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Richard sees karate in the same way as Steve, but perhaps in a more metaphysical manner. When focusing on these principles of good mechanics, in the sincerity of a technique, he has reached nirvana, something I have rarely felt but continue to try and grasp. The whole thing is using one’s center to move with Tanden—your body’s core—rather than the arms, legs, or head. Watching Steve and Richard attack is beautiful. Nothing moves until it’s suddenly over. Boom, finish. Hips, groin, followed instantly by the attacking fist or leg is what it’s all about.

After four days of training we give the last salute and applaud the two instructors. We’re drained but happy and content. My only thoughts involve how much longer I can do stuff like this. I drive Richard, his wife (a great yoga instructor), and Steve back up the mountains of Gstaad, which give off an opalescent glow as we arrive late in the afternoon, with rainbow-like colors appearing in the setting sun. I open up some good wine and proceed to get pleasantly tipsy.

It’s been a great week. Later on I think back at the headlines of the week in sports. In track and field, once the noblest of sports, the Jamaicans and Americans have been caught red-handed swimming in drugs. Last year, during the Olympics, I wrote here that Jamaica was one big drug factory, but libel laws prevented me from naming names. I needed no research. All one had to do is look at these so-called stars’ physiques. Eight years from now we’ll know how many of them were cheating. My guess is all of them. Send the gold medals back now, boys and girls; the postal rates will be more expensive down the line.

Turkish football clubs have been caught fixing matches and have been given a reprieve. Thank you, Sepp Blatter, the biggest con man ever. The Tour de France is over, and being a gambler I’d bet there isn’t a single biker who’s clean, but proving it is another thing altogether. And Stuart Broad nicked it but refused to walk. That’s cricket, now.

At the same time I’d bet the farm there wasn’t a single foreign substance taken by the men with whom I just finished training. What a rare and marvelous occasion it was. Modern professional sports suck. Karate—as in a martial art, not a sport—is the answer. See you at the dojo.