Huge Fat Sweaty Guys Slamming Into Each Other For Three Hours? I'm There!

Circa 1987 my family’s basement was a place that would make most folks lingering about Ebay drool, faint and drool some more as they laid unconscious in fruitful dreams of dollar signs and Optimus Primes, masked Cobra Commanders, decoder sticker books, Castle Greyskulls, Madballs, Voltrons, Proton Packs, Splinters and those strange figurines with the holographic stomachs. We had Lite Brites and Play-Doh to engrain inaccurate spelling into our fertile, imaginative minds. We had an Everest of Legos to build towers, castles and life sized replicas of the international space station. There was my sister’s Easy Bake Oven which acted as a torture chamber for toys of less repute (Jawas, I’m looking at you!). In this shrine we worshiped the gods of Hasbro, Mattel and Matchbox. One large green bin could not contain the sheer immensity of our collection. We needed two. I look back on those toys nostalgically now and find myself in adult missing the pleasures of transforming that new Dinobot right out of the box, twisting a GI-JOE figure around so that, when released, it turns into a action figure helicopter and the scientific experimentation that came with rubbing Moss Man up against Stinkor to see what smell might be created in the pairing of such bitter rivals. Great crossover battles were fought on the cold cement of 5 Birmingham Street pitting the legends of 80s children’s programming against each other in epic confrontations that would span for days or until we got board or hungry for a bowl of Spaghetti-os. Where as today kids button push there way through video games for hours on end leaving little to the creative process of play, my brother and I were storytellers, actors, astronauts and journeymen of the mindscape. Our basement was our stage, our toys characters in our own universes of imagination and the days of our childhood years were spent day after day scooping out not just toys from those two green bins but the kind of entertainment purchased by tired mothers wanting to watch Days of Our Lives.

Amongst those Transformers, GIJoes and Master of the Universe figures, scattered around the bins were pieces of a larger addiction for my brother and I. Nicked, dented, missing fingers and sporting scuffs as bruises and battle scars were our WWF wrestling inaction figures. I call them inaction figures because unlike Serpentor, Darth Vader, He-man or Bumblebee the WWF figures did not have any moving parts unless you consider the finger straining act of pushing down on a hard rubber hand to simulate a punch a moving part. Man, even freakin’ Orco had two moving arms, not to mention that cool ripcord that sent him skidding about two inches before he fell over and spun on his back. The hard rubber wrestlers required minds like my brother’s and mine to muster up the creative energy needed to get these things to have something that resembled a wrestling match in the plastic ring (complete with fasten on steal cage) sold separately. And saying these things were hard rubber is an understatement. These things were practically made out of concrete. If you ever want to ward off attackers, my friends, carry around a King Kong Bundy figure. One whack and your assailant is in a coma probably never to recover and if they were to awaken they would be mighty surprised to find their impacted skull.

My brother Al and I were wrestling fanatics. We collected the hard figures, the stretching figures and the thumb wrestlers. Some guy on our street subscribed to WWF magazine and we greedily flipped through the pages when each new issue arrived. Before RAW and Smackdown there was Saturday Superstars and lunch and breakfasts were spent watching Koko B. Ware pin some no name guy after three minutes or Hulk Hogan deliver a promo about saying prayers and eating vitamins. When the Hulk spoke we listened. We must have downed so many Flintstones vitamins that I believe I am the energetic person I am today because of consumed BamBams and Dinos. Seeing the WWF live was like a Haley’s Comet to us as they only appeared at our small sports complex in Cornwall once every few years but our father would take us and we’d wave our large foam fingers and 2x4s cheering our favorites and jeering those we despised. I have vivid memories of seeing Andre the Giant walking around the arena floor, his head leveling off around row seven. When some of the small town bars started airing WWF Pay-per-views my father emptied his wallet for the meal and cover fee to take us kids, usually the youngest in the place amongst the drunken hecklers in the haze of cigarette smoke cheering just as loud over our plate of mushy fries and chicken wings. Once, for the first Wrestlemania in Toronto which saw Hulk Hogan take on the Ultimate Warrior, our sports complex showed the even on a large screen to a full arena. Hostess chips came out with a promotion one year where they put a small WWF wrestler sticker in each bag of chips. We ate a lot of chips that year. When our interests turned to video games in our teens my brother and I would own at one time or another every wrestling game that was released until the late 1990s. Even before this we could be found pumping quarters into WWF WrestleFest at the small arcade near my father’s place. We rented PPVs and watched them over and over again and we battled each other in emulation of the larger than life characters we saw on the television screen. Mom, you know that hole in the basement wall and that broken lamp? It was Allen’s fault, I swear! I mean, you really shouldn’t be attempting a power-bomb off the couch through the coffee table at that age anyway.

