Karate Talk

New Beginnings

So much for my determination to continue blogging regularly after I became a mom... !  Funny thing, those short people take up ridiculous amounts of time.  And I wouldn't trade one second of it either.

Karate has continued to evolve in my life, along with other aspects of daily living.  I still train regularly and am trying to pick it up even more as opportunity arises.  With two karate-ka and one toddler, however, compromises must be made.  My husband and I trade off for big events, as babysitting is not always available.

The new karate year begins next week with Kangeiko, Winter Training.  This trial by fire, this setting of goals and spirit and mindset, is something I used to attend every year, going every day.  That's simply not possible now, unless someone out there volunteers to come babysit at 4:30AM?  No?  That's what I thought.  However, we each plan to try to go at least one day, trading off again.  This year, as last year, gung ho spirit must be tailored to a new reality.  And that's okay.

Another new beginning starts next month, with the creation of a Shotokan club at our nearby university.  This longtime dream of my husband's is finally coming to fruition, and he is so excited -- as are we all!  It's long overdue.  This will give him, along with me and a few others, our first real "on your own" teaching, where you get to call the shots.  It's time to apply what we've learned through all these years of training, and Instructor Training, and competition, and testing.  It's a great opportunity, and humbling as well.

Another change is increased responsibilities within the organization, as we climb to more senior ranks, and the generation before us starts pulling back a bit and passing on duties.  More teaching, more organizing.  I will be running the tournament this year, a bit of an intimidating assignment but more than fair, and I've helped set up and run things for many years, so hopefully I can pull it off with minimal crises!

Finally, something old which is new again.  In the face of economic troubles, overscheduling, and some physical setbacks, we are both so tired that our spirit is sagging, just when we need it the most.  So now, as this new year commences, it's time to set aside last year's frustrations, and set our sights on making the coming year vibrant, fulfilling, and successful.  We need to approach our new duties with excitement and gratitude, create a good example for those who will be watching us, and remind ourselves that karate (and life) are not the petty frustrations you encounter so often, but a path through life that we have found so essential and satisfying.

It's definitely time for Kangeiko, physically, mentally, and emotionally!!

Of Olympics, Controversy and Sportsmanship

I'm an Olympics junkie, I admit it.  I watch it faithfully every year.  I have my favorite events (gymnastics, figure skating) but also find myself watching many things I never watch at any other time (diving, swimming, speed skating, and so many others) and enjoying it immensely.  It always motivates me to train harder, push harder on a personal level.  I appreciate the chance to see sports, and competitors, that I would never otherwise have a chance to appreciate.  This year I found myself totally absorbed in the gold medal match for table tennis, a sport I'll freely admit I've never taken seriously before.  It also gives me a lot of food for thought.  So here are some of those thoughts.

Karate as an Olympic sport:  There has long been a movement to add karate to the Olympics.  I'm not, personally, a huge fan.  The reason is that training for the Olympics is training for a specific end goal.  I see karate as karate-do, a path I take through life, so I would hate to see that take a backseat to personal and patriotic glory.  If it does make the slate, I'll watch it and hope for the best, but I would foresee a lot of champions leaving the dojo fairly soon after it was over.

Olympic spirit:  One of the things I love most about the Olympics is the fact that a lot of very obscure people and countries (and sports, for that matter) get their moment on the international stage.  People who could never make it to world championships get a chance to go out and show their hard work, and winning is so not the point in many cases.  I think of the Jamaican bobsled team, I think of a Moroccan cross-country skier, and there are so many others, and to me they embody the best of the Olympics.  Any time that gets lost in the hype over the winners, I feel sad.

Controversies:  There are always a few incidents where judging is questioned, or an athlete's age or other credentials, or allegations of cheating arise, or allegations of drug use of some kind.  This taints the whole thing, but goes with the territory.  I most respect those who show grace in the face of disappointment, epitomized by this year's US gymnasts, who refused to complain, accuse, whine or pout, despite having a few good reasons to consider doing so.

