Playing Hooky

(Alternate Title: True Confessions of a Budding Sumo Enthusiast)

It’s been about 2 years since the last time I got to watch scantily clad men pound their flesh against one another (at least in the 3D world).  While it’s something I don’t think the Western world really understands, sumo is incredibly popular in Japan.  Not only are tickets expensive, but they sold out faster than we could order them when we tried to get them last year.

Golden Kamuy sumo is still the best sumo...

However, this was one thing I still haven't made up for missing when I came to Tokyo back in 2014 - the sumo tournament at Yasukuni Jinja.  I thought with our really long spring break that the stars were finally going to align, but when I checked the sumo website, I discovered that it was taking place a week and a half later than it did back then.  I felt a little conflicted* about taking a day off school to go watch sumo, but the last chance I had to go to a tournament at a shrine I missed because of an IB training, so maybe I felt a little vindicated in sending in an email that claimed I was sick on that bright and sunny Monday morning.

My sources indicated that the tournament started at 9, but Google maps listed an event starting at 10:40.  Since I was hoping to avoid discovery by any late stragglers to school, I decided to err on the side of caution, and didn’t leave home til 8.  By the time I got to the dohyo there weren’t many places left to sit.  I was almost resigned to lurking around the back of the seating area, but I noticed some wasted space between my fellow gaijin on the uppermost tier and imposed on them to make room for me.  Shortly thereafter I spotted the missionaries from Tokyo 2nd trying to find a place to sit, but there was no more room where I was sitting, so I didn't wave them over.

There was activity in the ring as all this was happening.  The wrestlers seemed to be having some kind of warm-ups.  The fact that there were lots of wrestlers in the ring at the same time was my first clue - this isn’t Mongolia, after all - but there was something playful about the way they pushed each other around.  I even saw wrestler somersault his way across the ring.  Eventually they all cleared off and the dohyo was swept smooth again.

Right around 10:40, two blocks of wood were struck together, and two men wearing formal kimono led the first wrestlers into the ring.  Right away, I began to notice differences from the time I went to the tournament in Himeji with Five.  For starters, there was much, much less posturing.  These matches seemed straightforward - they weren’t even tossing salt into the ring.  They didn't psych each other out - a couple of stretches and it was on.  Another difference that struck me was the fact that each match was prefaced by a man with a fan calling out a poem (I think), in a lovely, resonant voice.  Now admittedly we arrived in Himeji much later in the day, while I got to see this tournament from its start.  I decided I’d have to stay long enough to find out if this was just the preliminary amateur hour, or if the difference was part of the fact that this was a shrine tournament.

Like much of Japanese culture there’s a certain je ne sais quoi about sumo.  Unlike many of these traditions,though, it won’t put you to sleep.  It’s fast paced and unpredictable.  Of course, if you’ve never seen someone push a man twice his size out of the ring, you may fail to understand what makes this sport so exciting.  If you’ve never watched a guy shoved to the rope on the ground, struggling with all his might to hang on, finally to shift balance enough to toss his opponent out of the ring, you might not get it.  You might not be able to imagine how entertaining it is to watch two 400-pound guys engage in a slapping match til one dances the other out of bounds.  But sitting on the ground, being showered with late cherry blossom petals, I had a hard time imagining a sport I’d rather be watching.  There was a food tent set up, selling drinks and snacks, and another with memorabilia swag.  There was plenty of room to move if you wanted to get up and get a drink or go to the toilet.  It was more like a picnic with entertainment; life doesn't get much better than that.

If I had to guess what makes it hard for the west to appreciate sumo, I'd probably boil it down to our fat-phobia.  These guys are huge.  Some of them are merely big, but others are distinctly fat.  I couldn't help wondering if these guys face the same discrimination as other heavyweights -  like when they go to the doctor with a medical complaint, does the doctor assume they'd be cured if they weren't fat?  Or does their status as athletes shelter them from that contempt?  Admittedly, as athletes they are much fitter than most people with their BMIs, but the fact remains that not everyone who is fat is unhealthy.

A little before noon it seemed the junior division was over.  They swept out the ring again, and the striking wooden blocks heralded the arrival of wrestlers wearing the richly decorated cloth that Five and I had seen previously.  They proceeded to take turns chanting over the crowd while the rest moved around the ring, with movements that seemed almost ritualized.  Now, I intended to stay and watch some of the senior division, but after about five minutes of chanting I realized my butt kind of hurt from sitting on the concrete, and that if my mischief managed plan included avoiding all teachers and students on my way home I'd better get on with it.

I walked through the front part of the shrine, through a sun-dappled grove of cherry trees that shed their leaves and wrestled me into admitting that yes, they are quite pretty (even if I still like plum blossoms better).  You may still be wondering why it matters that it was at a shrine?  Well, I guess that's because I like experiencing things in situ.  Seeing a moai in the natural history museum in New York isn't the same experience as walking down a hill to where they keep watch on an Easter Island beach.  The origins of sumo are bound up in Shinto harvest rituals.  Seeing a tournament at a shrine just makes sense to me - like getting back to its roots.  After all, I only have a couple of months left to immerse myself in Japan, and there might not be anything that captures the spirit of Japan as fully as watching sumo wrestlers under a clear sky while sakura petals rain down.  I probably should've chased the experience with some sushi, but Tony Roma's was closer and much better for my pink blood.


*Honestly I felt far more conflicted that Yasukuni Jinja is a military shrine, and some of those enshrined therein are considered war criminals in other contexts, but in the end I decided to keep my nose out of other countries’ grudges.