TWO DAYS LATER
HKP MMA GYM, VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA—FEBRUARY 7, 2020—15:00 / 3:00 P.M. PST
His left fist jabbed and connected. Another left, then another. The last one was followed by a right down low, hard enough to echo through the building. Next came three round kicks from the right in rapid succession—low, then mid, then high. He danced, preparing to go back in, when a voice to his left called, “Time!”
Wasaku Katagi stepped back from the punching bag, and leaned over putting his hands on his knees. His coach, Bruce Hatcher, squatted next to him.
“Good. Remember, Jerrod Keith is a striker. His focus will be upstairs. So if you can throw a high combination, he’ll react. That will leave his lead leg vulnerable. He needs that lead leg if he’s going to have any power behind his punches. You weaken the leg, you weaken the punch, you win the fight.”
Wasaku absorbed every word Hatcher said. The man knew his stuff. A decade ago, he had been the World Fighting League middleweight belt holder. The whole reason Wasaku had come back to Vancouver was so that he could train in this man’s gym.
Wasaku shot some water from a bottle into his mouth as he nodded.
“Okay, 40 gym laps, then let Brett work you over, especially your left calf. Then you can call it a day,” Hatcher said.
“Thanks, coach.” Wasaku put a towel around his neck and began jogging on the small track inlaid around the perimeter of the gym. He often found that thinking back to what had brought him to this point in his life helped to keep him grounded. “If you know where you come from, you’ll better know where you are going,” an old sensei of his had told him. He let his mind drift backwards.
Wasaku was born in Osaka 24 years ago. He was named after his great-grandfather who had died defending the island of Guam in 1944. The name Wasaku means “create harmony,” a fact he played off of when he came up with his fighting nickname, Man of Harmony. As he did now, he found himself smiling at the irony every time he heard the ring announcer call out “Wasaku ‘Man of Harmony’ Katagi’” right before he went out and knocked out his opponent.
His dad got a job with a huge Canadian engineering firm when Wasaku was six and moved the family across the Pacific to B.C. He remembered little about Japan, but he could remember everything about growing up in Vancouver. English came quickly to him, and now only rarely did he catch an accented word slipping out of his mouth. Even then, he knew it was likely the residuals of growing up listening his parents, since he could usually in his mind hear them saying the exact same words the exact same way.
When he was ten or eleven, he really started to recognize that he looked different than most of his friends. This triggered in him a desire to learn more about his heritage. His studying led him into a fascination with the warrior culture—samurais, ninjas, martial arts. He let his folks know about his newfound passion, and, to his credit, his father found him an Aikido dojo not too far from their house. He began attending and was immediately hooked. He loved the physical workout and the discipline. But, more than that, he was good at it.
By the time he became a senior in high school, he was becoming restless with Aikido. His hard work had earned him a 1st dan black belt by his eighteenth birthday. He had great respect for his doshu and his senseis, and he thought the teachings of “the way” were a good model for how most people should live. The problem was he really wanted to punch people in the face. He had started watching MMA fights online, and something stirred inside of him. Maybe it was a calling, maybe he wanted to take out some aggression. He just knew he wanted to be in that fighting cage.
His martial arts discipline, Aikido, however, was about peace and harmony. While this connected perfectly with his name, it didn’t mesh with who he was anymore. The goal of Aikido was to never use Aikido. Wasaku would never disrespect the discipline or his teachers by taking the martial art into MMA. Besides, Aikido just didn’t work with mixed martial arts. Not only were many of the throws and holds and joint locks of the discipline not allowed, but its philosophy of non-violence was exactly the opposite of MMA. He once saw someone in a video say that using Aikido in MMA was akin to bringing a knife to a gunfight.
He decided to leave his dojo and the discipline. Aikido had taught him to be a master grappler. Now he needed to know how to use his fists and his feet. He found a Muay Thai dojo across town and began learning to strike.
After graduation, the problems began. Even now, the thought of this period brought a twist into his gut. His parents were insistent that he follow in his father’s footsteps and become an engineer. They’d been saving his whole life so they could put their one child through the best school available. They encouraged him to check out the program at the University of Toronto, which they touted as the number one engineering school in the country. Or, if he wanted to stay at home, the University of British Columbia also had a stellar reputation. He didn’t care about the reputations of either. He wanted none of it. He was a fighter. This led to several regrettable arguments, and his dad eventually put him out of the house.
As he ran, he began throwing some punches with his strides. That was the most painful time of his life. He could still see their faces as he walked out the door—his mom’s sorrow and his dad’s disappointment.
The next two years were difficult. He stocked groceries overnight, then spent his days training. Each day he tried to catch five or six hours of sleep in the backroom of the dojo, thanks to a very understanding sensei. He considered this his “dues paying” time. Even through the pain and struggle, he never regretted them. He knew that this was all part of preparing him for something big.
He began to be noticed around the gym, and soon he started getting fights—and winning. With each purse he took, he stashed the money away. When his savings were finally big enough, he left for Phuket, Thailand.
The next 18 months were spent training in the tropical heat and humidity among the best Muay Thai fighters in the world. While he was there, he sent occasional letters to his parents. His mom wrote back a few times. His dad remained silent.
When his training was complete in Phuket, he returned to B.C. He tried out in front of Bruce Hatcher to be accepted into his HKP MMA gym, and Hatcher took him on. Over the next two years, Wasaku took every fight offered to him. He worked hard to develop his reputation for putting an opponent out with his fists or with a submission down on the mat. Hatcher, for his part, used his connections, and eventually Wasaku was noticed by the right people.
And now he was on his way to the big show.
Slowing to a trot, Wasaku started his fortieth lap. He took a long pull from a water bottle, then walked two more laps to cool down. Since being back in Canada, the relationship with his mom had improved. He talked with her a couple times a week on the phone and even took her out for coffee every now and then. Unfortunately, his dad was still ice cold.
He finished his last lap and cut across the gym to the trainer’s room. There he found Brett Terrell sitting on a table waiting for him. Terrell jumped off, and Wasaku slid on.
“Coach said to pay special attention—” Wasaku began.
“To your left calf,” finished Terrell. “Yeah, Bruce told me. I got you.”
Terrell started working Wasaku’s right shoulder in a way that could only be described as hurts so good. There were times when Wasaku wanted to squirm or pull away, but he was determined to tough it out and remain still.
“You’re coming with us, right?”
Terrell moved to the left shoulder. “Yeah. Thought I was going to have to convince the Mrs., but she was all for it.”
“Hmm, makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
Terrell pushed his thumb deep into a pressure point on Wasaku’s deltoid. The fighter cried out in pain.
“Watch what you say about my woman,” Terrel said in a mock angry voice.
Wasaku laughed. “Sorry, man.”
“Anyway, it ain’t like that. She’s just always been really supportive of what I do.”
“Sounds like you got yourself a good one.”
“The best,” Terrell said. He began working the neck, causing Wasaku to push his face deep down into the cradle.
“Still can’t believe it. First prime time network fight. I’m going up against a baller like Jerrod Keith, and I’m doing it on Combat Island. Oh, that reminds me. My mom was asking all about contact information while we’re there. You have any idea how many hours Abu Dhabi is ahead of us?”