The Awesomeness That Is Sumo

Sumo. The very word conjures up images of tubs and refridgerators of men, massive hulks of human beings stomping their feet, slapping their bellies, and tearing each another apart. But actually witnessing these men up close, passing by them on the way into the arena as they klip-klop down the hallway in wooden sandals and light cotton robes, is a truly awe-inspiring and fear-ekoving event.
These are Mountains of men in these robes, each aspiring to attain the rank of Yokozuna, or lifetime Grand Champion. They head towards the changing room, where they will remove the robe(my personal favorite was the cotton candy colored one with the sky blue belt, on this man-beast bigger than the size of two Julies put together), and don the infamous loincloth belt, the unchanging mark of the sumo wrestler for approximately 1500 years.

I got a free ticket to the Annual Fukuoka Sumo Competition, one of six fifteen-day competitions that occur during the year in cities throughout Japan. My friend's friend couldn't go at the last minute and forfeited his own ticket worth $120 bucks, so my friend called me up and offered it to me. I felt like I was like being blessed with this ticket, yet the only priests involved would be Shinto ones, dressed in fanciful outfits, shouting words of inspiration to arm-locked giants inside a 15' ring!!

We arrived at the sumo hall around 11am, unknowingly way too early for the real action. The matches of the lower ranked divisions had begun at 9am, and continued until 2pm. You see, I thought these matches were the show. My eyes were glued to the ring at all times. Some of the men would strut into the ring like a nearly naked Hell's Angel, and others would have surprisingly little presence for their size. After a man with a fan would sing a short prayer-like song, the two wrestlers would enter the ring, bow to each other, and head to the sides of the ring to begin the ritual of clapping and stomping their feet. Meanwhile, the priest(authentic? I'm not sure)/referee would sing the names of the competitors. His outfits were supremely colorful, sometimes covered with dragons, or even gold-stitching. The men would return to face one another and begin a strange dance-like ritual of standing up and stomping(some of them could do a full split, sending one leg high into the air)and kneeling on their haunches, standing and shuffling around, and kneeling again. This ritual had the effect of building suspense and energy within the crowd. Finally they kneeled on their haunches one last time, staring through one another.
Then, the instant their knuckles touch the ground, they burst forth like elks in mating season. Yesterday, I believe I witnessed at least 3 broken ribs, a number of possible broken legs, and a man who looked in enough pain that he might have fractured part of his spine. We're talking fierce intensity here, as they try to down one another. And to think, these were just the lower divisions.
I didn't know that all the champs were just waiting their turn for the chance to enter the ring later in the day. Since they only have one match per day, they save the most exciting matches of the highest ranks for the very end. In fact, many of these big name sumo guys didn't arrive until after the lower division was finishing. A large crowd gathered outside the arena to welcome them in, cheer them on and swoon over them as they entered the arena. I watched, and felt very strange because I didn't know any of the men's faces, not until I watched them fight and a few of them became permanently etched in my brain.
The rituals of the upper division were considerably longer then the lower. They would enter, bow, go to the back, stomp their feet, toss some salt into the ring, return to face each other, stomp, head back, throw more salt, and repeat a third time. The third time was literally the charm, when the competitors actually showed some expression and raised the level of anticipation by slapping their bellies extra hard. The third time they headed to the back of the ring they wiped their bodies with a wash cloth, possibly a wash cloth containing a offensive odor seeing how their spirit would rage after wiping themselves clean. The sound of slapping bellies resounded through the arena, and we all awaited the instant their knuckles would touch the ground, sending two four hundred-pound boulders toward each other with only one intent: to make the other exit the ring or touch the ground first.
The matches generally lasted for a very short time, 30 seconds or less, but the most exciting matches would involve almost-wins and turnarounds. One match, a guy in purple with a firey look and one in black ended with the two flipping over, landing on the rim and tumbling down onto the surrounding judges on the sides. We couldn't tell who had touched first, and neither could any of the judges. After they held a 2-minute conference, it was decided that they would fight again. I believe this was unusual, because normally the men only have one fight in the entire day. So they faced off, and the belly slapping turned into body slapping and face jerking, and generous scoops of salt being chucked into the ring. It was the fridge in purple that reigned in the second match and was pronouced the winner in the end.
After the last match, a wrestler came into the ring with a kyudo bow, and twirled it at lightning speed, signifying the closing of the games of day eight of the competition.
I will not deny that I would gladly return to sit all day in a box smaller than a tissue box, with three other people who are also scared of fierocious men, every day this week if I were so blessed. The dream that was yesterday has expanded my mind once again, and endeared me even more to those things which make Japan great.

check out:
http://www.crystalinks.com/sumo.html
for info on sumo

http://www.mouthshut.com/readreview/23201-1.html
for more details on sumo life

http://www.japantimes.co.jp/sumo.htm
for the standings after yesterday's fights