Sportsmanship:  Maybe it's my martial arts background, but I don't like to see winners gloat.  It reminds me of a certain Nationals, when the winner of kumite walked around the ring doing a "raise the roof" after his final match.  The faces of every sensei in the place froze into identical masks, regardless of age, nationality, or gender.  Usain Bolt had every right to do a big victory celebration after his run, annoying though I found it, but starting it before the race was even over was undeniably insulting to the other racers.  They had the misfortune to be out there with a natural phenom, they weren't going to beat him no matter how hard they tried, and that's how it goes.  However, they had spent years of sweat and pain and tears to get there, and deserved at least to go home knowing the winner understood and respected that.  A natural gift is just that, a gift.  It doesn't convey the right to assume superiority over your fellow beings.

Closing ceremonies are Sunday, and life goes back to normal in our house after that.  But the glow will remain awhile longer, and hopefully, so will some of the lessons and the motivation that I have gained.

Respect as a Parallel for Innocence

Respect is an issue that comes up quite a bit in martial arts (I sometimes feel it comes up far too little in other areas of life).  It's a tricky question at times, and to some extent truly is cultural.  So how do we explain the concept, and its importance, to those who are lacking?

Those who seem to lack respect in the dojo typically have what I might deem a "Western" or "sport" mentality, which accords respect only to those who have earned it.  In this case, simply wearing a higher belt, holding a higher rank, being older in years, or even being the person running the class, does not automatically qualify you for respect.  Instead, those students demand that you demonstrate to them that you are their superior in technique, speed, knowledge, etc.  This puts senior students and instructors in the position of having tests of strength or will with students, which varies from harmless to annoying to outright disruptive.  It can break the flow of class, and makes people hard to train with.  If you've ever done drills against someone who didn't do the assigned combination, tried to learn kata with someone who keeps pointing out how they did a move differently in their old dojo, or sparred against someone who ignored cautions, then you too have had your training disrupted by someone disrespectful.

The problem here is determining what, precisely, warrants respect.  In dojo culture, in martial arts, it is usually a given that a higher rank, greater age and greater experience automatically qualify for respect, superficially at the very least.  You bow, say "osu", and do as you're told, even if you might be thinking, "man, I could take you!"  You are learning a fighting art, and in order to do so safely, you have to exercise caution, and trust in your seniors and do as they tell you.  If you demand that they prove themselves bigger, stronger, faster than you, then the risk of injury greatly increases.  People with this mentality usually don't treat weaker people very well, and frequently will intimidate or rough them up.  They believe they're just demonstrating how great they are, when instead, they have totally missed the point.

So how can we help them change their perspective?  One way is to present it as being a parallel to the idea of being innocent until proven guilty.  Things might look bad for someone, maybe the evidence seems to point at them as guilty, but you do not assume guilt until all the facts are in.  It's only fair.  Similarly, that senior student might look slow, or weak, but they might really surprise you with their skill or experience.  If you always take things at face value, you are in for some nasty shocks in your life.  In martial arts, it is always safest to assume the other person could have some tricks up their sleeve that you can't handle -- it's usually true, too.

Taking it one step farther, suppose you are stronger, faster than the other person.  Strength and speed are not everything.  Suppose you also have better technique.  Well, perhaps they've been doing this twice as long as you have, and although their body doesn't perform the way yours does, they've probably learned a few things along the way.  Even suppose that you get the rare high rank black belt who is basically an ass:  not as skilled, not as fast, and hasn't learned much along their journey so they say or do things that make you cringe.  Well, that too is valuable, because you have just learned what not to do.

When in doubt, go for humility.  It will get you a whole lot farther in life.

Success, Natural Talent and Work Ethic

There are few things more frustrating to an instructor than a student who won't work.  It's even worse when that person has natural abilities, because you see what they could become with a little more effort.  If that person talks big as well, then the teacher ends up beating their head against the wall.

