Born on April 2, 1979 in Harfleur, Frédéric Lecanu is the French and Jigoro Kano version of The Voice. Commentator, host and, above all, director of words, the Frenchman has been crisscrossing France since 2013 for the French team and a lofty idea of judo. Born at the exact intersection of the yokes of David Douillét (b. 1969) and Teddy Riner (1989), the former five-time national medallist in the O100kg category shows that, through hard work and introspection, there are a thousand and one ways to give back to his discipline a little of what he received himself from it. This summer, he will be commentating on judo at the Paris Olympics and hosting the Club France for the Olympics. – JudoAKD#006.
A French version of this interview is available here.
Fred, in another life, along with Matthieu Bataille, Pierre-Alexandre Robin and a few others, you were part of the O100kg generation that had a short window of opportunity to express itself at the highest level between the David Douillet decade and the three Teddy Riner’s. Looking back, was this « demographic lottery » steep or beneficial?
If you look back to the Barcelona Games, the record among the heavyweights is indisputable. David Douillet was the owner in 1992, 1996 and 2000. His record? Three medals, including two titles. Flag bearer and Olympic champion in the process. A legend… Teddy Riner? 2008, 2012, 2016, 2021. Four individual medals, two titles. An Olympic mixed team title. And, also, able to be flag-bearer and Olympic champion right after. And off to Paris 2024… Now there are no words to describe it.
So, the 2004 Athens Games were your only window of opportunity?
I’d say it wasn’t even a window. It was a skylight! I still have bitter memories of it, having been beaten in the 1st round at the Paris Grand Slam in February of that year by a then unknown Egyptian [Islam El Shehaby, future World medallist and nine-time African champion, editor’s note], and it was Matthieu Bataille who was selected for the Games.
Did you take it badly?
There was no debate about it, in fact. I always assume that when you win, there’s no room for debate. The competition? You’re either there or you’re not. That’s all there is to it. I had my chance. My opportunities. My experience. My history. You can turn the problem on its head, and question the whole context… Honestly, what’s the point? If Matthieu wasn’t there, would I have made the Games? It’s a pointless question, since it doesn’t change reality. Would I have been better with another coach? Another system? Since I can’t change the dimension of what happened, why should I torture myself?
Do you see it as a lottery, then?
A lottery perhaps, but hold by who? The word « chance » comes from Arabic, meaning « a dice game ». Who throws the dice? I don’t think we should worry too much about this, because we mustn’t tip over into divine injustice! Why them and not me? Because they were better in that context and that’s it. It makes no sense to project yourself into another context. Another category? Another era? Is a medal more valuable if there are more participants? Or not? I remember long discussions with some of my lightweight buddies, who demonstrated to me by A + B that it was harder for them. The regimes, the number of competitors, all that. I often heard that heavyweights weren’t the same. That it wasn’t judo. That it was easier because there were fewer people. Whatever.
What did you answer to that?
I always had the same argument: « If it’s so easy, why don’t you fight as a heavyweight? » Faced with the stupidity of this question, and running out of arguments, my 67kg opponent of the evening would say to me: « Because I can’t ». And I concluded: « Yes, because you don’t have the talent to do more than 100 kg… ». As an aside: rhetoric is an art. Attack, counter-attack, adaptation. My system of attack has always been better orally than in judogi [Smiles].
Indeed…
To come back to your question, as long as you really give it your all, there’s no shame in losing. It’s hard to lose, yes, but it’s instructive. Especially if you can use this bad experience as training for life. If you can’t win medals, you can still have some values. As Socrates himself said: « A fall is not a failure. Failure is staying where you’ve fallen ». Having said that, I’m still privileged to have known the end of David’s career and the beginning of Teddy’s. For lack of having been a champion myself, I’d like to say that I’m very proud of my work. Although I wasn’t a champion myself, I rubbed shoulders with two incredible legends whom I was able to study from every possible angle – technical, tactical, physical, but also from the point of view of their impact on society, marketing, media… And, above all, I remain convinced that I gave everything I could. While not everything is measurable and quantifiable, I remain certain that, with the emotional, physical and technical level I was at at the time, I did everything I could to be the best. We could make history fifty times over… What’s done is done.
No regrets, then?
My conscience is clear. Working doesn’t guarantee you’ll be a champion, but not working means you’re sure not to make it. I worked as hard as I could. I’m convinced of that. And the respect that David, Teddy, Matthieu and Pierre have for me has a lot to do with the fact that I didn’t cheat in my personal commitment, nor in the sincerity of my opposition. In any case, that’s how I feel.
Did you come away from those years with the feeling that you’d given it your all?
Maximum opposition has at least one advantage: it allows you to get to know yourself better and learn a few lessons. So that you can perhaps bounce back better in another context. And let’s not complain: it’s only sport! Not everyone is so lucky… Mr Seguin’s goat never had the luxury of questioning himself [Smiles]… And you know, I still have such a close relationship with some of the judokas from that era that, in the end, maybe that’s the most important thing. Having Patrice Rognon on the phone every week to this day, going to see Georges Mathonnet in Briançon as soon as possible, going off every year to André Allard’s house in Aveyron, tinkering at weekends with Eric Despezelle, watching the little Stiegelmans grow up alongside my children… We shared some exceptional slices of life. Giving everything, really giving everything, forges powerful friendships and fraternities. My friends are among the most beautiful medals of my life.
Those who have known you for a long time but lost sight of you over the last ten years can only be struck by one thing: your spectacular weight loss. What’s happened?
After my sporting career – I like the word « career » because it sounds classy, but I think it should really be called « experience » – I went through a difficult period. It’s a period that all athletes who have been at the top level go through: the famous « little death ».
How did you experience it?
Like a total loss of reference points. I sometimes hear people say that athletes live in a cocoon, in comfort… Yeah. The only thing I can testify to is that, if there was a cocoon, it was called the INSEP. And if there was ever any comfort, it was above all statutory.
In other words?
