SUMO: The Original Japanese Baseball

Kaioo has got to be roiling inside though you wouldn’t know it to look at him. Sumo wrestlers have elevated impassivity to an art form. He has lost the day before and if he doesn’t win his match today, his chances to triumph in the first National sumo tournament of 2002 are virtually extinct. He is squatting on his haunches, one fist on the sand of the ring waiting for his opponent’s fist to touch which signals the beginning of the fight. Kaioo has a strangely kind face and reputedly the strongest hands of any sumo wrestler at present. He does more than 50 push-ups several times during his daily three-hour workouts and he practices his face thrusts by slamming his palms as hard as he can into telephone polls. Yet he is so flexible he can do a full split. And when he isn’t exercising, he is eating or sleeping… exorbitantly. Kaioo weighs more than 400 pounds.

Kaioo is facing Purple. Not knowing the names of most of sumo wrestlers, I identify them by the color of their mawashi, a silken loin cloth. The mawashi has two purposes: first, it obscures the wrestler’s full glory, but perhaps more important, grasping the mawashi is a critical strategic objective. Imagine wrestling someone and you are both wearing belts. If you can grab hold of the other person’s belt you gain an instant competitive advantage, a handle (literally) on the other person’s center of gravity. If you can obtain that, I’m betting on you. Otherwise the wrestler’s only adornment is their long black hair pulled back and tied to form a ginko leaf at the top of their massive heads. One of the many wonders of sumo for me is that I have never seen a mawashi come undone (Thank God for that) even as it is pulled and jerked by people as strong as Kaioo….

There are six national sumo tournaments a year, each taking 15 days, and then a roughly 6 week hiatus in between each one. The tournaments are all held in the Ryogoku Kokugikan an indoor sumo hall in Tokyo. VERY briefly, there are 1000 sumo wrestlers in the game at any given moment and they all are ranked according to how they perform in the tournaments. Each is ranked in one of 11 descending divisions. I’m not sure how many divisions actually participate in the national tournaments but the following definitely do:

• Yokozuna (there are only 2 currently and both were hurt this time, so we’ll bid them adieu for now but they’ll both be back for the mid-March meeting.)
• Ozeki (there are only 5 at present; each one has to have won at least one tournament and perform well in all the current ones or he is dropped back down to:
• Sekiwake, Komusubi and Maegashira divisions.

The ring in which these people fight is a two-foot high, 18 x 18 foot square mound of clay covered with a thin layer of sand. Unlike a western boxing ring, the fighting area is round and there are no ropes. When one of these guys is thrown hard out of the ring—which is circled by a heavy straw rope--there is nowhere to go but into the crowd two feet below and about 4 feet from the ring. It’s hard to understand WHY people want to sit in the first few rows unless they thrill to the prospect of several hundreds pounds of sweaty flesh coming down in their laps or on their heads. It is apparently lucky to touch a sumo wrestler, but, c’mon! And they do go into the first few rows frequently, the most exciting matches being the ones in which both men are going out at the same time, flying through the air locked in bear hugs or still flailing at each other….

There are something like 70 definable sumo “moves,” most of which mirror various judo techniques, other forms of wrestling or boxing, but with open hands. The ONLY rule is no fists (well, no hair pulling, biting, or scratching either.) Otherwise, if it works, do it. One of the most fearsome opening techniques is face slapping or palm thrusting to the chin. These guys hit each other as hard they can but with open hands, the scariest technique being the throat thrust. Spread your thumb and forefinger as wide apart as possible and imagine throwing it as hard as you can into someone’s throat. These guys do this for a living. It is AMAZING they don’t die (this is considered a killing technique in Tae Kwon Do) but their necks are strong enough to take it. You win either by pushing the other man out of the ring or making ANY part of his body other than the soles of his feet hit the sand within the ring. If you slip and fall even before the other guy touches you, it’s sayonara until tomorrow’s match.

This may seem odd given the havoc they wreck on each other but sumo wrestlers ALWAYS treat each other with the utmost respect. Whenever possible they will strive NOT to hurt their opponent, often catching him and preventing him from falling into the crowd as soon as they successfully push him out of the ring which instantly ends the match.

PING! WAKE UP NOW!

Back to the match… Purple is squatting on his haunches, staring at Kaioo who has already placed his fist on the line which he can’t cross until Purple does the same thing on HIS line. The timing of when you put that final fist down is critical since that signals the beginning of the match. As in so many things, first impressions are everything, especially if the first impression is a 400 pound man’s forearm on your chin. Kaioo outweighs Purple by at least 100 pounds. This is good and bad, obviously good in a sport in which you win by pushing the other person to the ground or out of the ring, but bad because being lighter usually means quicker. Purple is so quick he would give a cobra pause for thought. His trademark move is a leg swipe. He ties up his larger opponents with his arms and if they don’t pull a massive leg away in time, one of Purple’s sinewy thighs has snaked around it and BAM, it’s over. On the other hand, you sometimes have to turn your head away watching what someone like Kaioo can do when a lighter fighter like Purple lets his guard down. Imagine raising a sack of rice above your head and throwing it on the ground to get it to spill open.