My fascination with wrestling would take me into my college years and my Monday nights were spent watching WWF and WCW battle it out for ratings. The obsession hit its plateau in 2002 when I attended Wrestlemania 18 in Toronto and the fan festival held prior to the event. It was a thrill to see such a spectacle in the record-breaking SkyDome crowd of 68,237. After this the product hit a decline, story-lines became terrible and in some cases offensive, popular talent with ability were held behind by the same old, same old and, well, maybe I just grew out of the male soap opera. I guess you are wondering where this is all going, huh? It all comes down to fat, sweaty men slamming into each other for three hours…I promise. Just bear with me for another paragraph.

Rodney Anoa’i was my introduction to the what some here believe to be the origins of the Japanese race. During the earlier days of my brother and I’s fervent pursuit of wrestling Anoa’i played a character called Yokozuna and was loathed by yours truly for holding a WWF title belt that I felt belonged to my favorite wrestler, Bret “Hitman” Hart. A Yokozuna is the highest rank in the ancient sport of Sumo. Weighing 700lbs at his heaviest, Anoa’i was perfect for the part. So out he thundered dwarfing all who faced him. Managed by Mr. Fuji, the evil Japanese character who for some reason dressed like Odd Job, he was a force in the ring. The character got by with his sheer girth and not because he was good on the microphone (he only managed to say bonsai) or had any ring skill. Really, when your finishing move is sitting on a guy you are working with size over skill. They really played up his character as being a Japanese Sumo master as he dressed in traditional Sumo garb and carried around the Japanese flag. The thing is this Anoa’i wasn’t even Japanese. He was a Samoan. His career peaked with a feud against Hulk Hogan and in 1998 he was released from the WWF because he was unable to pass a physical required for professional wrestles by the New York State Athletic Commission due to his size. He would die two years later of a massive heart attack at a reported weight of 600 pounds. I hadn’t thought of him in years until today when I would find myself face to fat with real Sumo wrestlers.

Last week I was told by another teacher that I had missed the Sumo tournament in Osaka. Because it is only held once a year I would now have to plan for a longer, more expensive trip back into Nagoya for the tournament in July if I wanted to see some Sumo action before leaving. Seeing a Sumo tournament is on my list of must dos while I am here simply because of how uniquely Japanese the experience is and I was a little distressed because I would have to wait longer to see one and fork over more cash. Sunday evening I checked the English site of the Japanese Sumo Organization to ensure I had correct dates for the Nagoya tournament and discovered that the Osaka tournament had only just completed week one and that the event was still going on entering day ten the next day. There were seven days remaining. Checking my work schedule I found only one possible place to squeeze in a trip to Osaka to see the fat men bump and grind and that was today where I had one of those office days. It would all be a gamble. You see, as previously reported, you can be sent anywhere on an office day and, also, with my work Visa you are required to put in 5 hours of whatever it is work related you can do to fill the time. Now, on the other hand, you may not be sent anywhere and could go to the school of your choice. I was gambling on not being needed so I headed to the classroom a few blocks away to put in my five hours early in the morning. The gamble would pay off as when I called in to the office at 11 (as we are supposed to do on these days) I found that I was not needed and within five minutes I was on a train bound for the Osaka Prefecture Gymnasium to witness the 2007 Grand Sumo Tournament.

The ride to the event takes you into the heart of Osaka into a place called Namba. This is where you will find the clubs and general nightlife of Osaka and my Lonely Planet guide says the place turns into a shot from Bladerunner when the neon is aglow in the evening hours. None of that this morning, though, as the typical gray clouds of March followed me from Kashihara into the city and hovered above threatening rain. Today I did not mind. I would be inside. I told you weather, don’t mess with me. Namba Station is not just one train station but a few lines connect inside and it also is a Subway stop and bus depot. As you could imagine, the place is very large with multiple exits but a cherry station agent pointed me to the right exit and I was out in the streets trying to find the gym. The pretty girl at the McDonalds on the corner could not help and the woman with the baby stroller didn’t understand me. I had a terrible map I had drawn from the information I could find online but it did me no good.



