The smiling little boy from earlier was nowhere to be found as Jason chomped down on his mouthpiece. The adorable little blue belt had sprouted nerves of steel as he squared up with the kid opposite him, both clad in sparring gloves, helmets and feet pads. I never knew how drastic height discrepancies could be between eight and nine year old boys until today; Jason's opponent was a good twelve inches taller.
Continuous sparring was different from normal point sparring matches. The kids got two thirty- second rounds to go at it and judges decided who had a better overall round; first to win two rounds moves on. After judging for the past eight hours, I never wanted to see another eight year old martial artist again. But this last fight of the day was for 1st place so I summoned a final burst of energy from achy knees and tired eyes for one more match.
The cuteness factor, complete lack of front teeth (also cute), and Jason's wild ride to the final match (he'd taken an illegal kick to the back in the previous round and walked it off) all added up to my "slight" pull for the little asian boy to defeat the odds (and the height difference) and take the win in this David vs. Goliath reenactment. As a judge I'm not supposed to be biased or root for one kid over another, but from the first time he flashed his toothless smile at me, I was Team Jason.
The two kids became a flurry of movement. Jason was quickly overmatched by the bigger kid who used his longer legs to descend upon the smaller boy with sweeping roundkicks. Jason did his best to dodge them, dancing on the edges of the hurricane of hook-kicks to dart in a land a punch or two between kicks and duck back out again. He was successful several times in a row and I smiled at his strategy. I've definitely gotten the short straw in matches like this before.
Jason mistimed one of his lunges and Goliath countered with a high roundhouse that ended in a loud thud, sending Jason to the carpet. All three of us judges dove between the kids to stop the fight. Jason was slow to get up, mouth hanging open but no sound came out. I sent Jason to his sideline coach, his dad.
"Go on, Jason," his dad said to him quietly when he finished examining Jason's mouth for blood. "You can do it." He turned Jason around and gently pushed him back into the ring to face his new worst nightmare. Jason was crying now, the sweat from his brow mingling with the tears that tumbled down his cheeks. Only six seconds left in the round. C'mon Jason.
Suddenly a large group of people materialized in the stands, all wearing the same blue t-shirt that Jason was wearing. The quiet encouragement of his father was quickly drowned out by Jason's entire team filling the room with shouts and cheers as Jason's gingerly toed up with the big kid again. You can do it.
The longest six seconds of Jason's life ended as he ducked and dodged in earnest.
Judges score: Big Kid 1, Jason 0.
I watched father console his weeping son during the twenty-second break between rounds. I'm sorry Jason. I was in your shoes just yesterday. I took 2nd place in a semifinal I knew I couldn't win, yet the sting of defeat was overshadowed by the hopelessness of having my sliver of hope crushed, my window of opportunity closed, a peek into a dream that didn't come true today. Blood, sweat, and tears for nothing. I felt like throwing chairs. Going home heavy-hearted was far worse than going home empty-handed. I let my fists fly into the bathroom wall instead.
I knew why Jason was crying, and it wasn't because of the pain shooting up his little spine or the ringing in his little ears or the 2nd place trophy that already had his name on it. I would've spilled those same tears myself if I wasn't twenty-two years old. Everybody in the room knew Jason wasn't going to win, but we weren't cheering because we wanted a comeback. We just wanted Jason to come back.
Jason's dad pushed the little boy back into the ring again. Jason's team was even louder than before as twenty plus adults stood on their feet and shouted at the top of their voices for an eight-year-old kid. His face was still wet as he squeezed his hands into little fists. C'mon, Jason.
The second round began with Jason on the move again, running from the black-padded feet that swung above his head. He had stopped looking for openings long ago; Jason just wanted to live.
Yet the kicks managed to catch up with him no matter how hard he tried, and Jason ate another kick to the head, quickly followed by several solid punches to the chest. Each collision of pad meeting pad was dreadfully audible, and Jason was reeling again. Jason's team roared with every successful dodge and poured forth many encouragements for the boy who was crying again. Amid the cheering and the tears and ringing ears, Jason's dad was ever present on the edge of the ring, just a few feet away from his son.
"C'mon, Jason! Keep going!"
Keep going, Jason. Don't give up like me.
Another landed kick. Jason stumbles.
C'mon, Jason.
Jason ducks to his right, narrowly missing another blow to the head. His team roars their approval.
Keep going, Jason.
Only a few seconds left. It's all I can do not to encourage the brave little boy.
Keep going--
Time!
Jason's team goes berserk as he disappears into his father's arms. The lump in my throat steadily rises as I have to cast my vote against the real winner of this match: Big Kid 2, Jason 0.
Jason was still sobbing as he stepped into the ring one last time to receive his second place trophy to the thunderous applause of the hometown crowd. As the competitors walked around to shake the judges hands, I knelt and grabbed Jason by the shoulders. His dad was still on the sidelines patiently waiting for him, but for the next couple of moments, Jason was my son.
"You did good, Jason. You did so good." I'm so proud of you.