Not from an administrative point of view, but from an incarnation point of view. It’s comfortable to be a top-level athlete. I liked this logical progression. Club, federal structure, INSEP. Training, competition, internship. Your life is hard because high level is hard. It’s hard, but it’s punctuated by a succession of goals. The sequence is linear, limpid. Simple. And then one day, when you’ve been judoing for years, when every second of your time had meaning, suddenly it doesn’t. Who are you then? What do you do for a living? That’s when this sentence, which I still repeat often today, came up: « Well, now what should do we do? »
Real question…
It’s amazing how powerful the mind can be. One day, the gestures you’ve rehearsed for years, the training bags waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, the cereal bars you’re going to buy for your competition… It all makes no sense. In my case, everything suddenly became too hard, too heavy, too painful. Repetition is a guarantee of performance. But when the quest for performance no longer makes sense, repetition becomes unbearable.
How did you deal with this cul-de-sac?
I lived my post-career life as a battle to be fought. A fight to protect my family. A fight to earn a living. At the start of my career, I often told myself « I’m a sportsman, I can’t do anything! » So I took my courage in both hands, I fought against my representations and my fears. You know, the word « world » [« monde », in French, ed.] has the same letters as the word « demon ». To face the world is to face one’s demons. New rhythm, new codes, new relationships – the discovery of the notion of colleague, which was unknown to me until then… And lots and lots of information. Too much, sometimes.
For example?
I think I suffered from hyper-anxiety for a long time. And after my sporting career, I rediscovered an addiction I’d had since childhood. Sport had channeled this illness called obesity. I found it again, full force, between 2007 and 2019. I fought it, I dieted, I tried to channel it. To no avail. Despite a conversion path I’m very proud of, at the age of 40 I weighed 162 kilos. That was my last official weigh-in. Forty years older, at least 40 kilos overweight…
…
In December 2017, I have an alert. A tachycardia attack that’s not serious but shakes me up. I’m off with the fire department. In the truck, the radio and the news. The Paris 2024 Games have just been made official. The biggest event of all time is coming to France. I was the announcer for Club France in Rio in 2016. It was in that truck that I decided I would be in Olympic shape for this event. That was my 2024 gamble. I had gastric sleeve surgery two years later.
How did that affect your weight?
I used to weigh 160 kg. Today, I’m at a stable weight of 110 kilos. And in great shape!
When you explain it to your children, how would you describe your role in the judo ecosystem today?
I’ve been trying for a long time to put a word to my job. Executive? Consultant? Speaker? Presenter? Developer? I’ve worn many hats in the judo world, and sometimes I’ve looked for a common denominator in my work. My professional activity has been built on encounters and opportunities and, despite my « big mouth » side, on constant observation and systems analysis. To get through the world safely, you have to understand it. And adapt. Constantly. If judo is the voice of flexibility and adaptation, you could say that I’ve been doing judo all my life. And not just on the tatami.
How did you get into judo, anyway?
I started judo at school with Guillaume Selle, in Montivilliers, Seine-Maritime. Then it was off to the club, again in Montivilliers, this time with Gérard Leberquier. Then the « pôle espoir », the « pôle France » and finally the INSEP from 1997 to 2007. I then worked in the fitness and balneotherapy sectors, before returning to judo in 2011 as a consultant for the World championships in Paris-Bercy. Since then, I’ve never left judo, without closing the door on other disciplines and activities. Quite the opposite, actually.
What has driven you so far?
As the saying goes, I wanted to « give judo back what it had given me ». I’ve never stopped trying to do so, and in every possible way. I was honoured to have been President of the French Association of international judo players for four years. For ten years, I was also deeply committed to my mission of supporting high-level judokas in their socio-professional follow-up. I’m involved in a wide variety of different activities. Sports teacher since 2013, in charge of the Mercredis de l’équipe de France operation, elected member for many years of the Maisons-Alfort Judo Club, host of the traditional Kagami Biraki, director of the Itinéraire des champions program, columnist with « Lecanu vs Bundes » on La chaîne L’Équipe, Olympic commentator on Eurosport, co-author of the book Judo for Dummies…
Phew!
The principles of judo are transversal. They intersect with the needs of society, and I loved playing with the Rubik’s Cube that is our discipline to turn the right facet towards the right interlocutor, and vice versa. But to what end? It was my son Vitaly who, one day, managed to put a generic word to a concept that, in the end, corresponds perfectly to my professional activity. According to him, my job is « happinessist ».
You are now identified as the « voice of judo » in France. How did you come to be known as such? I remember you in the press box at the 2007 Paris Tournament, whispering in the ear of Ollivier Bienfait from L’Équipe. How did this meeting come about?
I first came across Ollivier after the Sydney Games, in 2000. He was working for the newspaper L’Équipe, looking after the French judo teams, for which he and Anouk Corge were responsible for the daily newspaper’s coverage. Our relationship began in the cafeteria of the INSEP, where he invited me to lunch to discuss this thorny subject: would there be a post-David Douillet era?
What was the tone of this first exchange?
I remember a committed meal in which I defended tooth and nail the potential of my teammates in this category. We talked about Jérôme Dreyfus, who had already won the Paris Grand Slam, but also about the younger players, whose potential I certified. From Matthieu Bataille, who would later go on to become World medallist and European champion, to Pierre Robin, also a World and later European medallist, and finally sharing my own hope and desire to bring home precious international medals… Basically, apart from a few details – in my story, it was I who became the champion of champions, of course – and a few unintentional omissions (I didn’t know at the time that a certain Teddy Riner would change the face of the sporting world) -, I was able to share with Ollivier judo principles, analyses… and quite a few jokes.
What happened to the article once it was published?
It left a lasting impression on me. Firstly, because of our long exchanges, only a few lines remained – a meagre gift from a press for the general public, who find it difficult to be enthralled by our kimono-clad debates… But, above all, this article marked me by the sentence that introduces me: « Fred Lecanu, in front of a salad that called for another ».
Rude!