Purple’s fist touches the line and both men surge across the two feet that separate them. Kaioo has him. Huge arms are grasping for Purple's mawashi. If he can find the handle, Purple will be carried wiggling like a fish out of water to the edge of the ring and be dumped over the edge. The huge man is pushing the littler one towards the edge of the ring but somehow Purple squiggles away and as Kaioo lunges for him, Purple pulls the larger man’s leading arm off center just enough to unbalance him. Suddenly the snake strikes, a leg is wrapped around one of the tree trunks that support Kaioo and it’s over a half a second later. Kaioo crashes to the sand and his chances for winning this tournament are in tatters after 12 days, he is now 9-3, with three matches to go. Three other Ozekis have better records. But Kaioo still has a part to play…..

LET’S MEET OUR STARS!

In the first week, Kaioo had appeared to be the guy to beat. He was 5-0 after 5 days and bursting with confidence but so were three others:

• Tochiazuma—he bears an uncanny resemblance to a young Babe Ruth, that barrel chest, that huge gut and the round moon face. But the resemblance ends at the waist. First of all I’m just about certain Babe Ruth NEVER ever wore a mawashi, but much more to the point, whereas the Babe’s legs were rather spindly, Tochiazuma is supported by twin trees. This is where he gets the ability to wrestle with the quickness of a small man but is capable of withstanding the bull rush of the larger opponent by meeting him head-on. Holding on to Tochiazuma is like trying to get a handle on a greased bowling ball, except this one has legs like oaks.

• Chiyotaikai—I call him “Andy” because he looks almost exactly like Jan’s nephew with a few exceptions, namely, Chiyotaikai outweighs Andy by at least 250 pounds. But he shares the same warm and curious expression on his face. There is one other difference. I’ve known Andy since he was born. You can’t find a more even-tempered guy, but Chiyotaikai can be downright vicious within the circle.

• Kotomitsuki—My money is on this guy who looks pretty much like the big Buddha at Nara. He has a wide flat face, a pointed nose and the deepest, darkest eyes that are downcast slits most of the time. He is kind of a combination of all the others. He has the size of Chiyotaikai or Kaioo but has wrestling skills similar to Tochiazuma who can apparently adapt to any situation the other fellow throws at him. Most important Kotomitsuki has that look of eagles, the kind you see in certain ball players like Derek Jeter or (Damn it!) Curt Schilling. You just know they are going to beat you when they have that look.

I mean no disrespect (believe me!!) but for the remainder of this account I will refer to these three by their nicknames—The Babe (Tochiazuma), Andy (Chiyotaikai) and Nara (Kotomitsuki). Otherwise if you’re anything like me, you’d need a scorecard to keep track of them.

Every day at 5:00 the tournament is aired on NHK, the national television station. Actually it starts at 3:00 but the first two hours involve wrestlers from the lesser divisions and unless you REALLY are into this, the most exciting fights are those between 5:00 and 6:00 because they involve those who have a shot of winning the tournament. The last few days resemble the final games of a World Series. Little things are elevated by the intensity of the moment. You search the face of the wrestler “on deck” as he waits in the hall before entering the ring hoping for some hint of how focused he is today.

The TV producers feast their cameras on these moments. Andy always stands expressionless, a veritable statue. The Babe shakes his shoulders and his head at odd intervals, eyes downcast at a point apparently 3 feet in front of him. Sometimes he slaps himself very hard on both cheeks or crushes his palm into his chin. And then there’s Nara, constantly moving, doing deep knee bends, shoulder stretches, slapping his hands on his belt, a bucking bronco in his stall.


BEWARE! BASEBALL ANALOGIES AHEAD!

You wouldn’t know Kaioo had just lost to Purple as he lumbers slowly into the hall leading away from the ring. Sumo wrestlers wear exactly the same expressions whenever they are entering a ring, in it, or leaving. Many of them do smile and even laugh a little in the post-fight interviews. Apparently their post fight lines are written by the same people who do that for American baseball players, tu whit:

Q: What were you thinking when Wakanahana tripped you?

A: I was trying not to fall and was fortunate to regain my focus before the head butt.

Q: How do you think you will do against Onishki tomorrow?

A. I have to do what I have to do and maybe things will go my way.

Q: What do you think you need to do to win?

A. I will have to use my best skills.

Now how’s that for riveting insights rivaling those of Alex Rodriguez?