And then I saw the Sumos heading into work. Seeing these large men lumbering down the street and taking up an entire corner is a site to behold. With their girth you cannot miss them and this makes the following that much easier. I walked behind a small group of them and was soon at the gym where a large crowd awaited the entrance of the wrestlers.

The Osaka Prefectural Gym is a little hard to miss as it is crammed between tall buildings and looks out of place. If I weren’t following men the size of small homes I might have missed it. Before purchasing my ticket I stuck around with the crowd to watch the wrestlers entering the arena as they were photographed and swarmed by fans. Police had to keep pushing people back to give the men room to enter and with the size of these men that is a lot of room. After watching a few entrances I sought out the ticket counter. The inside lobby of the gym houses a dozen or very small tea rooms that may fit four people or half of one sumo. Pretty red lanterns light your way to the ticket booths. Prices for a sumo event range from the ridiculous price of $410 for a box seat close enough to feel the hot sumo sweat on your face (and who doesn’t want to pay 400 bones for that) to the more appealing $30 for the D level seats higher up. Much like anything when it comes to being out here, I did my homework online before setting out into a possible situation where my lack of language skill could cause problems. I discovered two appealing points when it comes to Sumo tickets and arena seating.

#1) The prices quoted online and at the arena or for reserved seating. This means you can come and purchase your ticket a week in advance or even that day and have a guaranteed seat. There are also general admission tickets for people who come in and don’t want a reserved seat. These are in the higher ups and could just be standing room. The price is ten bucks cheaper then the D levels and this was what I was gunning for. Unfortunately my sumo watching and having to depart later to get here caused me to miss those seats and they were sold out. I forked over Y3000 and was given a D-level seat. A cute girl in a neon green uniform took my ticket and handed me over a tournament program (in English!) and took me up to my seat. We passed two displays on the way. One of them showcased some Sumo outfits and old photographs and the other displayed the grand prize of the tournament: the Emperor’s Cup. The cup is a large, silver trophy and is the aspiration of all the rikishi (wrestlers).


We walked by lifesize cardboard cutouts of some of the sumo and a bunch of small shops selling all sorts of sumo memorabilia. This is not unlike the places in Nara with all the deer trinkets because you can find just about anything here with sumo on it. Dolls, ashtrays, plates, key chains, towels…yup, anything. No wait, no sumo tampons but, honestly, I didn’t look that hard. The girl in green brought me through the arena and up a flight of steps to what would be called the nosebleeds back home but is actually still a really good view. Here is actual seating, like in a movie theatre, but the more popular spots are sitting on the mats on the floor levels around the ring. No matter where you sit there is a good view. The place is not the large scale stadiums found back home. That is not to say it isn’t a big place as it is. It just isn’t a SkyDome. This lends itself to a more intimate setting where any seat is a good sea. Though the place I was ticketed for was perfectly fine I had other plans. This brings us to…

#2) In my online research I discovered the website of a guy from England who has been living in Osaka for five years. He is a sumo aficionado and has attended every tournament since his arrival and his site offered up some choice tidbits of information. The best thing I discovered there was that earlier bouts in the day are held by lesser ranked wrestlers and they don’t pull in the crowds. In fact, many people will only show for the final hour or so of a day of sumo. Their seats are generally scooped up by general admission folk or people seated higher up until they are asked to move when the original ticket holders eventually show. The website said this is common practice and you will not be chastised for doing so. With that, when the pretty girl in green left to seat somebody else, I left my seat and walked to the closest seat I could get.


It was on one of the mats and located about seven feet away from the ring. I would remain there for a good three hours before finally being asked to move. You have to remove your shoes for this type of seating and are not allowed to have them on the pillows you sit on. There is a special place under the walkway where you keep your shoes. The seating area is very small and is meant to seat four on the provided cushions. Even at four I watched people squeeze in and elbow each other each time they moved. In your square you will find a box with tea cups in it. Tea is provided to those ticketed for these seats. I decided to not ask for any and push my seating luck.