Even though the article was short, I’m not sure it was flattering. I called Ollivier back and we talked about it. A discussion between, on the one hand, a journalist discovering a discipline, its history, its champions and the richness of this universe, and on the other, a judoka discovering a profession, its constraints, its limits… But also its power. In short, a friendship was born. This professional-affective relationship even lasted a long time, until Ollivier decided to move away from following judo for L’Équipe. He wanted to understand. I had to argue. It was a passionate exchange. One in search of knowledge. The other in search of sharing. And vice-versa, like a long, beautiful randori between Uke and Tori, who exchanged roles throughout.
What did you learn from these years of companionship?
I learned a lot from Ollivier. What to talk about, and how to write it. When to keep quiet, too… I was by his side at the 2011 World Championships in Bercy. I was a press, web and TV consultant. Just before I met another Olivier, this one Ménard. The boss of L’Équipe du soir, he was also very important in my professional life and gave me a lot. It was a time when scoops had not yet been replaced by buzz. I’ve always tried to share my passion for judo. Telling a story is a profession. It’s a difficult, multifactorial and complex business. And, depending on the medium, the parameters change… Ollivier Bienfait? He did it with great respect, even admiration, and a sense of professional duty tinged with humor and sensitivity. In short, quite a guy…
If these seminal experiences could save time for a generation of champions and journalists, what would you like to share with these two entities who often rub shoulders but ultimately know/understand each other very little?
There’s a lot to tell… My first memory as a consultant in the journalistic field goes back to 2004 with… Harry Roselmack on Franceinfo. After completing a Sportcom diploma at INSEP, I found myself replacing Matthieu Bataille for the Olympic Games in Athens. It was a difficult radio experience, confronted with the complexity of simply explaining a terrible sequence for French judo and its representatives, most of whom were friends directly impacted by this rout. It’s fair to say that, for a first, it wasn’t the most obvious scenario.
There have been many other experiences since…
In 2007, I commented for the first time on a channel, France Televisions, alongside Arnaud Roméra. For these European championships, it remains the memory of an incredible emotional elevator. On the last day, I commented on my wife Anne-Sophie Mondière’s title. Four minutes later, it was Teddy Riner’s title that I described with fervor, sharing with the general public my admiration for a 17-year-old who had just beaten Russia’s Tarmelan Tmenov. At the same time, I was deeply distressed to realize that my sporting career was over, and that it was time to give way to youth.
Then you started working for the L’Équipe group…
In 2011, yes. I became a consultant for lequipe.fr, L’Équipe and L’Équipe TV during the World Championships in Paris-Bercy. The same entity, but three different worlds. The written press, the web and television require different angles and working times.
What have you learned from this three-pronged approach?
It’s been a rich experience, requiring adaptation, both technical and reflective. What’s more, commentary is not necessarily the same from one channel to another. On the L’Équipe channel, you have to be very pedagogical. I’ve created a character there, with (I hope!) good wordplay and humor – at the risk of being caricatural at times. On Eurosport today (or on Beinsports in the past) it’s not the same degree of analysis. Today’s viewers are well-informed, and come for more technical and tactical analysis, and more insight into what’s at stake… For every mirror, you have to think!
That was also the heyday of the « Lecanu/Bundes »…
… And the exercise was even different. Analyses of all sports, live on the L’Équipe channel, twice a week for two years. I remember how difficult it was not to say too much because of time constraints, but above all not to lose the viewer. I’ve learned to structure what I say, but above all not to expect to say everything. Only the essential. You have to accept these silences. And make choices so that the message is clear.
What role did Olivier Ménard play in this learning process?
I admired his professionalism. He’d give me the subjects, but he’d also systematically question me before the show, to reframe or reinforce my explanatory choices. I had to come up with a humorous punchline every time, which was very difficult. I was lucky enough to have the help of my partner Louis Pellissier, alias Bundes, with whom I would go and get pool fries to simulate a fracture, or a spoiled steak from the kitchen to make it look like a calf injury. Matthieu Maes, the editor, was also very important, especially for the final sketch which we rehearsed at the last minute, and which never went as planned during the live show.
In spite of everything, this great experience had to come to an end…
Yes, it was Mémé [Olivier Ménard, ed.] who, after two seasons, told me, against my better judgment, that there wouldn’t be a third. We were starting to go round in circles. We weren’t laughing so hard. He explained to me that we had to finish on top. And that’s what we did, I think. Under the guidance of a professional for whom I have the greatest respect… You know, the more things go on, the more I’m convinced that the particularity of top-level sport in general, and judo in particular, lies in its initiatory aspect. No matter what the format, whether written, oral, visual, monthly or weekly… Just as much as you can decipher the historical, strategic or technical aspects of a discipline, the confidential world of a changing room, the night in bed on the eve of an Olympic final, the fear of a first round match against a legend in your discipline… That’s the greatest asset of athletes: their experience of these things.
You’ve often commented alongside French athletes…
Before that, I was lucky enough to meet Xavier Richefort, another extraordinary man in my life. I learned an enormous amount from him. He was the voice of volleyball. He lent it with talent to the judo world. A former volleyball player and French champion with PSG. We met in 2012, to commentate together on the first Paris tournament on L’Équipe 21. It was love at first sight. Where I was anxious and stressed, Xavier was nonchalant and cool. He taught me all the tricks of the trade: the microphone that didn’t work, the orders in the headset to manage, the commercials to send out… We had one thing in common: we loved people, telling stories… And laughing. I had so much fun with him. He reached the stars in 2022. I miss him a lot… As far as the athletes are concerned, I remember the richness of having commented, for four years, on the IJF circuit on L’Équipe channel, accompanied by members of the French team past and present: Loïc Korval, Larbi Benboudaoud, Loïc Pietri, Céline Lebrun, Cyrille Maret, Fanny-Estelle Posvite, Marc Alexandre, Romane Dicko…
Experienced people…
I loved being a link between these two worlds of sport and journalism, which are at once watertight and complementary. I loved sharing with the athletes the world of commentary, governed by the notion of news but also by an inescapable economic model. Advertising on a free channel? There’s no choice. Pay for access to fights when they’re not broadcast on a free channel? No choice. It’s a privilege to share your passion in a professional capacity. I’ll be commentating on judo during the Paris 2024 Olympic Games on Eurosport. I’m delighted.
