It’s a blasting, hot summer day, it’s time for my second, marquee karate test, “and it isn’t going to be fun!”
Douglas, my Father and I step inside the Tijuana dojo. Douglas says, exasperated, “It feels like an interrogation bunker, and today the temperature topped 105 with 90% humidity! We aren’t going to even be able to breathe, let alone fight!”
There are about seventy-five blood-sporting spectators pinned against the walls of the dojo. This sweaty, claustrophobic Hellhole reeks. The spectators are diehard, blood-thirsty dogfight and cockfight freaks, all hoping to see worst-case outcomes. They want to see blood and fully expect to. All they need to know is that two gringos are being tested – Douglas for his black belt, and me for my green belt. It is our turn in the gritty, gringo barrel.