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competitors were renowned, and had an attitude which made them the least likely to roll around the mat feigning an injury to secure a win. Luckily for the YMCA fighters there were referees like Terry O’Neill and Steve Cattle amongst the officials. They were genuinely very tough Shotokan men who had competed – and triumphed – in all-styles competitions at an international level and had honed their skills on nightclub doors in the rougher parts of Liverpool. Perhaps it was their confidence in their own abilities that meant that they did not display the partisanship that bedevilled so many karate competitions. Men like O’Neill, Cattle and the great Kanazawa recognized those who were like themselves – true fighting men – and when refereeing a match involving YMCA and Shotokan fighters they always officiated with absolute impartiality.
    I was not hung up about styles; I had fought and sometimes lost to fighters from other schools of karate. One of my more memorable fights was a great scrap which I lost to a Shotokan international fighter named Ronnie Christopher, and I took such experiences with as much good grace as I could muster. In fact, like the rest of the YMCA team, I respected individuals who had given me a good fight rather than any particular style or club. When I had enrolled at the YMCA, I had been unaware of the existence of more than one type of karate; like the vast majority of beginners I had no idea about Wado Ryu, Shotokan, Goju Ryu, Kyokushinkai and the rest. But Mick liked to talk up Shotokan’s many strong points and had often dropped a hint about coming to the YMCA to train. It was my concern for his safety (rather than any criticism of Shotokan) that made me point out what I saw as a flaw in a movement or technique that would be mercilessly exploited by the majority of my clubmates. They did, after all, have something of a track record of beating Shotokan fighters who were a little more proficient than Mick. I did not know whether what I saw in his technique was down to Mick personally, or his style, but it made me make up all sorts of excuses about why he could not accompany me to the
dojo
.
    Following our third set of press-ups on the wet road I felt something go ‘ping’ in my chest. It did not hurt that much but I took it as a warning sign and suggested to Mick that we head back to his place, preferably at walking pace. Mick could not help but show that he thought he had scored a point. “Maybe I’m practising some inferior style, Mick,” I said sarcastically and he laughed loudly as though I had read his mind.
    As boxers had found out long before, it can be detrimental to one’s performance to continue training at the same intensity right up until the day of a tournament. While the sort of training I was doing with Mick was great for building stamina and spirit, it was a little too intense for me in the run-up to a major championship. Before an important competition the club’s six-mile runs on Sunday mornings would cease in favour of a one-mile jog, and the hour’s training in the park would be replaced with twenty minutes of stretching. Very strenuous training carried the risk of injury and in the period just prior to an event the YMCA team concentrated on speed, technique and sharpening the mind and reflexes.
    There was a heavy punch bag hanging in Mick’s garage but I resistedthe urge to use it as it was as hard as concrete. Instead, I had Mick attack me with a few of the techniques commonly used in competition. To the dissatisfaction of many
karateka
, the rules were becoming increasingly restrictive because of safety concerns (as a result of a few deaths and very serious injuries during competitions) and also a hope that karate might one day be accepted as a replacement for boxing as an Olympic sport: apparently, members of the IOC were not keen on the sight of blood. Therefore, it was with some confidence that I could ask Mick