Chapter 12 - Solomon
With the Rio Olympics not far away, Sensei Shinji sat down with Gavin and Solomon to discuss the chances of their young judoka qualifying for the games. Solomon’s best weight was just below two hundred pounds, which placed him just at the top end of the under-ninety-kilogram weight class for international judo.
The process for qualifying was a time consuming and financially-challenging process. Performances in tournaments all around the globe counted for points which went toward a judoka’s world ranking. Each nation could send only one athlete in each weight class to the Olympics, and Solomon would likely struggle to accumulate enough points to surpass some of his older, more experienced peers.
Gavin felt he could get the bank which employed him to sponsor Solomon, defraying some of his travel costs and allowing him to train and compete full-time, but the 2020 Tokyo Olympics seemed like a better opportunity for Solomon. He’d be twenty-six, in his athletic prime, and competing in the birthplace of judo, Japan.
If Solomon somehow reached Rio in 2016, all the better, but the three men decided that Tokyo would be the ultimate goal, and that they’d game plan accordingly.
Until Solomon spoke up.
“What if I were to represent Fiji rather than the United States? Fiji has never won an Olympic medal. I want to be the first. How could I qualify as a Fijian?”
Sensei Shinji and Gavin looked at each other and at Solomon incredulously.
“That’s so perfect!” Gavin replied. “Why didn’t we think of that sooner? If you can get yourself ranked in the top twenty-two in the world, you’re in. Assuming no Fijian judoka is higher ranked. Let me research it a bit. You haven’t represented the US team anywhere yet, so why not?”
“And that way, I can get into Worlds and stuff like that and get another crack at Adonis. He won’t be able to hide anymore,” Solomon added.
Sensei Shinji laughed. “Fight him with rage and revenge in your heart and I promise you’ll lose, kailoma. ‘Ju yoku go o seisu’. Softness controls hardness. When the time is right, he will appear before you, and you will use what you’ve been taught. You won’t pursue him, give him reason to pursue you. Be so good that he has to face you to keep from slipping into obscurity.”
“And then can I crush him?” Solomon asked.
The three men laughed.
“Yes. Then you can crush him,” Sensei Shinji assured his young student.
Gavin made a series of phone calls and sent out e-mails over the following days and discovered that Solomon could certainly represent Fiji in the Olympics, but that he’d have to surpass the performance of several strong judokas from the islands in his weight class. By sheer force of numbers, his road through Fiji would be easier than trying to fight his way through the bevy of higher-ranked Americans, and Solomon was enthusiastic about winning Fiji a medal. If Solomon was to march in the opening ceremonies in Rio or Tokyo, it would be under the sky-blue banner of the Fijian flag.
* * *
Weeks later, after spending an afternoon at the gym doing cardio and leg work, Solomon met his friend Elliott, the boy who had painfully introduced him to judo on his first visit to Cincinnati, for an early dinner near his apartment adjacent to the Xavier University campus. Elliott still trained, but Solomon had long ago surpassed him, in both physical stature and kyu-dan rank, achieving a superior belt within two years of his first visit to the dojo.
Elliott had a test for which to study, but Solomon was itching for something to do, and his legs were too sore to consider spending any more time in the gym. As he walked on the Xavier campus, he noticed a crowd filing into the soccer stadium.
A bus parked on the street was decorated with Notre Dame Fighting Irish colors and signage. Solomon watched the teams warming up on the field from behind a chain link fence, and he stopped a pair of Xavier students decked out in Musketeers shirts as they walked by.
“Hey, is Notre Dame any good?”
“Yeah, dude, they’re ranked like in the top five in the country. One of their girls is on the national team, Tara-something. But we’re undefeated. That’s why the crowd is so big. These games usually just get a couple hundred people. But I heard this might be a sellout!”
“Cool, thanks,” Solomon replied, and he plunked down seven dollars and bought his first-ever ticket to watch a soccer match.
Solomon listened closely as the starting lineups were announced, and thankfully Notre Dame had only one “Tara” on the team, number nine, so he knew who the star player to keep his eye on was. She had shoulder length brown hair, tied back in a ponytail, and right away, even as a novice soccer fan, he could see something about her was different. She had a calmness about her with the ball, slow and cool, but ready to explode at any time. Like watching a lion stalking prey, only what she was hunting was goals.
Xavier’s central defender, however, a girl he confirmed via his program was named Logan Lowery, kept getting in the way. Tara Rourke would receive the ball, spin, cut back and try to create distance to shoot or pass, and Logan just seemed to always be right there with her, no matter what she tried.
Logan was hard to miss on the field as one of the taller girls with a curly head of bright blonde hair, and Solomon found himself transfixed by her. She never stopped running, breaking up a play on the left side of the field one moment and jumping between two Fighting Irish players to win a head ball seconds later. She was constantly chattering, encouraging and positioning her teammates. Solomon found himself applauding her efforts, clapping and cheering, getting swept up in the energy of the crowd. And especially mesmerized by Logan.
Long after the match ended, a spirited 0-0 draw, Solomon remained as others filed out of the stadium. He flipped his program over to the back, checking for the date and time of Xavier’s next home game. He knew he’d need another Logan Lowery fix as soon as possible.