For two years, Kento Momota had the best game in the world
Ten years in development
Last week, I watched one of my favourite badminton players Kento Momota play his final match. As he stepped off court for the last time, I found myself welling up. He doesn't know me - of course he doesn't - and I don't know him. But for ten years I'd watch him at every opportunity and see him grow into one of the all-time greats. For me, his retirement wasn't only devastating in the sense he was a great ambassador for the sport: a positive soul, a good speaker, a hard worker. No, it also spelled the end of us being able to witness something impossible to replicate, a 'game' of badminton uniquely his. And for a magical two years, he had the best game in the world.
There's a narrative in the badminton community, I think, where Momota is seen as a "what if". That, in spite of being considered an all-time great, he never quite fulfilled his potential. The greatest accolade in badminton is an Olympic medal, with gold around your neck a forever ticket into people's debates as to who's the Bestest Best. Sadly, Momota never won an Olympic medal and it's this void that dictates his story.
At its core, badminton is about positioning yourself optimally to take the shuttle as early as possible to rob your opponent of time. Select the right shots as you're stringing together footwork patterns (arc steps, scissor-kicks, lunges), and you might open up a gap. Badminton is about exploiting that space, widening that gap, and by either delicate touch or thunderous crack - finishing the job. It is this mixture of delicate dance and explosiveness that I love, where success comes from taking these things and crafting a personal style designed specifically to disrupt everyone else's.
Between 2014 and 2015, Momota announced himself to the world as this young player with frightening talent. Smooth footwork, a clear vision, almost certainly a future star. So much so he was a serious medal hope for the Rio Olympics when 2016 swung around, but was caught gambling - gambling in casinos is illegal in Japan - alongside his senior Kenichi Tago. Tago was banned from competition for life, while Momota got away with a one year ban and a total slate wipe. Those were his medal hopes dashed, though.
A year goes by...
Momota returns, winning the Japan nationals and falling to his knees in tears. I'd never seen so much emotion from him. Then he goes to his first comeback tournament in Canada and comes second. Blitzes a European leg, where a trove of YouTube videos appear showing him toy with top players like he was, respectfully, slightly bored. The comeback is staggering. Onwards! Through 2018 and 2019, he reached what everyone calls "Prime Momota" and sets a Guinness World Record in the process.
And during that time he's unstoppable, like, to an absurd extent. No one comes close to his steadiness and his shot-making. He's too fast and too fit, and despite not having the heaviest smash, he's got this unbelievable touch. This ability to deaden the pace and tumble the shuttle over the net, forcing opponents to lift and defend, or attempt a risky net shot back. Often footwork from top players can look effortless, but Momota's was so fluid it flipped from unachievable to attainable because, falsely, it looked like no work at all. He wins the 2018 and 2019 world championships, with one scoreline 21-9, 21-3. No one does that.
Like most competitive things, pro players craft a 'playstyle' or a 'game' that works within the bounds of their sport and encompasses how they'll gain an advantage using what they're good at. Over those couple of years, Momota produced the very finest game of that generation. One developed over many, many years, and certainly something I couldn't play, but a game I was able to watch and appreciate as someone who played exactly the same 'game of badminton' as he did. No one's playstyle can alter the conditions of a sport, like the rules of the actual arena. But I do think they're capable of forcing everyone to develop something that works better within those bounds. In forcing coaches and players into figuring out how to beat him, I genuinely believe he altered the mens singles discipline as a whole.
For his home Olympics, Tokyo 2020, Momota was the overwhelming favourite. But as he was travelling back to the airport after a tournament in Malaysia, his taxi was involved in a fatal crash. The driver sadly passed away, while Momota suffered a fractured eye socket and would later need surgery. Covid hit. Then nowhere near his best, he lost in the first round of the delayed Tokyo 2021 Olympics.
From then on, Momota wasn't ever the same. He managed a couple of sporadic tournament wins, but you could tell he was fighting to regain that game he once had. It's amazing, really, how you can watch someone's playstyle crack as their confidence drops. Worst of all, you could tell he wasn't enjoying it as much anymore, his game hamstrung by personal pressures. That smoothness, that spark - stuttering.
So comes his final tournament, a prestigious team event called the Thomas Cup that's sort of the equivalent of the badminton world cup. Momota wanted to end on the Thomas Cup because he enjoyed the team events the best, in fighting for your pals and having them around you. I remember watching him enter the court as man number three, which was typically reserved for the weakest player and, more often than not, a less interesting match. Nope, with Momota around, people's schedules flipped.
The crowd roared whenever he walked on court and Momota delivered some throwback performances. Sure, they weren't "Prime Momota", but what was more important was his clear enjoyment and happiness. His playfulness on court surfaced again, as if the occasion loosened those ghostly shackles from his limbs and let him regain that 'best game' one last time.
All of this is to say, I don't think Momota's story should be marked by a "what if". Instead, and in an unironically corny way, I think we should just be glad to have witnessed "Prime Momota" at all. A game I'm very privileged to have watched develop for ten years and one that's shaped the future of the game as a whole.
So yeah, sorry if I've bored you with yet more badminton chat. But I felt a need to get this off my chest and honour a sort of chapter closing, if that's any way to describe it. If you got this far, thanks for reading! And cheers Momota, for all the memories.