Sumo

Every November, Fukuoka plays host to the last Grand Sumo Tournament of the year. The sumo circus starts in Tokyo, and holds contests in cities all over Japan, before it finally comes into town here. For weeks, Very Big Men in equally big kimonos stroll around town, turn up in bars, spread over two seats on the subway. Then, they fight one bout a day for the two week tournament, their ranking changing with every win and loss.

Sumo has its origins in ritual wrestling bouts, performed at shinto festivals and ceremonial gatherings since at least the eighth century. Sumo rings are not uncommon at bigger shrines, though they tend to be small, dusty affairs - few things can look as forlorn as an unused stage. The arena in Fukuoka is more like a western boxing stadium, huge banks of seats, ranks of faces all staring intently at the brave men who stand up in the middle.But there are some very real differences - no ropes around the ring, so when the loser is hurled off the stage they land on the front row (no laughing matter, these guys average over 300pounds); the more expensive ticket buyers sit cross-legged and shoeless on cushions in their own little box; a stylised shrine roof hangs from the ceiling over the ring.



Underneath the seating, a neon-lit warren of waiting giants and busy henchman is there for all to see. Silverware is stacked up for the winner (and it ALL goes to the winner), while not so far away a chilling sign of the dangerous side of the sport - a huge wheelchair, the seat at least 3feet wide and back even longer, in wipe-clean tanned leather.

The wrestlers line up before the bouts, faces blanked in concentration, with a chaperone wrestler in charge to look after them. Understandably, just before a fight, they're far from friendly, and strongly resent having their concentration broken by fans. One middle-aged woman tried to take a photo, and a mere glare from the chaperone was enough to send her away.

That look. It seems to be key to sumo, the ability to hold and out stare their opponent. It's a lonely place up there. The integrity and strength of personality it requires is immense. Sure, 300pounds of fat and muscle help, but there is so much more to it.



The arrogance it takes for a smaller man to take on one of the lumbering giants is immense, but they often come out with a win. Some of those giants are real ogres - patchy body hair, jowls creasing into squashed faces, no grace, no style. They would crush you if you let them. The smaller man spin and trip with great agility, trying desperately to stop the vast hands from pinning them down and flinging them out. Other bouts are less subtle - I saw one fight where the winner leapt forwards, thrust his opponent once in the chest, and then one further push saw him out of the ring; the whole thing took mere seconds of overbearing force.

But then, sometimes wrestlers emerge who step out of the big-fast divide, and simply have everything - power, size, arrogance, strength, both in body and mind.

The current Yokozuna - world champion - has all of those. He fights under the name Asashoryu (all foreigners must assume a Japanese name to take part), but he was born in Mongolia as Dolgorsuren Dagvadorj. He's won 70 of his last 78 bouts (and bear in mind that as champion he has to fight the second-ranked wrestler every day of every tournament). When he fought on the last day of the Fukuoka tournament, I saw a clear demonstration of why he has remained champion for so long.

In the final bout of the last day of the tournament, Asashoryu squared faced the second-ranked wrestler, Chiyotaikai. The Mongolian champion had won every fight of the last 14 days with ease. One more victory, and another championship would be his. As in every bout, they entered from opposite sides, bowed, and retreated to their respective sides for a brief purification ritual, rinsing their mouth out with water, and toss handfuls of salt across the ring in great arcs. Slapping their bodies, swinging their arms, they prepare for the impact. Then, they are called over by the ornately dressed judge, and square up before each other. They squat low, lift a single leg high over their head (and some of these guys are seriously flexible), and lock their eyes into a brutally intimidating gaze.

And they hold that gaze. For five seconds, they stared into each others eyes, bristling with aggression.

With thousands of pairs of eyes watching you, five seconds is a very long time.

And Chiyotaikai looked away first.

They returned to their corners, stamped and salted, and back they came for another stare.

Everyone leaned forward, watching them intently. The vast hall was completely silent. You could see the power in the air between them.

And again, Chiyotaikai turned away. Asashoryu straightened up standing open-chested and strong, watching Chiyotaikai walk away from him.

And again, they squared up to each other. Paused. And with a bang of fists on the ground they dived forward and Chiyotaikai shocked Asashoryu with a brutal forearm thrust to the neck. An upset seemed possible as he drived the stunned champion backwards. But then the onslaught slowed, Asashoryu steadied himself, and everyone felt the tide turn. A pause, arms locked together, and the result was obvious. With sheer brute power, the Mongolian picked his opponent up bodily and, with tree-trunk legs dangling in the air, placed him outside the ring.

The crowd erupted, first throwing shouts into the air, and then tossing purple seating cushions in spinning arcs over the crowd. Hundreds of soft shuriken buzzed around the stadium, flopping onto the ring and hasilty cleared by attendants.










The winner, Asashoryu, stood there, and received his victory tributes, gifts from all over the world. A long prize-giving saw him presented with huge gold and silver cups, giant framed photos, urns, a year's supply of petrol (not actually handed over on the stage). The prizes were all sumo sized, and these Very Big Prizes were presented by Rather Small Men - some could barely even lift their tributes as they were transferred to the vast, steady hands of the champion. It was like Marlowe's Tamburlaine the Great, receiving tributes from the world's kings, gracious but clearly a master warrior in control.

The last gift was a slender, 7ft long bow, which he proceeded to turn and swing around his body, swooping behind his back and twirling over his head, cutting steep arcs through the air.



As an aside, I should mention that the fate of one of these prizes now looks rather uncertain. Jacques Chirac has long been both fan and connoisseur of sumo, and instigated the Very Big Chirac Cup. In a jibe at his former mentor, in 2004 Sarkozy slated Chirac's favoured sport, asking "How can anyone be fascinated by these battles between fat guys with slicked-down ponytails? Sumo wrestling is really not a sport for intellectuals."

While I'd like to applaud anyone who can use the word 'intellectual' without pejorative connotations, that single statement seems to have made half of Japan hate the man, and caused genuine fears for the future ties of the two countries, given his recent accession to the Elysee. Rather short and wiry he may be, but I'd love to see him g-stringed and squatting, attempting to stare down some of these other Very Big Men.