I blinked back tears as I returned the sobbing boy to his dad. If my dad had been here I'm certain he would've said those same words to me as I tore up my second place card the day before. But now I understood those words, perhaps for the first time.
The scene remained ingrained in my mind for the rest of the weekend: crowd cheering, dad whispering encouragement, and the young boy in the center of the ring facing his demons, armed with nothing but sweat and tears.
I bit down into my mouthpiece and clinched my fists.
The cuteness factor, complete lack of front teeth (also cute), and Jason's wild ride to the final match (he'd taken an illegal kick to the back in the previous round and walked it off) all added up to my "slight" pull for the little asian boy to defeat the odds (and the height difference) and take the win in this David vs. Goliath reenactment. As a judge I'm not supposed to be biased or root for one kid over another, but from the first time he flashed his toothless smile at me, I was Team Jason.
The two kids became a flurry of movement. Jason was quickly overmatched by the bigger kid who used his longer legs to descend upon the smaller boy with sweeping roundkicks. Jason did his best to dodge them, dancing on the edges of the hurricane of hook-kicks to dart in a land a punch or two between kicks and duck back out again. He was successful several times in a row and I smiled at his strategy. I've definitely gotten the short straw in matches like this before.
Jason mistimed one of his lunges and Goliath countered with a high roundhouse that ended in a loud thud, sending Jason to the carpet. All three of us judges dove between the kids to stop the fight. Jason was slow to get up, mouth hanging open but no sound came out. I sent Jason to his sideline coach, his dad.
"Go on, Jason," his dad said to him quietly when he finished examining Jason's mouth for blood. "You can do it." He turned Jason around and gently pushed him back into the ring to face his new worst nightmare. Jason was crying now, the sweat from his brow mingling with the tears that tumbled down his cheeks. Only six seconds left in the round. C'mon Jason.
Suddenly a large group of people materialized in the stands, all wearing the same blue t-shirt that Jason was wearing. The quiet encouragement of his father was quickly drowned out by Jason's entire team filling the room with shouts and cheers as Jason's gingerly toed up with the big kid again. You can do it.
The longest six seconds of Jason's life ended as he ducked and dodged in earnest.
Judges score: Big Kid 1, Jason 0.
I watched father console his weeping son during the twenty-second break between rounds. I'm sorry Jason. I was in your shoes just yesterday. I took 2nd place in a semifinal I knew I couldn't win, yet the sting of defeat was overshadowed by the hopelessness of having my sliver of hope crushed, my window of opportunity closed, a peek into a dream that didn't come true today. Blood, sweat, and tears for nothing. I felt like throwing chairs. Going home heavy-hearted was far worse than going home empty-handed. I let my fists fly into the bathroom wall instead.
I knew why Jason was crying, and it wasn't because of the pain shooting up his little spine or the ringing in his little ears or the 2nd place trophy that already had his name on it. I would've spilled those same tears myself if I wasn't twenty-two years old. Everybody in the room knew Jason wasn't going to win, but we weren't cheering because we wanted a comeback. We just wanted Jason to come back.
Jason's dad pushed the little boy back into the ring again. Jason's team was even louder than before as twenty plus adults stood on their feet and shouted at the top of their voices for an eight-year-old kid. His face was still wet as he squeezed his hands into little fists. C'mon, Jason.
The second round began with Jason on the move again, running from the black-padded feet that swung above his head. He had stopped looking for openings long ago; Jason just wanted to live.
Yet the kicks managed to catch up with him no matter how hard he tried, and Jason ate another kick to the head, quickly followed by several solid punches to the chest. Each collision of pad meeting pad was dreadfully audible, and Jason was reeling again. Jason's team roared with every successful dodge and poured forth many encouragements for the boy who was crying again. Amid the cheering and the tears and ringing ears, Jason's dad was ever present on the edge of the ring, just a few feet away from his son.
"C'mon, Jason! Keep going!"
Keep going, Jason. Don't give up like me.
Another landed kick. Jason stumbles.
C'mon, Jason.
Jason ducks to his right, narrowly missing another blow to the head. His team roars their approval.
Keep going, Jason.
Only a few seconds left. It's all I can do not to encourage the brave little boy.
Keep going--
Time!
Jason's team goes berserk as he disappears into his father's arms. The lump in my throat steadily rises as I have to cast my vote against the real winner of this match: Big Kid 2, Jason 0.
Jason was still sobbing as he stepped into the ring one last time to receive his second place trophy to the thunderous applause of the hometown crowd. As the competitors walked around to shake the judges hands, I knelt and grabbed Jason by the shoulders. His dad was still on the sidelines patiently waiting for him, but for the next couple of moments, Jason was my son.
"You did good, Jason. You did so good." I'm so proud of you.
I blinked back tears as I returned the sobbing boy to his dad. If my dad had been here I'm certain he would've said those same words to me as I tore up my second place card the day before. But now I understood those words, perhaps for the first time.
The scene remained ingrained in my mind for the rest of the weekend: crowd cheering, dad whispering encouragement, and the young boy in the center of the ring facing his demons, armed with nothing but sweat and tears.
I bit down into my mouthpiece and clinched my fists.
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