Especially as you’re from a generation that had to get up early for a long time to find out about judo…
I remember in 1997 when I arrived at the INSEP. We’d buy the L’Équipe newspaper to find out from a small section whether Douillet or Cicot had won a European medal the day before… Back then, cell phones didn’t yet exist for us, and we’d queue up at the phone booth to call the family. Today, we can follow the fights, get analyses, see the medallists’ comebacks live… Many things have evolved, but what hasn’t changed is the place that recurrent disciplines like soccer, tennis, rugby and cycling are taking in the media… Recurrent and lucrative, because the audiences are there. And if the ratings are there, it’s because people are watching. QED.
It’s a circular logic…
That’s where the danger lies. Buzz, spectacle at any price… The temptation is great to pull on the string of the easy way out. You have to find a happy medium and not lose your soul. When I comment on soapboxes, sports logging or the World’s Strongest Man, I always try to make sense and educate the general public. I try to share knowledge and information that can be of use, or at least provide an educational and entertaining experience. The number of views is not an absolute guarantee of quality work. For all these years, my common thread has been learning and sharing. To share my point of view, to share information and even to share a few dreams. I always think of the child who might come across an image that could change his or her life.
Has that ever happened to you?
I’ve been there, yes. It was the opening ceremony of the Seoul Olympic Games, projected in the small computer room at my school. I was nine years old and my interest in sport began that day… That’s what my job is today: sharing emotions, information and a point of view. But never a judgment.
We met a few times at the Sport, Literature and Cinema festival at the Institut Lumière in Lyon, hosted by its director Thierry Frémaux, general delegate of the Cannes Film Festival and himself a 4th dan. On that occasion, you shared with me your feelings not of imposture, but of being a bit of an intruder in an environment that wasn’t necessarily your own. It reminded me of what Gévrise Emane once told me about her panic attack on the morning of the London Olympics. I found it very interesting that you had the honesty to put those words to your discomfort. Do you now understand where this anxiety came from, despite the fact that all your frame and glibness seem to belie it?
You can’t escape your childhood. That’s why I’m so attached to this very important period in your life. I think that if judo is more than a sport, it’s surely where it can play its most decisive role. I love children and their world. Not to go back to them or to escape from the adult world like a Peter Pan syndrome, no. I love children and their world because it’s there that landmarks are created that are very difficult to change later on. Kodomo, which I’ll tell you about later, means « child » in Japanese. A child embodies hope.
What was your childhood like?
In each of us there are representations that have always been anchored. They stem from our education, our past, our culture, our beliefs… I grew up in a modest family. My paternal grandmother was a cleaning lady. My grandparents were farmers. Part of me grew up with a tenacious, ingrained, recurring image: « That’s not for us ». Maybe that’s how the impostor syndrome came about. The feeling of not fitting in. Not deserving. It’s not easy to talk about judo without having been a champion. But I inherited a precious gift from my mother: the fundamental notion of the value of hard work.
What do you mean by that?
In the first opus of the saga, Rocky Balboa himself understands the day before the fight that he can’t win against Apollo Creed… You just don’t turn the established world upside down. What’s his place in the world? His own. What’s left for Rocky? Seize the opportunity to fight. That, in all modesty, is what I’ve done. That, and a lot of work. Not to show others any relative success or victory. Just to become myself.
A well-known rapper said more or less the same thing a long time ago: « I want to become the person I should have been… ».
If today I’m director of the Itinéraire des champions program, it’s surely because I’ve been lucky enough to come across the champions on my itinerary. It was with David Douillet in particular that I realized that it was possible to break through the glass ceiling. Beyond his titles, I’ve learned a lot from him. His no-limits attitude, his curiosity…
How did you meet?
I met David in Neufchâtel-en-Braye during a summer training course organized by his home club. I was about fifteen… Then I went my own way, without losing sight of his career path. I found his success incredible, inspiring… I had his poster on my bedroom door at the Pôle France in Rennes. I saw him as a role model, who made attainable the unattainable. Then I met him again at INSEP. I was one of his partners for a long time. He opened the doors of his world to me. A rich, multi-factorial world into which I tiptoed, apologizing for existing. I was his partner in a Coca ad directed by Gérard Jugnot. I fell over a Plexiglas plate for a spot on the early days of the Internet… David was born in Normandy, like me. He grew up in a field of watercress. Nothing predestined him for the life he lived and still lives. Did he want to be a champion? He won the Games twice. He wanted to be a politician? David made me realize that the greatest limit is the one you impose on yourself. Fear of losing solves nothing. If you go for it, you go for it. If you don’t, you don’t!
What were your initial aspirations?
I’ve always been curious. I’ve had the privilege of crossing many different worlds, always respecting their codes and people, and always trying to understand how systems work. I’ve followed my own path, always sticking to the same axes: understanding issues, anticipating questions, researching, looking for the principles that bind us together. And listen to the stories that come from the heart… In the end, the levers of passion and performance are the same for everyone. I’ve spent some fabulous moments with great judokas, but also with some of the great legends of the sport: Marie-Jo Pérec, Jackson Richardson, Fabien Pelous… The principles are the same: doubt, questioning, self-sacrifice… And this circle has continued to expand as comments have taken me out of the dojo and then out of the stadium.
An anecdote?
When I commented on Teddy Riner’s tenth World title with Thierry Marx, I had to think hard and put this extraordinary chef-judoka in the best possible conditions to ensure that his comments were relevant to the event. Finding coherent angles, thinking outside the box. Finding intelligible principles, cross-disciplinary recipes… It’s fascinating!
So there’s really no such thing as imposture…
The imposture syndrome lies in the idea that you don’t belong. It took me a long time to realize that I could contribute my personality, my skills and the knowledge I’d built up through my research. And my story, and that of others… I have an extraordinary life. I didn’t steal it from anyone. I’ve fought for it and, above all, it’s lasted long enough to be certain that it’s not just a coincidence. It’s my life. With the best I’ve done and the worst I’ve done. But one thing’s for sure: don’t listen to people who say you’ll never make it. Because they’re also the same people who, once you’ve done it, tell you that it was easy.