We had such a student.  They had undeniable natural abilities -- their body fell naturally into the karate stances, they readily picked up new techniques.  They had no problem learning new katas.  They were also hungry for recognition and tournament glory.  This was unfortunately coupled with poor physical fitness and an even worse work ethic.  They couldn't get sustain effort through an entire class, instead always finding an excuse to sit out for part of the training, or slacking when they thought no one was watching.  They missed training as much as they attended.  Through it all, they talked about how everyone said they were so talented and would go so far, and how they wanted to win.  They ultimately left us to train elsewhere, after spending several months doing almost nothing with our dojo.

They probably blame us, as they blamed the dojo they trained in before ours, and claim we had nothing to offer them and couldn't help them succeed as they wished.  I have spent much time pondering how much blame we should accept.  We all tried, but it was like a black hole; no amount of attention was enough, and no amount of serious conversation could convince them to apply themselves.  Instruction went in, nothing came out.  It was so frustrating to me on a personal level that by the time they left, I could barely stand to watch them train, if they showed up at all.

One thing I do accept blame for, although I'm not sure what more we could have done.  But the one essential thing we failed to get across to this person is that natural talent only takes you so far.  When you look at the people standing on top of the podium after a competition, they are all naturally gifted.  What sets you apart at the highest levels is how badly you want it, and what you're willing to sacrifice for it.  If you want to win, you need to close your mouth, open your mind, and push your body.

I've had the privilege to be around many naturally gifted and driven people, and I saw that they had something I lacked.  These people are huge successes in their respective fields, and it's because not only did they start off with the talent and the inclination, but they did not allow for distractions.  I'm different.  I have natural abilities in several areas, as do all people.  However, I was never willing to give up my other interests to put all my time and energy into just one thing.  I realized very early on that this meant I gave up the chance to "rule the world" at any one thing, and that was okay with me.

Our former student still has not realized that they can't have it all, and that sacrifice and some old fashioned hard work will be required for them to succeed.  We ran into them a little while ago, and they regaled us with tales of how hard they work in their new dojo, how much they are pushed, and how they expect to win on a national level.  We looked at the slouching frame, the flabby muscles with no hint of definition, and the fact that we happen to know this is a training day for that dojo, and knew that whatever the other students were doing, our former student had not changed their ways.  I'm not sure if they are fooling themselves, but they certainly aren't fooling us.  I felt a resurgence of my old frustration.  But they are someone else's problem now, not mine; it's no longer my job to try to push, motivate, inspire, teach, or even just get through to them.  So I wish them well, and even more, I wish for them that they have a breakthrough in understanding and start to work for what they want.  If they do, the results will be wonderful to watch.

Aging Gracefully

As in, I don't think I am.

I'm pouting today.  I have a pulled or torn bicep, it hurts and it sucks.  I don't heal as quickly as I once did, I injure more readily, and it's taken way longer than I think it should to get back into some semblance of shape after the baby.

The operative phrase here is "I think".  Most other people assure me that I do not seem old, fat, or slow to them... but it feels that way to me some days.  Some part of me still thinks I'm 19, can abuse my body in sports and get dinged up, and should snap right back.  If I gain some weight, a week or two of eating less will take care of it.  If I get out of shape, a week or two of hard work and I'm well on my way back to fitness.  Right?

Wrong.  Part of me knows this.  Part of me acknowledges the passage of time, and is even grateful for it in many respects.  That part of me is currently being smacked upside the head by the other part of me which doesn't appreciate being old and fat and tired and hurt!!

Karate is a Constant

All this time without a post, and I'm sure most people think I've disappeared somewhere.  Quit karate, maybe, after becoming a mom, like so many people do.

