Do You Know the Way to Sacramento?

A Story by GenMuffin7

The first essay we wrote during my freshman year of high school. It's an autobiographical, nonfiction.

My face was drenched with sweat and all my muscles were tense as I readied

myself for the judge’s signal. It was the year 2003 in the warm month of July that my

Dad and I sped down I-5 as if it were the Autobahn. As usual we were a little late to our destination. I stuffed what was left of my bagel and grabbed the brochure and looked for the Sacramento Civic Center. My hands were shaking and I tried to disguise them as my dad looked over to check if I had my uniform on correctly. “You ready?” he asked rhetorically.

“Yup,” I replied immediately, ignoring the fact that no answer was expected.

“Good,” he replied. “Now remember to keep your cool and do your best.” As usual I did not respond to this. As we reached Old Sacramento I tried to calm my

nerves by looking around and taking everything in. I remember there being many small

shops and a very beautiful park but my mind was elsewhere. After about ten more minutes of driving around, we found the Civic Center. Just the sight of it made me want to puke into my dad’s slurpee cup; the building was huge and could have served as a mall; which didn’t make me feel any better.

“Ok, I’m going to drop you off at the entrance while I look for a spot to park,”

said my dad. Unsure of what to do exactly, I stepped into the complex and walked

through the registration area and flashed my membership card as I went by. There was

a booth filled with all kinds of equipment that would be useless to somebody who actually studied karate, from gung-ho headbands, to black belts, to swords. Chuckling to myself, I took one long look at the stupidest t-shirt I had ever seen with the writing “You know you’re hooked when you refuse to wear shoes,” and continued on my way. I headed towards the noise, figuring it was a safe bet. Immediately as I entered the gigantic arena, I met one of my Senseis.

“You’re up! They called your division up to staging!” she pointed and I jogged to the staging. The instant I entered the room I was met with an armada of different belt colors. The crisp, snapping of gis echoed all around the room. If it wasn’t for one of my teammates calling me over I would have lost myself in the sea of people. It was good to see a friendly face.

“Hey Tony! Which division are you in?” I inquired.

“Uhh, I’m with the fourteen-year-olds,” he replied. Luckily for me he was one year older than me and we wouldn’t be fighting each other. It was obvious we were both nervous, so we attempted to make a few jokes to relieve some of the tension. “Ok, so there’s this little guy in a bar, drinking beer, and this big guy comes and karate chops him in the back and says `that was a karate chop from Korea.’ Next the big guy goes to another little guy and karate chops him in the back `that was a karate chop from China.’ The first guy who got hit returned and hit the guy in the back and knocked him out and said, `tell him that was a crowbar from Sears.’” Shortly after Sensei Sue came over to give us some last-minute pointers.

“Ok guys; try to end the matches quickly by round-kicking to the head. Remember to follow-up. Edris, watch your footing, and Tony keep your hands up.” She then wished us luck and went to find somebody else to coach. Before I knew it I was called to line up with the others in my division. I hastily wished Tony good luck and walked over to my line. There were at least fifty guys in my division. “Whoa,” I thought to myself, “it’s never been this big” I was shocked when even more competitors entered my line. When there were finally no more additions to the slaughter I began to relax a little. I took several deep breaths and stretched out more to just look preoccupied than to actually stretch my muscles.

Something I do every tournament while I’m waiting in the line is check out my competition and listen to their conversations. Then I try to categorize everyone into three different groups. The loud, obnoxious guys who always try flashy moves in an attempt intimidate everyone go into group one, and I immediately dismiss them. Next are the kids who keep to themselves and just warm up and stay pumped, I would put myself into this group as well. One thing that everybody in this tournament has in common is that they’re nervous. The kids that go into group three are the small percentage who actually show it.

“Listen up! Listen up!” demanded one of the staff, “ok, first off, is there anybody here who doesn’t belong to K-48, twelve year olds kumite?” As expected nobody raised their hands. “Because this division is so massive, we’ve decided to cut you guys into two brackets. The winner in each of the two brackets comes back tomorrow to fight for the title. Now I’m coming around to check that everyone brought their equipment.” I saw my father waiting by the door, signaling me to join him for a minute.

“Hey Edris,” he started, “I want you to remember to keep your cool, take deep breaths, and think about what you’re going to do.” This advice was quickly followed by a series of questions about my water supply, my equipment, and my urinary needs. I waved him off and returned to my bag and sat there taking deep breaths until we were ordered to go to our ring.

“You guys are to wait here until this division finishes,” ordered our guide.

We took to the unwelcoming, wooden floor. “BAM!” Reflexively, I turned to the match going on to my right to see a black belt lying face down on the floor. His opponent was on top of him finishing off the fight with a series of punches to the back. The crowd loved it and roared for more. I turned away and searched the bleachers for my dad.

