Our fight took place under the critical stare of Masataka Mori, a director of the Japan Karate Association and its chief instructor in North America. At the Shotokan Karate-do of New York, his modest dojo, or training hall, on Manhattan's Upper West Side, Mori teaches a karate as classically Japanese as anything found east of Okinawa. Sweating for an hour or so under the tutelage of Mori, who holds a stratospheric eighth-degree black belt rank, is like visiting Japan without having to buy an airline ticket. Before each class, lawyers, police officers and teachers fall to their knees to mop the floor with damp rags. The commands are given in Japanese.
Classes begin and end with meditation and ceremonial bows.
A late arrival must kneel, awaiting Mori's eventual invitation to join the class. For Mori, karate is not about mayhem, but about balance, focus and proper breathing. Karate's roots, he said, lie in the same Japanese traditions as kendo, the art of sword fighting, or ikebana, the art of flower arranging. It stresses manners, sincerity, modesty and courage, truthfulness and respect. I do not believe you will find these in all other sports.