Well I haven't, but I do have newfound respect for all those people, and owe them an apology for my unspoken criticism of their dedication.  It's just plain hard sometimes to combine parenting and martial arts, from a time standpoint if no other.  My husband and I are incredibly lucky -- his parents live nearby and babysit twice a week so that we can both train on those days.  Other days, we trade off.  It's a compromise, not a sacrifice, but it means we train less, and I fear that it shows.  We try to make up for that by training hard physically and mentally, and we're grateful to both be still passionate and involved in martial arts.

That's the nice thing.  After all the chaos attendant on moving and welcoming a new member of our household, learning to be parents and adjusting just about every aspect of our lives, karate has remained a constant in our world.  It is an anchor in many ways, strengthening us mentally and physically, as well as giving us a second home in the dojo, a place to leave the daily routine behind and strive for something different.  This should not be confused with saying that karate is stagnant, that it never changes, evolves, or challenges; quite the contrary.  But the basis is reliable:  the putting on of my gi, the stretching, the review of basics, the adjustments to stance or technique, the repetition of kata and the revelations that can bring, and above all the time and attention spent focused on nothing but karate.

I've spent the last year training when I could, watching, criticizing, being frustrated, being rewarded, and all the other things that you get in a dojo.  I've written innumberable blogs about my experiences that never made it to the keyboard.  I hope and plan to start posting again much more regularly, and I'm sure that many of these things, personal or otherwise, will make it into this blog.

But I thought it appropriate, this day, to bow in respect to my martial art, and constant in an ever-changing world.

Testing vs. Tournament

I'm in a ranting kind of mood.  I could blame it on the chaos that surrounds my personal life (nothing too dire, just constant chaos), but where's the fun in that?  So instead, I'm going to indulge myself in some soapbox time.

One question which keeps arising, in various forms and from various perspectives, is that of testing vs. tournament.  Is one more important than the other?  Are they the same thing?  Do you train the same way?  Do the results mean the same thing?

Let me start off by quoting Mr. Okazaki, who has repeatedly said that karate has three aspects:  training, testing, and tournament.  Each should be equally important.  Therefore, putting in your time in the dojo, testing for rank when eligible, and competing in tournaments, are all equally important.  Each tests you in different ways, and each offers something the others cannot.  For example, regular training shows commitment and assists in fitness and a sound foundation; testing gives you the opportunity to show how you've grown; and tournament gives you a chance to compare your skills to others.  So the answer to the first question, in my opinion, is unequivocal:  neither testing nor tournament is more important or "better".

So would you train the same way for both?  After all, both require you to be in good physical shape, to know your katas, and to be able to do kumite.  However, many aspects of their training are quite different.  For example, when being tested, your basics and foundation are critically important:  stance, how you make technique, etc. are all evaluated carefully.  In tournament, sometimes people take shortcuts and get away with it.  Why?  Because you are being compared to the other people in the ring with you, not against an arbitrary standard or against your own past performance.  Tournament sparring is a chess game, full of strategy and scoring a point.  Test sparring is about dominating your opponent and controlling the match.  Very different things in execution.

Finally consider what the results might mean.  If you win in tournament, that is obviously a great achievement and worthy of recognition.  It means that on this day, you performed the best of everyone out there, in the opinions of the judges.  You can be very proud.  However, it does not necessarily mean you're the "best", or even that you were the best out there.  It's a triumph on a small scale, to be enjoyed but not over-emphasized.  If you pass a dan test, that is obviously a great achievement and worthy of recognition.  It means that you have demonstrated to a panel of certified examiners that you have improved your own karate, that you are able to perform well against an objective set of criteria that are used to help define that dan rank, and that you have shown dedication and commitment.  It does not necessarily mean you're the best, it doesn't mean you'll win tournament, it doesn't necessarily mean you're stronger or faster than people you outrank.  Your shodan is not their shodan, any more than your karate is their karate.  It's a personal milestone, not to be measured against the other karateka you train with, but only against yourself. 

You can pass your dan test and be eliminated first round in tournament, every single time.  It doesn't mean you suck!  You can win in tournament and not pass your dan test, more than once.  It still doesn't mean you suck!  It just means that different judging criteria are applied by different judges.