“The results for Ring 3, division K-42 Intermediate 12 year old boy are in,” there was a dramatic pause, “Joey Santiago, 3^rd place!” I clapped politely as the announcer droned on. The boys with raised heads returned to their overzealous teammates while the rest were met by their sympathetic parents.

“Please rise,” said one of the sideline judges. As we did so, all five judges turned to face the three flags that were mounted on the wall. There was an American Flag, a Californian Flag, and the official flag of the Karate-Do Federation hanging on one of the massive walls. We took a bow, and then the judges turned around and faced us as we bowed to each other as a symbol of respect. After this short ceremony the four side judges returned to their seats, each on a corner while the center judge remained in front. One of the three staff members seated at the table a few feet behind our mat took roll and let us know who was going up to fight first and who was what color.

“On deck: Edris Bemanian…” as she called my opponent’s name I immediately got up and put on all my gear. Everything was happening so quickly that I hardly had time to catch my breath. I went over to my side of ring “Funakoshi,” and stood behind the judge, and bounced on the balls of my feet to warm up a little bit. I looked over to check out my competition. He looked fairly tough and he carried himself as if he demanded respect--obviously deserving a spot on my first category of classification. He had taken off his brown belt and replaced it with a red belt, “shiro.” This reminded me to put on my blue, “akka,” belt.

The two unlucky guys who were called up first were already battling it out with poorly aimed punches to the head. It was obvious that both of these guys weren’t thinking as they pummeled their fists into each other’s shoulders, winning no points. Because my opponent was much taller than me, my plan was to get in close to him, taking away his ability to kick and punch on target while I, with shorter arms, would be able to fully extend my arms and connect with his body easily to get the points. “Yamay!” shouted the judge. The two boys halted the beat down and returned to their starting lines. “Eepon.” Point for the bigger guy,” I thought.

I continued my warming-up and deep breaths until I heard the judge yell “Eepan, Locach!” It was now time for me to put into use all of the effort and time that I had invested into karate. I bowed to one of the previous fighters who was walking back into the group and made my way up to the starting line. As I got there, I looked over at my opponent and smirked, just to annoy him. His eyes were glinting and the muscles in his face were tightened up. In response I narrowed my eyes and started lifting the balls of my feet. “Hajimay!”

“Hagimay!” shouted the judge. I spread my legs shoulder-length apart and brought my arms up for cover and waited for him to make the first move. He decided to blitz, and came in at an alarming speed. I sidestepped and attempted to sweep him onto the floor. I noted that for a big guy he was fast and that I needed to find an advantage I had over him. He came in again, this time more determined to score the first point. To his, and my own, surprise I jumped at him and threw a series of punches to fend him off. It worked. He hesitated while he was backing up so I took my chance and lunged at him with a punch that hit his stomach. Hard. “Yamay!” cried the judge. He signaled to me “Eepon,” one point for me. “Hagimay!”

We sprung into action. It was obvious that he wasn’t as keen to jump at me as before. Although my legs are usually shorter than most of the people in my age group, they’re usually twice as fast. Hoping to end the match quickly I looked for opportunities to kick to his head. For a few seconds we were just bouncing around throwing kicks and punches into the air. I made several jukes to bring his hands down to give me an opening. To my dismay, my attempts did the opposite of their intention and in the process of one of the jukes I tripped over my own feet and made myself vulnerable to his reverse-punches, one of which made it through. “Yamay!” We were tied. As I was walking back to my starting line I looked over to the spectators. I found my dad who gave me a big thumbs-up. We returned to out lines “Eepon! Hajamay!” The fight continued. My opponent was greatly encouraged after that last point and came in with a round-kick to my ribs. I grabbed his leg with my arm, grabbed his gi with my other, and put my leg behind his and threw him to the ground and followed up with a punch to the head. “YAMAY!” called the judge. The longer the fight, the more reckless my opponent’s attacks became. He must have decided that he did not drive up to Sacramento from Washington to lose his fight in the first round. One minute later we were bouncing around with one point added to my score and two minutes left to fight. I was getting a little nervous by his desperation and on one of his repeated blitzes I stepped out of bounds just to avoid getting pummeled and received a warning from the judge. At this point my plan was to avoid fighting as to not hurt myself, but he wouldn’t go down quietly. He charged in again, but this time he had me cornered so I couldn’t sidestep him. His face was as red as his belt, and his fists were moving almost convulsively. If he wasn’t attacking me, this could be a situation that I would have laughed at. I decided that it wasn’t worth it and hopped out of bounds, angering him greatly. He was awarded his point and the judge gave a thirty second warning. I was careful to avoid his last minute kicks to my head until I heard the greatly anticipated “stop” command. I had won the match 5-2 and was to advance to the next fight.