In tennis, the Grand Slam tournaments have 128 entrants. At the end of the day, only one of them will have won seven matches, which means that the other 127 will have ended in defeat. While some use this as a springboard for healthy self-reflection, many others give in to the temptation – which is, after all, very human – to feel sorry for themselves, the refereeing, the weather… As in any microcosm, judo also contains its share of dark side: jealousy, frustration, bitterness, resentment… Is it because your voice is now heard that you seem publicly impervious to such things? What barriers do you impose on yourself in the face of spiraling negativity?
Competition is, indeed, a lot of entrants for few chosen ones. But even with great titles and unforgettable victories in all sports, I’ve come across many champions who have fallen on hard times after remarkable careers. Not enough income. Not enough recognition. Not enough emotions to live with after all that… The list is long. And the remedies, more or less feasible. How can we judge a competitor’s career? And how can he judge himself? Questioning oneself, forgiving oneself, not blaming others… The story isn’t that simple.
Where do you draw the line?
I’m not sure that « having » is the same as « being ». That’s why we have two fundamental action verbs. To have a title is not necessarily to be happy. Winning a medal doesn’t guarantee fulfillment. And I’m pushing the envelope: is having a judogi and a belt a guarantee of being a judoka?
A vast topic…
No system is perfect. Actually, I’m not even sure that perfection exists. And, like everything else, the world of judo has its share of darkness, demons and inglorious stories… But is that really what matters? If we can’t be perfect, then let’s try to be excellent! Or, let’s be modest, in line with ourselves, even happy if possible. All the while bearing in mind that time is running out for us. Time has a way of always passing…
How do you relate to the passage of time?
I like the idea of breaking time down into three categories. Cyclical time, which always returns, like the seasons that follow one another ad infinitum. Instant time, the present moment, represented by the tachiai of sumotoris who pounce on each other at the referee’s signal. And finally, linear time, past, present, future, which can be anxiety-provoking because it unconsciously projects towards finitude. Like any judo match, life ends in an inescapable soremade. Acknowledged: « Hurry up and live, or hurry up and die », because life is now!
High-level athletes have an ambivalent relationship with time. On the one hand, it offers the opportunity to progress; on the other, it refers to opportunities that will never come again…
High-level perfectionism leads to the unpleasant realization that we end up dwelling more on our faults than on our qualities. If life is a beautiful white canvas, there’s always a little black spot in the middle. And sometimes that’s all we end up seeing. The rest is beautiful, but we don’t realize it anymore. You need to take a step back to analyze the richness of a journey, the number of people you’ve met, the amount of extraordinary information you’ve ingested and the powerful emotions you’ve stored up. And to mourn its failures. Because in the end, as I mentioned earlier, if there are so few chosen ones, is it a failure… or a lesson?
You tell me…
What’s the point of competition, after all? Well, to get to know each other. To really know yourself. To face your fears. To decipher your limits. And, above all, to develop strategies to improve and find solutions. If you commit yourself totally and sincerely to a real, well-constructed project, the quest for results is just as rewarding as the medal itself. What’s more, I’m convinced that this model can be exported to other sectors, to other people… If the performance model exists, it’s not just for sport.
It goes to the very essence of the discipline…
I loved deconstructing the principles of judo and using them to tell great stories. Judo is more than a sport. It’s a method of self-improvement. And according to its founder, Jigoro Kano, a method for improving society. A case in point? Repetition is the key to success. No pianist without scales. No judoka without uchi komi. And this principle also applies in reverse. Jostling someone you don’t know and don’t mean to is clumsy. Shoving someone physically (or psychologically) and deliberately to hurt them is violence. Repeating violence on the same person is called harassment…
How has being a competitor helped you understand this?
Competition and high-level competition are gas pedals. It multiplies information, emotions and interactions… Judo is rich in symbols that help us to understand life better. The world of top-level competition is formidable, and the experience can be painful… but no more so than life in general, I imagine. Death, illness, injustice: the outside world puts us to the test too! The battle is above all an internal one. Hindsight, the method taught on a tatami, the people around you or any form of help are all aids in achieving this. Once it’s clearer, it’s up to each individual to try and make the best of his path. Or his way, as you prefer!
The most common feedback from the tours you lead is that it puts stars in the children’s eyes. But a little birdie tells me that it’s also good for the champions who are invited. Am I right? Germany’s Ole Bischof once confided in me (and Switzerland’s Sergei Aschwanden said much the same thing in a page from his recent autobiography, see opposite) how much these side-steps helped him rediscover meaning in what he was doing. I imagine the same is true of some of the older people involved in these events…
As an athlete, I loved taking part in the Mercredis de l’équipe de France. I must have done a dozen of them, including one in Corsica where, for the first time, we worked with disabled people. At the time, I was alongside Matthieu Bataille, Céline Lebrun, Amina Abdellatif, Benjamin Darbelet and Christophe Besnard – I still remember the selection, even though it must have been twenty years ago! We’d been to their hostel, visited their rooms, talked judo… What Artus recently showed at the cinema with Un p’tit truc en plus, we had the privilege of discovering more than twenty years ago thanks to the Mercredis de l’équipe de France and the hospitality of the territories.
When you put it all together, you start to have a certain number of dates on your calendar…
Since I joined the Federation as an executive in 2013, and was put in charge of these events, I’ve run over 150 events of this type, and by the end of the year there will be 50 stages of the Itinéraire des champions. Suffice to say, I know the principle well!
What stands out about these events, from your point of view as an animator?
The magic is incredible for the kids. For the young judokas, of course, who can see the champions, touch them, talk to them… And for the champions it’s magic too. Since 2013 and my first Mercredi de l’équipe de France in Rouen, there’s been no star ego to speak of. I haven’t had a single problem in eleven years. Humility has always been inescapable on the part of all the ambassadors of our discipline. And their total generosity in this context. But above and beyond these interventions within the judo family, what stands out the most are the societal actions, in hospitals, nursing homes, schools… Where, over the years, memories of tatami become a little blurred, I retain very precise memories of sometimes very difficult moments spent with people in great difficulty.
For example?