Me?  I prefer to be judged against my own work, my own history, my own achievements.  I feel confident that in most cases, I measure up.  I detest being compared to someone else who might have more power but weaker stances, who might love to compete and always excel where I always seem to be lackluster, to have people watch who don't understand and wonder why I outrank some other people.  So obviously, I prefer testing -- although "prefer" does not by any means indicate enjoyment!  It just means I have no need to prove myself "better" than other people (well, not most of the time anyway) but I always want to prove that I'm better than I used to be.

So... testing vs. tournament.  I don't care which one you prefer or excel at.  I only care that you endeavor to do both, to help yourself grow, that you train for both, and that you realize they are not the same.

Do You Fuchi More Than You Know?

Once upon a training, one of the higher rank black belts was waxing eloquent about some karate-related thing, when the sensei came up next to him.  Sensei formed his hand into the shape of a duck bill and moved it up and down, then said, "Fuchi no karate!" and laughed.  He then looked at me, shook his head, and added, "Mouth karate... talk talk talk!"

We all laughed but the point was made, and we all got back to work.  More work, less talk! 

It's a familiar issue in every endeavor you undertake.  Some people are hard workers, some people spend much more time talking about their work than actually doing it (personally I believe these people are responsible for 99% of useless meetings I've had to sit through).  Many people are dedicated, but we all have our days/weeks/etc. where the motivation dies, and we find ourselves doing more talking than doing.  It can sneak up on you; you might think you're still busting your keister while the people around you are wishing you'd shut up so they can get back to work.

Karate goes in highs and lows for me, and in the course of the ride I sometimes find myself talking.  A lot.  To other people, to myself, to sensei.  I have opinions on everything and express them indiscriminately.  I don't always realize I'm doing it unless it's pointed out to me.  At that point, I usually feel embarrassed and slightly resentful, but it also helps me to focus myself again and get back on track.

Of course, it's easy to see in other people.  I know several people who sparred against high ranks when they were comparatively low, and won their matches.  A couple of these people still bring that up whenever sparring is mentioned -- rather than doing whatever sparring drill is being suggested.  I know a few other people who talk about how much potential they have, and how they're destined for great success at (insert team or event) -- and miss plenty of trainings, don't work as hard as they should when they do attend, and are visibly out of the sort of condition required for that greatness they desire.  Another has not graced a dojo in many years (a litany of injuries will follow if you ask why) -- but will they readily tell you how they could improve everyone else's karate, regardless of their relative rank or experience.

So that's my challenge to any readers who haven't given up on this blog due to the seriously sparse postings lately! (hey, I've been training as much as possible but I have a 4 month old midget at home and she takes priority):

Examine your dojo self.  How much work are you doing vs. how much talk?  Are you making every training?  How hard do you work while you're there?  Do you accept criticism as a chance to improve, or reject it as a put-down?  Do you always have an excuse or response when you are being corrected? 

Remember, the dojo is a training hall, and you should respect it as such.  Make sure your priority there is work, not talk.

You just might fuchi more than you know!

The Debate About Sport Karate

Two posts in one day after weeks of silence...

The tournament last weekend has reawakened the old debate about sport karate vs. martial arts, and this time there's a new twist because we have some new members of our dojo who come from a much more sport-oriented background.  Although they've worked very hard with us and are great to have, they also naturally have some loyalty to their old style, as well as a certain philosophy that they were taught and that they agree with.  They get understandably defensive at times when they hear disparaging comments about sport karate.  We get defensive when they try to argue with us about it.  The incident last weekend illustrated the divide:  some of the new people defend the person who broke my husband's nose, while we try to make it clear that such behavior is not acceptable in our dojo and never will be.

Since that type of debate also comes up frequently online, I thought I'd just go on record with what I believe the differences are between traditional martial arts and sport karate, and when or if there is a problem or a conflict.

