Robotic surgical precision. Inscrutable visage. Economy of movements. Such accurate shuttle control that the taut wrist on the racquet grip and calligraphy on shuttle placement looked sculpted by an intricate chisel or a laser beam.
Kento Momota also had eye-popping and tireless winning streaks, until he suddenly didn’t.
Winning the Korea Masters, his first title in two years, saw the Japanese shuttler climb 11 places to World No.41. He’s still a fair distance away from contesting the real big titles. A redemption arc at Paris isn’t quite on the horizon. But the shuttle world can’t stop feeling genuinely happy and gleeful about his return to winning ways. In some ways, the unpredictable turns of his destiny, the rollercoaster of his career, has made his tale more human than just another champion athlete on a win spree. In his imperfections and struggle to return to the top, lies the basis of adoration why the entire sport’s community roots for his still-tiny triumphs.
At Gwangju, where he stood atop the podium with a title after exactly two Novembers, he wore childish excitement at winning a Super 300. He took merriment alongside younger Koki Watanabe from the smiley slapped mascot soft toy while posing for photographs. After two weeks of tournament play, and facing a loss next week he would admit to it being really tough but rewarding at the same time. There was some frustration at losing the second week, confidence in what was to be done and enthusiasm about sorting out mistakes in practice. “I also want to sleep a lot, too,” he would guffaw. Now 29, recovery wasn’t as easy and at the switch of the button as it used to be.
“Right now, I’m having fun playing badminton. I hope to improve even more and compete in front of everyone again,” he would say. There was implicit recognition that his badminton – once touted to rule the world as a legend-in-waiting after Lin Dan – was still on the periphery, miles away from the spotlight of main competitions.
Japan took the moral call to bar their best shuttling bet for Rio Olympics for a gambling indiscretion.
Kento Momota has won a title almost after the gap of 500 days. (Reuters)
Some thought it harsh, but Bird Japan stuck to its guns, and he missed Rio.
On either side of that event, Momota dominated, won two World Championships and for extended periods of time looked invincible. Then the early morning accident in Malaysia happened, damaging his eye and shaking his composure after the driver succumbed. The super-robot of efficiency had to grapple with impediments that made badminton concerns secondary. Tokyo Games, that was supposed to be his coronation glory, came and went in a blur.
Japan, and the sagacious coaching monk Park Joo-bong, adopted patience, setting Momota no breakneck deadlines for a return. Knowing this was a delicate balance between pushing him and caring for his wellbeing, leaning towards the latter, they simply told him to enjoy his time on the court. The man who would thrash at a shuttle, take regimented steps, betray no emotion, win and go home earlier could now relax and break into a shrug and smile even if losses like 8 first round exits this year piled up. Indeed, when he played in Delhi earlier this year, he grinned and joked with his teammates, blended with them in practice, fooled around with shuttle tricks, when earlier he was literally isolated in pursuit of perfection, never quite smiling even.
His return isn’t the movie-script of the rise of the phoenix. It doesn’t quite always work that way. But Momota last fortnight beat Loh Kean Yew, the bullet-speed, bouncy, good-hearted buccaneer in 85 minutes. Next day he went 101 minutes outlasting the stubborn Dane, Rasmus Gemke. “I almost gave up a few times but I managed to get through it thanks to the crowd. Really, they had my back. Today wasn’t about the quality of shots. It was about getting down and dirty and just being resilient,” he would say about the Gemke game.
He was down 8-14 in the decider before launching a fightback.
Kento Momota jumps to make a smash. (BWF Media)
“My legs were about to cramp up but he looked like he was in worse shape than me. That sort of made it easier for me to deal with and I decided to just stick it out. In the end, I think he gave up first so that helped,” he would eventually say.
It’s the sort of show that makes you want to airdrop him into the Paris Games to let him have a shy at the medal he doesn’t have.
Lee Chong knows a bit about being denied in life. And just this September he had lamented that Momota’s career was slipping away from Olympics though not quite into oblivion, while lauding his perseverance. “When he came out from suspension, he addressed the public, admitted his mistakes and apologised,” he would tell New Straits Times appreciating how he went on to win the world title twice, won a record 11 titles in a single season and became the first men’s singles player from Japan to be world No. 1.
“The only thing missing from his trophy cabinet is an Olympic medal. As an athlete, regardless of the colour, you want to win that Olympic medal, and unfortunately, that looks like a dream that is slipping away from Momota.”
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Yes, there is no Olympic medal. Yet. But there is authentic respect from peers. Against Gemke, his half smashes, hairpin net shots and clears helped him negotiate the Dane’s liking for long rallies. And against Loh, he just surprised himself with how he kept pace with the Singaporean speed skater. Maybe, the muscle memory is taking over and the mind is relaxed, a magical blend. Maybe Paris isn’t a bridge too far.
Japan never treated him like a winning-machine though he was supposed to headline their home Games at Tokyo – chastising him for a mistake jettisoning a medal at Rio, but dealing with him most sensitively after the accident ahead of the home Olympics. And even now as he navigates the narrow path to Paris, without knowing what could come off it.
They have Kodai Naraoka prepped to gun for the medal, as two generations have come through after Momota. But in fighting his way back from staggering odds, Kento Momota is the most popular competitor of every shuttler on the circuit now. They want him doing well, and then soaking in that podium feeling once more, clutching a soft toy like a gleeful child. They all turn into spectators at the marathon’s finishing line, egging on the last push, knowing Momota’s unfinished Olympic medal story needs a fitting finish now.