Jitsu is all about control. It's
about getting out of fights. It's about grace, balance, flow. And
then sometimes, Jiu Jitsu is about pushing people over and lying on
their stomachs. It’s Valentine’s weekend I am at the Randori
Nationals at Northampton's Benham Sports Centre, a proving ground for
over 40 Jiu Jitsu clubs around the United Kingdom.
[The Randori competitions are a series of fights, split into three groups. The first group, gatamae-waza, concerns groundwork, two competitors fighting from kneeling on the ground. The aim is to push your opponent to the mat and pin them so they are unable to escape; if you pin them for twenty seconds you score an “ippon” which wins the match.
The second group is the nage-waza
competition, a high-energy fight for green belts and above. The two
competitors fight from standing and the aim is to throw each other
to the ground; two properly-executed throws win the bout. Since your
opponent is trying to do the same to you, however, it's more
difficult than it sounds.
The third group is the open
competition, which starts similar to nage-waza but involves
groundwork once one fighter is thrown to the mat. If a throw is not
properly executed but still floors an opponent the aim becomes to
pin them.]
I am there with the rest of my club,
Coventry University Jitsu Society: another novice, two yellow belts,
two green belts and a light blue. When we get there it’s like some
strange nature documentary, the rhythmic pounding of hundreds of feet
on the mats akin to a stampede of buffalo. The sensei stands in the
middle barking orders. “Change direction!” he yells; the response
ripples out from the middle as everyone turns around to run
anti-clockwise. “Faster!” he orders; everyone pounds their feet a
little harder, finding a burst of speed from somewhere. We’re a
little late, so we join in and hoped nobody notices our sudden
appearance.
When the warm-up is done we’re split
into our grades – standing at one end of the mat, the white belts,
and at the other end the browns and blacks; in between, a rainbow of
colours from yellow through to blue. Two senseis command the novices,
telling us to gather round before sorting us into lines to practise
breakfalls. Breakfalls and wrist locks – it’s like starting all
over again, and that’s not a bad thing. It’s been a while since I
last had to put on a wrist lock; the practise does me good, and the
technique comes flooding back into my memory. After half an hour of
basic Jitsu techniques we gather around another sensei, everyone this
time, to learn some groundwork techniques. The first thing we learn
is Mune-gatame, a simple pin which, done well, can be
incredibly difficult to escape from. We partner up and practise the
technique before moving onto Kesa-gatame. After practising
these mat holds we break for lunch. The green belts and above stay on
the mat, learning their techniques for the nage-waza competition.
When we get back it’s time for the
first round of the competition. We are sorted into our groups and the
matches begin.
For me, the competition is over
quickly. I’m taken out in the first round, struggling underneath
the weight of Kostas, a white belt from Essex University who’s far
stronger than me. After twenty seconds the match is over, and I’m
out of the competition. In contrast, Adam – the other white belt
from Coventry – fares much better, powering through his first round
before he, too, is taken out by Kostas. “At least he put up a
fight,” I think.
Cut to the next day. Everyone is a
little hungover, thanks to a night out after Saturday’s competition
organised by the Jitsu Foundation. We’re late, as usual; it took a
while to check out of the hotel, thanks to the crowd of jitsu clubs
in the lobby. But we get there and we warm up again, and then we
settle in for the finals.
A lot of the bronze fights go pretty
quickly. Usually one person pins the other right from the start and
they can’t get out, or in the case of the higher grades they get in
an armbar and the opponent taps. As for the gold medal fights, they
are harsh brawls in comparison to the relative speed of the bronze
bouts. The fighters lock horns and grab at arms, legs, whatever they
can reach in an effort to throw each other to the floor. By the time
they finish, both winner and runner-up are exhausted.
But it is the novice finals which are
the most impressive. These are the longest by far, the white belts
showing more skill in their final fights than they have done at any
point before. They tussle and twist, and roll around on the mat as
they try to get the upper hand; more than one bout is halted as they
roll out of the ring. Finally, it gets to Kostas, and we’re rooting
for him. If he beat us, I reason, he might as well take the gold. And
after a few minutes of struggling, he pins his opponent and ends the
match. Exhausted and ecstatic, all the white belt finalists line up
to collect their medals. Kostas is unable to hide his delight,
grinning from ear to ear as the gold medal is slipped onto his neck.
I congratulate him afterwards, and we leave as friends. As I join up
with the rest of my club and we stuff ourselves back into our two
small cars for the journey home, I’m already thinking of the next
competition, and the next chance to win gold myself.