To start with, I want to emphasize one thing:  unlike some traditionalists, I am not anti-sport-karate, per se.  I fully support participation in tournaments, I understand competitive spirit and why people would want to win.  Not a problem.  I understand and respect the amount of training and dedication that it takes to become a top competitive martial artist, and I respect the skill level gained in the process.  I accept that some degree of feistiness between competitors will naturally arise in high adrenaline situations, and that some injuries or aggressiveness go with the territory.

For me, the problem arises when winning becomes more important than martial arts.  What do I mean by that? 

Well, there are some people who practice solely to win tournaments.  If they stop winning, they quit martial arts because it's "no fun anymore".  That's a problem for me. 

There are some people who practice only what they need to in order to win, and regard everything else you're trying to teach them as an irrelevant waste of training time.  That's a problem for me.

There are some people who think that winning is worth it at all costs.  This might include people who are willing to risk injuring an opponent in order to land a flashy sparring technique, when a lesser, and less dangerous, technique would have done just as well.  That's a problem for me.

There are some people who pitch tantrums when they don't win, fling accusations at fellow competitors or judges, claim there's unfair bias or that people were just jealous of them.  That's a problem for me.

There are some people who gloat when they do win, showing blatant ego instead of humility, rubbing it in and showing no respect whatsoever for their opponents.  That's a problem for me.

Are these things problems for me in every sport or every form of competition?  Not necessarily.  Different endeavors have different rules of behavior.  Why are they a problem here?  Because they are antithetical to the spirit and philosophy of traditional martial arts.  The body has learned but the soul is still immature.  A true martial artist should be working on both.  Some sport-oriented martial artists never work on any aspect but the physical, so I consider them unbalanced.  With all that skill should come some knowledge and discretion concerning what to do with it.  I'll go on record also as saying all the fuzzy philosophy in the world doesn't make you a martial artist unless you also work the physical and attain true skill.

When people can train diligently, work hard and endeavor, and grow on all levels, then I support them.  If they love to compete and are willing to bust their keisters to win, then I respect them.  In fact, I have no problem at all with competition (I personally don't enjoy it, but that's just me) as long as the competitors remain martial artists.

When they don't, then I want nothing to do with it.  Our organization, our region, our senseis, our dojos do not endorse such an approach, and anyone who wishes to train with us needs to accept that.  For us, winning will never be more important than respect and hard work.  We give much greater value to the person who can walk away from a pointless physical confrontation then we do to someone who lets themselves get baited into unnecessary violence, in the dojo, the tournament ring, or the real world.  That's not skill or mastery, it's ego.  And it's not worth it.

Of Tournaments and Leading By Example

So there was a tournament this weekend.  I did not participate.  My husband did.  The end result of the day was to illustrate several points that we feel are key to proper martial arts etiquette and understanding... unfortunately, these were illustrated by someone doing exactly the opposite, and the consequences that followed.

There's a male competitor who we see periodically at open tournaments, known for being brutal in sparring.  Broken noses, cracked ribs, and other injuries follow in his wake.  Recently he injured someone in dojo so badly their face required reconstructive surgery.  To say he's unpopular with his fellow competitors is a bit of an understatement.  He and his siblings are excluded from the usual camaraderie that exists at ringside.  There are some who greatly admire his skills, and I will give him full credit for being a very skilled martial artist.  I just don't particularly care for how he chooses to use those skills.

So you can imagine how thrilled I was when I saw that he was my husband's second round opponent for sparring.  My comment before he went into the ring?  "Block face, for heaven's sake!"

My husband considered various strategies and decided that the best one was to make this guy respect his distance and speed.  So he struck out immediately, aggressively, went after him with a couple of punches and then a couple of roundhouse kicks head-level.  This opponent also never blocks, and if my husband hadn't pulled the kicks, he'd have been unconscious.  But he did pull them, because his intent was not to injure; they were scoring techniques and there was no need to hurt someone to prove that.  My husband chased him out of the ring with these kicks, and as the last kick was coming down, his opponent reacted by aiming a perfectly executed and timed jodan punch to his unprotected face.