We shook hands and returned our seats on the floor. Sensei Sue came as close as she could get to me. “Great job, Edris! Now take a few deep breaths and drink some water but keep yourself warmed up and watch the other fighters.” I nodded and turned back to watch the next match. One of the contestants was slightly taller than me and the other was about the same height as my opponent. This outcome of this match was obvious to me in the first minute of the fighting. The shorter guy was trying too hard to make fancy combinations of jump, hook, and spinning-back kicks while the bigger guy would just wait for the opportunity to come in with a simple punch. As expected this match ended at 6-0.

“He shouldn’t be too difficult,” I thought as they bowed to each other and returned to their places. Two of the four following fights were exciting dogfights that caught my attention.

“On deck,” came the voice again, “Edris Bemanian and…” I looked over at the person they had called up to discover he hadn’t fought yet so I didn’t know his fighting style and what to look out for. Surprisingly he was a little shorter than me, making it a little harder to hit his body, but allowing me to easily reach his head. When we got called up to fight I prepared myself to defend against a quick blitz.

“Hajimay!” came the over-used command. My opponent was a defensive fighter who was waiting for me to make the first move. I knew I had to be careful not to allow him to get too close to me to cut my offensive options in half. We bounced around for a few second while I slowly weaved my way closer to him. He was throwing a lot of kicks to keep me away. I waited for one of his kicks to recoil so I could…

“BAM!” my sidekick connected to his chest and sent him flying back a few feet. He was dazed and out of breath, and the judge was slow to call the fight to a halt, so I continued with my assault, barraging him with my fists until the judge finally stopped the match. “Yamay! Nihon Locach!” I was awarded two points. Now that my opponent was scared of me it was easy to score the remaining six points and I did so without much trouble. The only thing that aggravated me a little was that he was backing away instead of trying to make up for his loss of points. After I got my shutout against him I returned to my seat and was congratulated by one of the guys who had won his match as well.

“Great job man, that one kick was awesome!” I looked over to where my team was waiting and noticed that their numbers had grown. My dad was excitedly reanimating the fight for one of the parents who had missed it. I turned back to the fight that was taking place before me. Two tall guys were distanced from each other just bouncing around. I recognized one of them as Jordan, an accomplished fighter who had done well at many previous tournaments. I was a little uneasy about this because normally he would normally be entered in Tony’s division, not mine. His ponytail was dancing along his back. Neither person was advancing on the other until Jordan leaped into the air. It seemed like he was going in slow-motion as he gracefully tucked in his left leg and brought out his right in a jump kick. The other guy jumped out of the way, but was unsuccessful in blocking the back fist that followed immediately. Jordan wasn’t awarded the point, but instead a warning for heavy contact to the head. It was a good match ending at 8-3 with Jordan as the victor. Several fights followed, all of which were fun to watch and fast paced. It had come down to four of us who were fighting for a spot in the finals. Luckily for me Jordan was matched up against someone else.

My opponent was unquestionably categorized into my group one. When it came time to bow to each other before the fight he merely nodded his head, showing me no respect. In the blink of an eye he kicked me in the side of the head, getting three points. In a mere second I was already way behind. Determined to win, I stayed calm but went the fastest I had ever gone in a fight up to that point. I was hustling and going in circles around him hoping to get a shot at his back. He was smart and saw what I was doing and made sure not to expose his back. It had already been two minutes and I was still down three points. This guy was good at ending his matches in seconds but I wasn’t giving up. He was cautious and didn’t throw too many kicks. He wanted to keep this a 3-0 match. I took a big risk and surged into him. I brushed his sidekick away and threw a jab to his head, and a reverse punch as a follow up. “Yamay!” I got the point and that’s when it got exciting. As soon as the judge resumed the match we were throwing punches and kicks like crazy, our shoulders receiving the brunt of the attacks. The points were adding up and the chaos increasing. Amidst the flurry of arms and legs I managed to step back, bring up my right leg as if I was going to throw a front-kick, causing him to lower his arms to block, then halfway into the kick I flipped me leg to the side and smoothly tapped the side of his head.

During our fight Jordan and the guy from the Japanese team had been taken to another ring to fight so they could end our division quickly. Our division fighting had been going on for a little over an hour. Surprisingly Jordan lost his match 4-3 and did not even place in the tournament. As I walked up to the starting line I took a deep breath and embraced the tension. I looked at the guy from Japan and bowed. This fight determined who was going on to fight the victor from the other bracket for the National Title. “HAJIMAY!”

I finished up what was left of the specially prepared almond brown mush that reminded me of the “Sloppy Joes” served to us back in elementary school. I finally managed to withdraw to my room and get under the anticipated, warm blankets and was falling asleep. “TAP! TAP! TAP! Edris?” I grunted in response. “How was dinner?”

“Was great, thanks mom,” I lied.

“Well I just came to tell you how proud I am of you and to tell you that I’m going to come to watch you tomorrow.”

“Ok, sounds great.”

“Night.”

“G’night.”