It is legend here in Japan that the origin of the race depended upon the outcome of a Sumo match. The race was established when the Japanese God Takemikazuchi won a bout with the leader of a rival tribe. I don’t know how I’d feel if my existence depended upon whether or not a large fat man slamming into each other. A more probable explanation of the sports origins is that it originated sometime during China’ Han Dynasty with the first matches that resembled sumo taking place in Japan around 452 when Chinese wrestlers held a bout for the funeral of Emperor Ingyo, the 19th Emperor of Japan.

The sport gained prominence in the Nara period when the Imperial Court gathered wrestlers from far and wide to compete in the first grand sumo tournament called sechie-zumo. No cup or award was handed out to the winner of this event. This tournament was held to celebrate peace on earth and bountiful harvest. As wonderful as that sounds I find it hard to see a Stanley Cup Final or Superbowl played for peace on earth. Sigh. Rules were different for Sumo in the 8th century and most matches had very few rules if any. Sumo bouts in this period of the sports history could very well be unarmed battles to the death. Over time the rules of modern sumo would become established. Punching, kicking in the stomach, pulling hair, eye gouging and choking are no longer allowed. You cannot grab onto a part of the sumo gear that covers any vital organs as well.

A sumo festival was held annually from the first tournament onward and would include lots of pomp and circumstance. In the period of war sumo was regarded as a military sport to augmenting fighting knowledge and for entertainment purposes. When peace was restored to Japan sumo groups were formed and the present day Sumo Association started here in the Edo Period. During this time sumo developed into its current form and saw the addition of traditional sumo gear. A silken loincloth called a mawashi is the only thing worn in a match. A mawashi can be 10 yards long and 2 feet wide. This piece of cloth can the x-factor in a match as it is said that 70 tricks can win a sumo match and most of them deal with gripping the mawashi. The strings on the garment are there just for show and usually don’t last three seconds into a match without tearing off.

A sumo event will last all day. The festivities begin at 9am with the Maezumo where new wrestlers enter the ring for the first time. These trainees compete to have their names appear in the listings of the next tournament. At 930 you have the Jonokuchi-Makushita Matches. This is the lowest division of sumo. A long break for lunch brings you to 245pm and the Ring Entering Ceremony of the Juryo division wrestlers in which their matches follow. When a wrestler graduates from trainee status he enters Juryo which marks his start in climbing the professional ranks. This rank obtains privileges not entitled to trainees. These include wearing the ceremonial apron when entering the ring and the right to place your hair in the oicho style. 330pm is the opening and closing address but is only held on the opening and closing day of a tournament so I did not see it. Here there is a speech given by the chairman of the Nihon Sumo Kyokai.



Sumo then enter the ring and perform an ritualistic ceremony before exiting to the cheer of the crowd before the bouts are set to begin.




The confrontation of girth takes place in a dohyo. Made of clay and sand, a dohyo is and 18 foot square about 2 feet off the ground and most of the action takes place in a 15 area of the ring. This area is surrounded by rice-straw bales which are submerged in the clay. Four of these bales used to be placed just outside the circle to allow rain to run out of the ring for outside events (more prominent for matches in the Edo Period) but these are now used for leverage as a wrestler can use them to push back against an opponent. Yobidashi (think of these guys as roadies for sumo) build new rings each time a tournament rolls around. Above the doyho is a structure resembling a Shinto Shrine. It has four tassels hanging down to represent the seasons of the year.

I was not able to find the radios you can rent that announce the event in English so I had trouble understand the rules.












Sumo is a lot of build and a few seconds of action, sort of like a gun fight in a Leone flick. Rikishis will engage in symbolic sumo rituals to cleanse the body and mind before a bout. The mouth is rinsed out with water to signify purity and the wrestler whips his body clean with a towel. A series of motions are done by each rikishi here. The raising of the legs and stamping of the feet is done here as well as squats and raising of each arm. The agility of some of these men was amazing considering the size. One guy raised his leg so high you’d think he was a ballerina. If a sumo is of higher ranking, a handful of salt is then thrown into the ring to purify it. This is quickly swept away by the roadies. The two combatants will then face each other in a classic sumo stare down. This event really needed a spaghetti western soundtrack. The two squat down with their fists to the ground and intensely gaze at each other to intimidate in what is called a shikiri. This is the calm before the storm and unless you are lower ranked a match will not begin here and sumos will repeatedly return to their corner to slap their stomachs, towel off again and toss more salt around.







