I stayed up late to watch a 2023 WKF tournament final on TV, and even later to post this. There was plenty of action, but it was the same action over and over. Three different matches, six "fighters", each with three minutes of sparring action. The only scoring (or even executed) techniques were lead roundhouse kicks and reverse punches - that's it, just two techniques!
All six used the same stance: Very deep (so vulnerable to sweeps, but I guess that's not legal now) facing sideways with constant bouncing. Very little in the way of tactics, just quick hops in and a scoring attempt with one of the two moves I mentioned. Zero lateral movement. Multidimensional it was not. A formal warning was given to one fighter for "excessive" contact to the face with a padded hand - no blood or even head snapping back.
Gi's had manufacturer's name prominently displayed in large letters, and at least one had a sponsor's name/logo as well.
IMO, all of these finalists would get creamed in a match with a competent fighter from the 60's or 70's. It's way past my bedtime now, but I had to vent so I can get to sleep. It may have been the WKF, but I say WTF!
Not in the seventies, but in the early eighties, I used to go to sleep dreaming about tournament fighters throwing front foot roundhouses to my face/head.
One of my guys was fighting for the vacant PKA middleweight title when Bill Wallace retired. The fight was in Detroit. (My guy lost to Jean-Eves Theriault, one of the best fighters Iāve ever seen, a class act and one of the nicest guys Iāve ever met) There was a point tournament during the day, and since I never went anywhere without my fighting gear, I decided to enter.
There were over one thousand competitors, all wearing white gis, except a few of us in black.
Back then I had a blazing front foot roundhouse kick which I threw a lot of different ways and usually scored with it.
So, I come right of the line with it. It was beautiful and smoking fast. And I got knocked to my *** and was looking up at the guy. One to nothing, his lead.
Being me, and not very bright, I threw it again, only faster and with better timing. And there I was looking up at him again.
Yes, I threw it a third time. Not because I thought it was going to score, I just wanted to figure out how he was knocking me to the seat off my pants. He won, three to nothing. In twelve seconds by the scoring tableās clock.
Afterwards, I asked him how the heck he did that. He smirked and walked away.
It was a couple more years before someone taught me what happened. And it became a technique I was known for.
Good times.