The images run through my head… I remember Matthieu Dafreville and Pierre Robin in Chambéry with the Lemarchal association against cystic fibrosis and this young girl who testified about her fight, her lungs flooded and her voice wheezing. I remember this former soldier in an EHPAD (nursing home) whom nobody came to see anymore, who came in his uniform to honor the presence of the French teams, and who showed us his photos. I remember this autistic boy, in crisis, calmed by Cathy Arnaud thanks to the magical powers hidden in her heart. I remember this little boy, Paul, whose last outing from hospital in Rennes was to be able to see the champions, and his hand-in-hand ride with a tearful Marc Alexandre, overwhelmed by emotion after understanding that this carpet ride was, for this terminally ill boy, the last before the great soremade – we received the announcement of his death at the Federation a few days later…
How do you cope with these moments?
I might as well tell you that it’s very calming. And when you go home in the evening, you hug your children. Tightly. Very tightly… For over ten years, I’ve been at the heart of some fabulous stories: the big one with its dates, its medals and its seriousness, and the little ones too, with their jokes, their magical moments and those curious coincidences that make things exceptional. I don’t know who throws the dice of destiny, but we’ve lived through a multitude of magnificent moments whose script wasn’t written by us.
For example?
I remember the end of Lucie Louette‘s career at Amiens. When she was there, she told me that she had taken part in her very first Mercredi de l’équipe de France exactly in the same place. But that was much earlier – fifteen years earlier, actually. She was a green belt, and she was the one asking for autographs. The circle was complete… There’s often something circular about these scenarios, by the way. In 2021, France beat the Japanese in the final of the first mixed team event of the Olympic Games, where 57 years earlier, Dutchman Anton Geesink became the first non-Asian to become Olympic champion. Well done, isn’t it?
On Sunday February 4, 2024, during the break before the Paris Grand Slam finals, you hosted a meeting between children and champions. What made this moment so much more than a simple event?
When, like me, you’ve had the immense privilege of experiencing so much thanks to a discipline like judo, it’s your duty to try and return the favor. I’ve often heard the phrase: « I want to give back to judo what it has given me ». That’s what I’ve tried to do, in every possible way. When I came into contact with children during my first Mercredis de l’équipe de France, I quickly realized that something was missing. As a child, I’d been marked, like a whole generation, by the excellent work done with Asterix and the Moral Code. Imaging these concepts with accessible characters, creating educational scenes that speak to people… Let’s be clear: the idea was brilliant! So with Patrice Rognon, among others, a few of us set to work on a Disney moral code to breathe new life into a project that had already proved its worth. It was a moment of extraordinary creativity, with the aim of ensuring that Mickey and the gang could now embody the eight maxims laid down by Bernard Midan.
How did it turn out?
The project was ambitious. Too ambitious, perhaps. A brand has its demands. Especially when its power is linked to its image. That’s legitimate. Deploying such a system required controls that were impossible to implement in the heart of the territories. Too hard. Too cumbersome… A failure I found hard to swallow. From this experience, however, came a conviction. If the Federation was to bring a character to life, it had to be the owner.
How did this come about?
I was summoned early on by Stéphane Nomis, now President of France Judo, by Sébastien Nolesini, the General Manager, and by Sébastien Mansois, the National Technical Director, to work together on a project which would deploy the values of judo: l’Itinéraire des champions. Following on from the Mercredis de l’équipe de France , created in 1993 and which I have been running since 2013, the project would involve a 50-stop tour over the course of the Olympiad, with champions past and present. A participatory show for licensed judokas, but also for people with disabilities, people far removed from the sport, schoolchildren… With my colleague and friend Laurent Perrin, we’d been working on these issues for a long time. So we needed a recurring, identifiable icon that would serve the values of judo, but above all would be driven by the hope of acquiring them… That’s how Kodomo was born.
What is Kodomo?
It’s a story into which I’ve poured all my childlike soul. Kodomo is the imaginary friend I didn’t have as a child, but who would surely have helped me in my hour of need. Kodomo is the cure for despair. The light in the darkness. The partner in life who helps you grow, just as Uke helps Tori become himself.
And so Kodomo was there during that famous break last February…
After three years in the field and forty stages under my belt, it’s time for the last event of the Paris Grand Slam break, before the last ten stages scheduled for 2024. I started hosting these breaks at Bercy in 2014, to honor five champions who had just ended their careers: Thierry Fabre, Benjamin Darbelet, Anne-Sophie Mondière, Matthieu Bataille and Lucie Décosse… This Sunday, February 04, was the last day of the fiftieth edition of the Paris Grand Slam. No need to screw up. Last rehearsal in France before the Olympic Games, with an exceptional line-up of fighters, including Teddy and Romane… Sunday’s entertainment in front of a packed house of 15,000 people had to be grandiose, and it required a lot of work: convocations, image rights, choice of children… It’s like a competition. How long does it take to prepare for an ippon? It’s better not to count.
How did you experience those few minutes?
It may sound pretentious, or even incomprehensible, but that Sunday afternoon, I felt like I was delivering… a piece of art.
You bet!
All the symbols were aligned: the Matthieu Bataille’s presence as referee – surely the best in the world. What an achievement! No wonder he was more tactical than I was as a fighter! Now I understand better… Lucie Décosse’s – what a champion! With an improvised sweep in the fight against the little one… A sweep out of nowhere. Just like Lucie. She is judo… Not to mention the presence of Cyrille Maret against a young boy with Down’s syndrome… Cyrille goes to the end of the concept with a te guruma whistled by the audience… And booed (nicely!) by the judokas still in the running and in the finals, who watched the match from the warm-up area.
It was indeed a great turnout…
Iliadis, Kelmendi, Shavdatuashvili… Clarisse playing the game the day after her victory… There was also Larbi, whom I’ve known for so long. And Kosei Inoue, against whom I’ve fought twice – and lost twice! The last time these two were against each other was in the final of the mixed team day at the Olympic Games, the first in history, in 2021 in Japan… It was a dream for me, but also for the children who had the privilege of taking part. From their arrival at the venue to their return to the parking lot, every second of their visit was unforgettable.
