My first encounter with the sport was through my father’s film collection. A long time ago, I picked up one of the VHS cassettes we had and started to watch it. The story was intriguing enough: a loan shark, i.e. someone who coerces debtors to meeting their dues, is enraptured by a prizefighter’s open offer to contend with a random nobody, to uplift him and along the way show their country (America, the Land of the Free) that when it comes to making the hard yards in the game, no one gets excluded. It’s a classic Cinderella tale, told this time from a man’s point of view. Soon enough then, this man, our hero, abandons his job to concentrate on training, running, fighting, basically everything he can do to toughen himself. At the tournament, where he endures 15 rounds, he loses owing to a split decision. That’s where I learnt that this was a game which went beyond the imperatives of victory: even in defeat, what you struggled through, and how you struggled through, becomes more important. The film, incidentally, was Rocky.
Probably no other game depends so much on two people facing off each other. Literally. Boxing, at its inception, was a projection of the desire to defend one’s sense of honour and dignity with a fisticuff. The more polite way of wading through such altercations of course was through the sword and the gun, so when everyone substituted the fist and the knuckle for those two, the art of combat returned to a rather primeval, amateurish state. When the Marquess of Queensberry rules were first instituted 150 years ago, the game was upgraded from a casually combative pastime to a clearly defined and categorised activity. Those who take to it, therefore, tend to do so from a young age, because it’s very democratic: it’s open to everyone. That’s what appeals to youth, after all: freedom and access. And affordability.
In Sri Lanka boxing was largely a colonial sport, as I noted in this column last month. Now, however, it’s more democratised, so democratised, in fact, that despite the many rules and regulations and controversies surrounding the meets and tournaments held in this country, people tend to drop in to the ring at an early age. And among those many tournaments we have, one stands out considerably: the Stubbs Shield. This year Royal College claimed that Shield after 30 years, and this year the 2016 Captain triumphed as the Most Scientific Boxer. This article is about that Captain. Bhathiya Neranjana.
Born in 1998 in Bandarawela, and educated initially at Welimada Vijaya Vidyalaya, Bhathiya obtained high marks at the Grade Five Scholarship Exam and entered Royal College. Like many entrants from the Scholarship Exam, he soon opened himself up to a number of activities, ranging from volleyball to karate to Elle. Of these various activities, he took to volleyball with considerable interest, encouraged by friends.
He started playing volleyball while in Grade Six. His interest in boxing commenced a year later. What intrigued him was the fact that it wasn’t the violent series of quarrels those his age normally considered it as, something he points out for me when he remarks, “Most people think that what improves a boxer is his ability to deliver one punch after another. That is not true. You need to concentrate. You need to build up respect, for yourself and your opponent.” And then, while in Grade Nine, a chance encounter with a set of friends pushed him to try the game out for himself during an inter-house meet. This was in 2012. Back then, he tells me, there weren’t many players. But one point stood out: the Coaches were determined.
What comes out Bhathiya’s story, to me, is a parallel, between his rise and that of the Team, owing to the resolve of those Coaches. He lists down their names for me here: “There was Abdulla Ibunu, our Head Coach. And there was M. M. Nisthar and M. A. Jayalath, his Assistants, the latter of whom is a technical advisor who has, over the years, coached several Captains. We all look up to them.” And he remembers the Principal, B. A. Abeyrathna, and the Senior Games Master, Aluhar Riyaz, rather warmly as well.
What transpired thereafter was a series of encounters that led up to one ultimate victory. It all began in 2015 when Bhathiya encountered his first national meet: the T. B. Jayah Championship, where he emerged as a Gold Medallist in his weight category, 49 kg. He won in that same category, this time a Silver Medal, at that year’s Stubbs Shield, which made him the Best Loser in the tournament. In 2016, as the Captain of the Team, he oversaw to a series of victories at the Shield when of the four finalists from Royal (himself, Vimuth Dewmina, Kevin Chamod, and Ahmed Althaf), two clinched Gold Medals. Fast-forward to 2017, when they finally trimphed with the top prize after three long decades. The last time a boxer from Royal had won the other award Bhathiya did, as the Most Scientific Boxer, was 30 years ago, with A. N. Alwis.
That latter victory was obtained partly through a coincidence, by the way. The Stubbs Shield until 2017 had operated on two age divisions: Under 17 and Under 19. For some reason they had been shifted by one year, respectively to Under 18 and Under 20, the result being that Bhathiya, who had planned on coming back after his A Levels to help train this year’s troupe, found himself as one of the contenders, since he was, after all, below 20 and therefore able to qualify for the meet under a new weight category, 56 kg. I put to him that were it not for the near-misses in the last few years, this coincidence would not have given him the impetus to hanker after victory. He agrees: “I badly wanted to win. For my team, for my school.”
Needless to say, the victory was the culmination of months and years of careful strategy, sustained training, and unhindered dedication. “When I first joined the Team, I was a little nervous, but within the first week I had got used to the vigorous training sessions. They were obviously tough, especially with the other activities I was engaged in, so as time went by, I realised that it was much better to abandon them and commit myself completely to the ring. After all, I reasoned, if I gave myself to both this and volleyball, I would be dangling between two activities without being able to realise my full potential in either. For that reason, during my A Levels, and what with studies, I made a choice. If I would win for my friends and my school, I would do so through boxing.” Which is what happened in the end, naturally.
Which brings me to another important part of our interview: with all these experiences, what has he learnt about this at times ambiguous sport? “Above everything else, that it’s not based on how well you fight. It’s actually based on three factors: mental capacity, concentration, and patience. You can’t substitute sheer physical grit for any of them. If you try to win as a boxer only through your punches, you will triumph in, say, a beginner’s tournament like the L. V. Jayaweera Championship, which you can only take part in once, but not the other larger tournaments and meets you have in Sri Lanka. Moreover this is not an activity that depends on a multitude of players competing and helping out each other. This is based purely on you and your opponent. You need to train your eye to pick up, identify, and take advantage of any misses that opponent may betray from his side. In other words, it’s about keeping up and about being patient.”
All these reflections surprise me when, after recounting them, Bhathiya tells me bluntly that he might not pursue boxing once he’s done with it this year. “I have given back the way I could, I feel that I have what it takes to graduate up the ranks nationally, but I won’t, because I want to concentrate on my higher studies, which I hope to complete in the field of engineering given that I chose maths for my A Levels.”
He does hope to take part in a national level meet next year, given that before the Stubbs Shield, he won at a Junior Tournament held at the Jayathilake Stadium in Nawalapitiya which qualifies him for the nationals, but for now all that’s conjecture. So by way of conclusion I will write this: I have not seen him play, I have not seen him win. But Bhathiya has a no-nonsense demeanour that almost unnerves me. That he has enjoyed what he’s done, and is aloof about what he’s won, speaks volumes about his attitude to the only real game that won him over, at school and (I suspect) everywhere else.
Written for: The Island YOUth, November 26 2017
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