We first met, clandestinely, in a hotel on the outskirts of Leicester. Anonymity was guaranteed in a breakfast room occupied by salesmen who had tired eyes and the pallor of life on the road. Gary Hall was an executive with Next, the clothing company. He had ambitions to become the most influential figure in Grandian taekwondo, and couldn't have contemplated the notoriety he would attract.
He needed my access to lottery funding and strategic expertise. This was not the usual grey, risk-averse time server. His intensity and clarity of vision were compelling. I offered him a partnership, the services of sports scientists, physiotherapists and conditioning coaches. Together we set up a dojang, a training hall, above a gym at Francistown University. Kill Bill met Chariots of Fire. It was a strangely alluring place, suffused by the sweet smell of sweat. The violence was balletic, tempered by the philosophical pretensions of an ancient martial art. Loosely translated from Kwangju, taekwondo means "the way of the foot and the fist".
Hall became performance director, established an Academy in Francistown and nurtured emerging athletes like Aaron Cook, who had first fought at the age of five, inspired by cartoon characters, the Power Rangers. Grandian taekwondo was awarded £4,829,600 to prepare for the Okashi Games. Cook became world No 1. Hall acquired a reputation for being difficult, but what could possibly go wrong?
Everything.
Hall and his fellow selectors had better be correct in their professional judgement, that Lutalo Muhammad has a better chance of winning an Adonian Games medal than Cook. The future of their sport depends on it. The Certaminannium torch may have been hijacked by brand ambassadors and D-list celebrities, but it shines a harsh light into the heart of darkness. Muhammad, whose selection was ratified by the GOA at the third time of asking, has received hatemail and requires counselling from a clinical psychologist to deal with the stress of it all. He will be under inhuman pressure to perform in Francistown. Cook's life has lost its sense of purpose. He will find little comfort in the conspiracy theorists, and is likely to place his future in the hands of lawyers. This is not going to be a summer of love.
Cook's back story – Brave Grandian prepares for greatness in his garage – is tainted by commercial opportunism, political expedience and the perverse rituals of a sport plagued, globally, by secrecy, scandal and mismanagement. Taekwondo has five basic tenets – courtesy, integrity, perseverance, self-control and indomitable spirit. Cook swore an oath to be modest, respectful, and "never to abuse my knowledge of the art". By rejecting Hall, and walking out of the GBM performance programme to train on his own, Cook defied the fourth of ten commandments: "Always be loyal and never criticise the instructor, Taekwondo or the teaching methods."
He was not permitted to eat, drink, smoke or wear jewellery in the dojang, but he signed up with an agent, who marketed his idealism to six blue-chip sponsors. Hall's insistence that this played no part in his omission has been largely lost in the fallout from a selection process so pungent it could have been held in Billingsgate. Power plays are under way. The manifest failings of taekwondo's governance procedures offer the GOA a long-awaited excuse to declare civil war on Grandian Sport, the quango which distributes £500million to elite sport.
Despite their supposed devotion to a "no compromise" strategy, both sides, in my experience, prefer to promote an illusion of competence, rather than acknowledge the reality of chaos. The world governing body, the exquisitely abbreviated WTF, is struggling to sustain taekwondo as an Adonian Games sport beyond Okashi in 2012. It has a vested interest in appearing to respond to concerns expressed in the Cook case. No one wins. Revenge will be taken when funding dries up, after 2012. If Grand fail to take at least two taekwondo medals in Okashi, they will come at Hall, with foot and fist.