What was the idea behind this format?
The International Federation wanted to organize this type of event. They trusted me to help them do it, and I’m very proud of that. With them, we have perpetuated a know-how built up over the years thanks to the event tours that have criss-crossed the clubs. The result will remain engraved in my memory and in my heart. With its incredible audience, the historic Olympic year of 2024 and the exceptional coincidence of hosting the fiftieth edition of that mythical Grand Slam, the moment was already grandiose. As mentioned above, « I wanted to give back to judo what it had given me ». And Kosei Inoue even coached Kodomo… I repeat: Inoue coached Kodomo! While his Japan was beaten by France in the final of the Olympic mixed team event in Tokyo, this immense champion (what class!) is playing the game, in Paris, at the service of the educational message conveyed by our discipline. Inoue coached Kodomo… What greater symbol could there be? What greater message? When there’s nothing left to say, the only word to say is « thank you ».
This moment seems to have moved you like no other…
As a child, I never imagined I’d live to see a moment like this. I dreamed of titles, I dreamed of medals… Nowhere was it written that my path would lead me to the carpet of the fiftieth edition of the Grand Slam… With a show to deliver, a message to get across and a microphone to do it with. There’s no diploma, no training, no clearly defined career for moments like this. I never thought judo would have allowed me to have so many adventures. And quite honestly I don’t know, with a complicated childhood, what I would have become without it… That’s what I thought of when I got off the mat. I was exhausted from the three days of madness, with shows to deliver, commentaries for La chaîne L’Équipe and corridor animations to manage. When I first imagined the character of Kodomo, I never thought it possible that one day he would land on the carpet at Bercy. And that I’d be at his side to reassure and comfort him when fighting was too difficult for him. Perhaps it was too early for him? Or maybe he’s not cut out for it? Not every child is cut out to be a champion, but judo is also designed to give them the foundations for a balanced life full of values. And maybe even make them happy. In creating Kodomo, I finally gave back to judo what it had given me. And that, I believe, is called hope.
A few months later, on the sidelines of the Federal Assembly in Caen, you received the 2024′ Président Award from President Stéphane Nomis. Referring to your fifth-place finish at Europe 2002, you said in your speech that « every medal has its other side, and the other side is beautiful ». What do you mean by that?
Even though I’ve taken part in countless awards ceremonies as a presenter, I’ve never been officially honored personally. I’ve always been troubled by the strong emotion generated by the presentation of an award, which can seem like an insignificant moment. I had always wondered how I would react if one day I were presented with such an award. That day, I had no idea I was going to be honored. My speech was improvised.
So, how did you react?
Stéphane’s sincerity really touched me when I received the award. The (very!) long standing ovation from the French judo world moved me. It was both a professional and a personal performance that were saluted. Inevitably, the whole of my career came rushing back into my head. It then seemed obvious to me to make a reference to my greatest personal sporting failure, but above all to my career since then.
That fifth place at the European Championships…
On that day in 2002, in Maribor, Slovenia, I had four fights to win a European medal. The draw was far from easy, and in the first round I took on the formidable Dutchman Dennis van der Geest, the reigning European champion. It was a tough first fight, fought to the last second – but supported by my coach… David Douillet, who had briefly become my coach. With a small yuko lead, I passed this round and found myself up against Ernesto Perez, the Spanish Olympic runner-up, beaten by David in Atlanta. An uchi mata in ten seconds and I’m in the semi-finals. What happened next? Drama. Beaten by Pedro Soares, a very solid and elegant Portuguese fighter, now coach of his national team. At the end of the fight, out of breath, I slipped my thumb into my belt to speed up the loosening of a knot that was in the process of coming undone. Feeling the pressure of the fabric on my hips lessen, I wanted to provoke a pause that would have come naturally in the next sequence. Failing to gain a breath, I lost the fight by shido, punished for intentionally wanting to undo my outfit. The doors to the final closed on me. I’ll definitely never be a tactician.
You were still in third place…
In third place, up like a cuckoo, I lead until fifteen seconds from the end against Poland’s Janusz Wojnarowicz. The medal is within my grasp, almost around my neck. He calls the doctor, complains about his knee. He’s done for. And then, in a last hope, he throws himself at me in ko soto gari, which he did very well. I step back and look for rotation, but the 180kg Pole is too heavy for me. I tip over. Ippon for him.
Ouch.
I couldn’t manage that handful of seconds. It kept me awake at night for a long time afterwards. I’ll never be a European medallist.
What did you learn from this painful experience?
That you build on your failures. It’s all very well, but in the end you have no choice. It’s too hard to hate yourself. It took me a long time to forgive myself. You don’t build yourself on defeats alone. You also have to look at the reality of things. I remember a European team championship with France. I was in exceptional form. In the zone, as they say, that moment when all the cursors are at the top and you’re walking on water. We beat the Russians in the semi-finals. I drew with Mikhailin, who I’d always lost to. I saw my top level. I also realized then that I’d never beat him. That I’d never be World or Olympic champion… Why did this painful fifth place come out when I was presented with this prize at the 2024 General Assembly? Probably because you can’t fully appreciate the success of the moment without forgetting the worst moments of the past and, fortunately, the lessons that go with them.
Could you elaborate?
Failure is a mistake coupled with a feeling of defeat. Some mistakes can be rectified without too much difficulty. But failures overwhelm us. Becoming a champion is a quest. A part of ourselves is at stake, linked to what Freud called the ego ideal. Our very worth is called into question. When we fail to become the best we can be, we become the worst… All this overwhelmed me for a while, but fortunately forced me to take a step back. Not to confuse ourselves with our failure, but rather to observe it as a fact to be analyzed. Seize the opportunity to learn from it.
You say that to succeed in so many Itinéraires des champions, you had to be the champion of your own itinerary. That sounds a lot like what my father calls « contact metamorphism », i.e., you become what you come into contact with. Is there a bit of that in your formula?