During this period of anticipation the crowd goes wild and this is what people pay to see, the showboating and ritual of the event. But rules state this whole pre match ordeal can only go only for four minutes and finally the two great beasts clash in the thunder and fury of hard flesh on flesh, grunting and hugging and pushing towards victory. A match is one when a sumo is forced out of the circle or any part of his body touches the ground. A single toe over the circle line or the tip of a finger touching the ground could lose a match.





Matches are refereed by the gyoji. These men are the most colorful in the arena dressed in vibrant traditional kimonos and large black hats which resemble those worn by Shinto priests. They enter the ring and call the names of each sumo in a loud voice. He carries with him a fan which is used to signal when the match is to start. He has to have eagle eyes to catch victories dependent on such small circumstances in some cases. Most calls are simple ones, however, as these behemoths toss each other clear into the first row. I’d hate to be there. One could be flattened! I wonder how many deaths by sumo have been caused at these things? The judges have the worst of it. If a refs call is a controversial one these men, sitting around the ring in black, judge the decision. These guys are the closest to crushing range next to the people who paid top dollar to be turned into pancakes.




With the gyoji come the flag guys. I don’t know their official titles but fan guy works. This guy carries a fan and sings a little tune and I am sure it is all ritual and important to the events of the day but I really have no idea what it was all about.






After having to vacate my seats I was all over the arena with the camera snapping away. I expected the Japanese to view these types of events with quiet regard but again my expectations of the Japanese people are strongly misled. They were shouting for blood as though they were fans at a WWE event and I half expected some other sumo to enter the ring with a steel chair and crush somebody’s skull. I don’t know what they were saying but they were saying it loud. One old man near me was quiet all night until some sumo he either hated or loved came out because he bolted to his feet and shouted the guys name over and over again. These people need signs and foam fingers!



The highlight of an event for most Japanese is seeing the yokozuna perform his ceremony between rank bouts. This guy just stepped foot into the arena for a few moments and the crowd was in a massive frenzy. He is escorted to the ring by senior gyoji and two maki-uchi rikishi with one carrying a sword. The yokozuna wears a braided rope like the kind find at shinto shrines. It can weigh up to 35 pounds. He then performs the dohyo-rir ceremony. Two loud claps of the hands are done to gain the attention of the gods (this is done before prayer at the shrines as well) and the sumo champion extends his arms with palms out. This is to show he has no weapons. The ceremony ends when the yokozuna lifts his leg as high as he can and brings it down in a quaking stamp to ward of evil from the ring.









Watching the matches was just awesome and I can’t believe I am saying that about seeing fat guys in diapers slam against each other for a few hours. Really, this is got to be what sex is like for elephants. Though I was sketchy on the rules I grasped a basic concept and soon I was cheering on myself. I didn’t know, of course, the participants so I cheered for the guy who performed the most vigorous or fearful opening bout routine. You really have to concentrate when a match is taking place because of how quickly they can end. The fastest bout lasted a mere four seconds when one sumo sidestepped and the other just flew out of the ring nearly killing several people. Images of a Kansas house crushing a frail old woman spring to mind. The longest bout was about a minute and a half and consisted of some hugging and jostling for position. It really is hard to predict where these matches will go. The most exciting moments are when one sumo is backed up to the edge of the circle and suddenly gets a bolt of energy and lifts the other guy up and tosses him out in a stunning array of strength and agility.


At 6pm, after the final match, a chosen rikishi performs the Bow Ceremony. A bow is handed to the sumo who then twirls it like a baton. This ceremony is usually performed by the victorious sumo of the day (the one who won the most rounds).
A generous round of applause greets the cominaltion of the sumo spectacle and out the fill the fans in a quick motion towards the front entrance in hopes to catch a climps of their favorite rakishi leaving the arena.

Who knew watching fat men slam into each other could be such a good time?