Dom Joly: The first rule of any half-decent fight club would be to ban judo

The weird world of sport
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Unbelievably, I've managed to never, ever, be in a fight in my whole life. This is not for want of trying. I just have a knack of getting away with insulting people only to have them punch the bloke standing next to me. Obviously, if things get really bad I'm happy to don a pair of glasses, fall to my knees and weep like a girl. I have very little dignity and this is of great assistance to the professional fight dodger.

The weird thing is, however, that I'm actually a trained lethal weapon. As a boy, I was forced to do judo for four years and was by the end, I think, a green belt. This means that, should I be attacked by a man of my weight in pyjamas, I should be able to grapple with him for a while until he produces a knife and stabs me. I always wanted to learn something a bit more exciting than judo. Everyone is reminding you that it's all about defence, using your opponent's strength against him, blah, blah, blah. I wanted to do something more exciting, like karate or cage-fighting. The problem with judo is that you have to wait for somebody to start a fight. What if you're in a bar and feeling frisky? I want aggressive attack skills when I'm feeling thuggish.

So I was a little disappointed when I perused the mounting bills from my kids' school. There was a bill for flute lessons for my daughter ... the flute? What is the point of learning the flute? When has anyone over the age of 12 ever whipped out a flute at a social function and started playing a little tune to the delight of everybody around them? There are only two acceptable instruments to learn – the guitar and the piano. Actually, scrap the guitar – I hate the sort of person who whips one out round a campfire and starts strumming moodily. They are always an arse and always steal the best girl. Stick to the piano. Sorry, this is a sports column but it made me angry. If only I'd learnt karate I could go round the school music department and kick some ass...

Back to the point – the next bill was for my son's judo lessons. Judo... when had he started this pointless exercise? Was this some kind of genetic defect in the Joly blood? I took the bill to my wife – why was our son learning judo? She explained that he was short for his age and needed to build up his confidence and this would be good for him. It was a ludicrous explanation, and I told my wife exactly that. If I'd learnt a more useful martial art I could have knocked her about a bit so that she would not make such a silly choice again. The problem is that we are in significantly different weight brackets and so, under the ancient laws of judo, we would not be allowed to face each other in pyjamas.

I reckon that there is a powerful judo lobby that greases the palms of British schools to allow them a fight monopoly. Why don't our kids learn cage-fighting or kick-boxing? I watched some cage-fighting the other night when Stacey had gone to bed (for research...). It's definitely the most realistic of the fighting sports. It shows the rather embarrassing reality of an actual fight. In the movies it's always huge punches being traded and people flying backwards and then getting back up and slugging away. Real fights tend to be two punches thrown and then a lot of rolling around on the floor holding each other by the hair. Cage-fighting teaches you valuable lessons, like eye-gouging and choke-holds while wearing tight little pants.

A short boy armed with these kinds of insights would have no problems at school. I brought the subject up at the last PTA meeting and was faced with the usual ridiculous objections from prissy parents: "Somebody could die..." said one; "you must be totally insane..." said another. No matter, great minds are never hindered by the unimaginative. I have started building a cage in the garden and will attempt to train my boy myself. This is a dangerous world we live in and it's not the time for learning the flute. Britain needs fighters – real fighters, not pyjama-clad hippies. I'm going to run my first course next week. Any readers who fancy toughening up their kids are welcome to bring them along. It's time we all grew some cojones, and then gave them a big kick.

Come on you Premier League stars: break the mould, drive an Escort

News of Ronaldo's Ferrari crash was hardly a surprise. Most top footballers seem to have cars worth half-a-million quid that they use to drive themselves and their jewellery from their tasteless mansions to the football ground and back. There must be moments when they just want to put their foot down and go crazy.

I'm surprised that nobody has set up a tournament where every player with a flash car can compete against each other.

Actually, thinking about it, I think they probably already have – it's called the M40. Not a day passes when I'm not cut up and raced by some pony-tailed tosser in a cockmobile. Just once, I'd love to see a top footballer turn up to training in a really crap car, like a 2CV or an Escort. It would be hilarious.

Sadly, like a Premier League wonderboy marrying a charity worker with a good personality, it's just not going to happen.

Thanks reader, I'm off to the Redneck Games

Huge response to my destination vote last week – I received a single email telling me that I should go to the Redneck Games... So that's what I'm going to do...