Well, let’s get on with the scientific developments, if I follow your reasoning. A protolith is a simple, unfinished stone. Metamorphism is its mutation, its transformation, its completion « under a regime of constraints over a long period of time. This transformation translates into a change in the texture, mineralogical assemblage and chemical composition of the rock, resulting in a finished product ». Your father’s metaphor is actually quite good!
Thanks for him [Smile]!
It implies that, through contact with champions, I’ve managed to understand their sporting performance models and turn them into life performance models. Well, it’s far from stupid. I’d just add a balance between two notions.
Which two?
Firstly, the opposition between reason and passion – a classic in philosophy. Man, by definition, is a reasonable animal. Judo and its principles keep me on my feet. Right. Between too much and too little. L’Itinéraire des champions, with its volume of dates, its complexity and its demands, has forced me to fight the bad passions and keep the good ones. All the while becoming reasonable. In any case, as reasonable as possible.
What about the second notion you mentioned?
For that, we need to take a look at Rousseau (not Didier, the other one!). For Rousseau, two passions are natural, prior to reason and beneficial: self-love, « which leads every animal to look after its own preservation », and pity, which « inspires in us a natural repugnance to seeing any sentient being perish or suffer, and especially our fellow creatures ». These are the passions perverted by delusional reason that Rousseau condemns. Self-esteem, not to be confused with self-love, drives us to compare ourselves with others and to want to dominate them. I think it was the Itinéraire des champions that moved me from the phase of self-esteem to that of self-love.
There seems to be a whole path here…
I’ve worked a lot on these principles to better understand others… and myself. L’Itinéraire des champions is also about the initiatory passage from desire to need. Needs can be defined as the need to find satisfaction in order to preserve the physiological, physical, psychological and mental balance of our being. This is the shin gi tai of the Japanese. Where need is motivated by the drive to live, craving is driven by the drive to destroy.
Meaning?
It’s the anger that invades us and makes us want to possess and destroy what someone else has. We think that what the other has gives us satisfaction, so we want to possess it in turn. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t envy the medals of the champions I’ve worked with for so long. But I do need to share it. Through events, comments, stories… For those who need to hear them. To share information, emotions, performance tools… Or simply to do some good. Although this is my approach, I don’t claim to have become wise. More balanced, perhaps, and that wouldn’t be bad… Imagine: having found my balance thanks to a discipline whose aim is to create imbalance? It would be a total snub.
If the Fred of 2024 could give advice to the Fred of 1989, who was putting on his first white belt in view of all that awaits him, what would he say?
He’d say: « Trust that practicing that discipline will change your life for the better. To begin with, give yourself every chance of becoming a champion, since that’s what drives you, so you’ll have no regrets. Open your eyes, your ears and your heart. Do everything you can to become just a little bit better. Integrate the principles of evolution that will serve you well in your life as a man. If you don’t become the best, let’s be unique… Listen carefully, because judo is full of symbols that will help you to move forward in your life. Analyze them. »
Are you thinking of specific situations?
On ne waza, for example. I’d tell this young Fred from 1989 that « we’re going to teach you that to win, you have to hold the other person on your back. But what they won’t tell you as much is that the hardest thing, but the most profitable over time, is to get out of the hold. It’s an immense effort to free yourself from this crushing force. To shift and regain the initiative. But only then will you be able to stand up again. Re-verticalize yourself. Stand your ground and get back on track… Don’t ask yourself too many questions, actually. Don’t be so desperate to be loved by others. Learn to love yourself… Are you a little lost today? Are you 11 years old and weighing 100 kg? Then come out of your immobility and head towards your destiny. There’s no stopping you. Look at the Harry Potter movie… Harry’s nature is to be a Slytherin, and then he decides to become a Griffindor. If his condition isn’t final, then yours isn’t either. Are you fat? Then become a heavyweight! »
That makes sense…
Except for one detail: there was no Harry Potter in 1989… [Smiles]
Good point!
So I’d also say to him: « You’ll see, the idea of the Uke/Tori duo is fantastic. The aim is to make each other progress in mutual support and prosperity. Because it all works in real life too. Because one day, who knows, you’ll meet a wonderful, exceptional person. The two of you will share a randori of life in which not everything will be easy. And then you’ll realize that without her, you’re nothing. You’ll see that at some point in your life, you’ll look back and realize that she’s been by your side for a long, long time… You’ll realize that life without her would have had, has and will have no meaning… Don’t forget to tell her when you can. » The message got through. Thank you for everything Anne-So. I love you with an undying love. – Interview by Anthony Diao, Spring-Summer 2024. Opening picture ©Laëtitia Cabanne.
A French version of this interview is available here.
– Bonus: the interview that triggered this one –
More articles in English:
- JudoAKD#001 – Loïc Pietri – Pardon His French
- JudoAKD#002 – Emmanuelle Payet – This Island Within Herself
- JudoAKD#003 – Laure-Cathy Valente – Lyon, Third Generation
- JudoAKD#004 – Back to Celje
- JudoAKD#005 – Kevin Cao – Where Silences Have the Floor
- JudoAKD#008 – Annett Böhm – Life is Lives
- JudoAKD#009 – Abderahmane Diao – Infinity of Destinies
- JudoAKD#010 – Paco Lozano – Eye of the Fighters
- JudoAKD#011 – Hans Van Essen – Mister JudoInside
- JudoAKD#021 – Benjamin Axus – Still Standing
- JudoAKD#022 – Romain Valadier-Picard – The Fire Next Time
- JudoAKD#023 – Andreea Chitu – She Remembers
- JudoAKD#024 – Malin Wilson – Come. See. Conquer.
- JudoAKD#025 – Antoine Valois-Fortier – The Constant Gardener
- JudoAKD#026 – Amandine Buchard – Status and Liberty
- JudoAKD#027 – Norbert Littkopf (1944-2024), by Annett Boehm
Also in English:
- JudoAKDReplay#001 – Pawel Nastula – The Leftover (2017)
- JudoAKDReplay#002 – Gévrise Emane – Turn Lead into Bronze (2020)
- JudoAKDReplay#003 – Lukas Krpalek – The Best Years of a Life (2019)
- JudoAKDReplay#004 – How Did Ezio Become Gamba? (2015)
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