This was a legal, very appropriate move.  The problem is that it was done from about a foot away, and wasn't pulled in the slightest.  Full speed, full power, full distance, full contact.

Today my husband sits on the couch with packing up his broken nose and a lot of painkillers in his system.  His opponent was DQ'ed from competition and there is actually talk of a suspension for flagrant excessive, malicious contact.  This is probably based partly on the fact that he's been DQ'ed a lot for similar problems in the past few years.  The hubby and I made a point to minimize the incident to the other competitors and people from our dojo, joking that broken noses are bound to happen sooner or later.  Most of the competitors came to check on him before we went to the hospital.  The exception?  You guessed it.  His opponent never approached him with the requisite apology and concern for his health that proper etiquette and manners (not to mention character) demand.  We're really not surprised, but it illustrates the point that bothers us most about the whole incident.

So at the end of the day, what lessons could be learned?  Fans of full-contact sparring will argue that this guy did exactly what he should have and is the "real" fighter, but I might point out this was a traditional karate sparring match and certain rules applied, which he ignored, and that he has a track record of ignoring such rules.  Those same fans will say my husband should have gone ahead and kicked him in the jaw, if he really could have, and will say that he'd never last in a street fight because he pulls his techniques.  I would point out that if he wasn't bound by rules in a tournament and really felt threatened, he wouldn't pull his techniques.  Trust me on this one.  I've seen him take someone down when he had to, quickly, efficiently, and without hesitation.  But he doesn't hurt people when there's no need for it, because he's not a thug.  He's a martial artist.  And yes, Virginia, there is a difference.

This man, the opponent, also teaches; in fact he has his own dojo I believe.  On the website he mentions humility, kindness and self-control.  I couldn't agree more, but I can't see how he demonstrated any of those on Saturday.  What is he teaching his students?  It's not enough to talk, you need to lead by example.  We were pissed beyond belief -- not at the broken nose, but by how it happened -- but made a point not to show it, not to trash talk the opponent.  We tried to set the example of self-control and walking away from a stupid confrontation, and to show them how to handle an injury should it come your way.  I think my husband did a great job of showing courage and strength, as the blood gushed from his nose and he was dizzy and nauseous but yet maintained a joking spirit until we were alone in the car on the way to the hospital, at which point his true feelings came out. 

The bottom line from where we stand?  The broken nose sucks, but we accept that as part of martial arts.  We'll even acknowledge that in many ways the cause itself wasn't so far out of line.  But here's the part where we start having issues:  the higher rank you hold, and the more experience you have, the more is expected of you.  If a brown belt or a new shodan had done this, we would not be as angry, we'd just think, "needs more experience, hasn't learned how to control his techniques or his temper yet."  However, a high rank, extremely experienced sparrer could have pulled that punch so that it landed but didn't break the nose.  Could have, and should have.  If they don't, then it's not an accident, it's a choice.  He chose to injure my husband.  And I take issue with that choice.

Our students learned some valuable lessons.  They learned why we emphasize controlling your techniques, whether in dojo or in tournament.  They learned about humility -- the guy was taping himself to put the video up on his website and some thought his shot at my husband was because he looked bad on his own video and got mad.  They learned why some of the rules of behavior exist, and got see the difference between mutual respect and self-importance.  They learned the difference between a brawl and tournament sparring, and why you shouldn't confuse the two.  Hopefully they also got to see a good example of how to deal with a difficult situation, how to control your emotions and handle things properly.

I'm not sure what the other guy's students learned, although I could hope they learned that excessive contact and aggression, not to mention ignoring the rules, will get you into trouble.  I could hope that they saw how their instructor was shunned by most of the other competitors, who dislike his willingness to injure and his lack of any remorse for it, that his students could distinguish the difference between fear and respect, and would prefer genuine respect.  But I doubt it.