The similarities between sumo and baseball are as common as sunflower seeds in a dugout, at least to this observer, one major difference being sumo is a tradition that turned into a sport and baseball is a sport that has turned into a tradition. I think of baseball as a historical tapestry. Each play, each at bat, each throw is another thread and baseball players know this. Time stops the moment the pitch is thrown and the batter starts his stride. Everyone on the field knows that a new thread is about to be woven and it will be a thread different from any other one ever sewn into the tapestry. And when you step to the plate, you are bringing your entire history as a hitter to the event, every pitch you have ever seen and every swing you have ever taken are in the back of your mind and you try to use the lessons they have taught you to drive the pitch or go with it or foul it off, whatever the situation demands. And then one more thread will be sewn.

So it is in sumo. The sport stems from the 6th century. Once it was a shinto ritual. A single man fought an invisible god. If the god won, the harvest would be fruitful. If the man won, the crops would despair. This one WAS rigged. No man can beat a god. You get the sense as you see the hulking wrestlers perform their pre-fight rituals, throwing salt into the ring to purify it that they are paying respect to the gods who used to fight their forbears in rings at ancient shrines. All seem to be aware that they are involved in a game which has fascinated Japan for nearly 1500 years (though professional sumo didn’t start until the 17th century.) They are weaving threads every time they enter the ring.

Perhaps the most obvious parallel between sumo and baseball is at the most essential level—time. Theoretically a baseball game can continue forever and so can a sumo match. The fat lady doesn’t sing until that 3rd out in a baseball game and a sumo match doesn’t end until a fat man falls.

And both sports are essentially duels between two people. The pitcher can throw the ball on the outside corner, down the middle or on the inside corner or anything in between. He can throw it into the dirt, ankle high, knee high, at the belt, chest high, or, well, head high on occasion. Depending on his arsenal, he can make the ball curve, dip, flutter, disguise the speed, or if he has the arm, he can simply throw it so fast and in such a perfect location that a professional hitter can only duck or wave meekly at it. The batter’s job is guessing which kind of pitch is coming depending on innumerable factors, namely the count, whether there are men on base, the score, his history vs. this particular pitcher, their respective manager’s predilections, etc., etc.

Sumo wrestlers face a multiplicity of choices, too. Will the opponent explode out his crouch low or high. Will he be going for an arm lock, a leg throw, or come out slapping or thrusting? How has this man fought me before? What are his favorite techniques? Is a head butt in the offing? You really want to consider these things BEFORE the fun starts.

But after all is said and done, both sports are really absurdly simple. If a major league hitter guesses fastball and the pitcher throws a fastball, the result is frequently sayonara! And if a sumo wrestler guessing a man is going to come out low at him is correct, he merely stands up and crushes the oncoming missile of flesh to the sand below. Sayonara!


THE FINAL THREE DAYS

As Kaioo and Purple return to their respective dressing rooms, the camera focuses on Andy (10-1) waiting to enter the ring is absolutely expressionless staring blankly into the camera. And he looks exactly the same 5 minutes later as he heads back to the dressing room having just crushed Silver Belt, picking up the 350 lb struggling man as if he were a bulky bag of cement and dumping him over the two foot drop at the edge of the ring where he sprawls into the crowd. The latter is not the kind of person you want to fight when he has nothing to lose. Silver has had a reasonably good tournament but his only remaining role is spoiler since he is now 7-5. He is probably the meanest looking guy in the higher ranks at present with a lumpy hard-featured face and his expression of choice is a brutish scowl.

Now it is time for Nara and The Babe to tango. Nara (currently 9-2) had started the tournament looking invincible and winning seemingly at will, but he loses to struggling also-rans earlier in the week and now he needs to beat The Babe (11-0) to stay in contention. This is the first really critical match of the tournament. The showcase match each day is saved for the end, so after three hours of prelims the audience in the sumo center is primed (as is your correspondent).

Sumo matches are preceded by at least 3 mock squat-downs signaled by the position of the referee. The third man in the ring wears a funny pointy hat and robes of intricate brocade. If, after shouting, “Kamaete” (take your places!) his front foot is parallel to the two lines separating the squatting fighters they DO not spring at each but rather engage in a staring match (niramiai) in which they fix each other with the most menacing gazes they can muster. When the ref stands square to the fighters, the fight will start on the next squat down.

The referee has one other major role in addition to starting the match. He makes the first determination as to who goes out first. If his verdict is disputed, 6 ringside judges huddle to decide the issue. In the old days, the referee used to carry a sword so that he could kill himself if the judges decided he was wrong. (Now would that be a good idea in baseball or what!?)

As Nara and The Babe stare at each other for the third time, the crowd goes wild, yelling and cheering like an unruly mob at Madison Square Garden. The two return to their corners, get toweled off by their seconds, grab handfuls of salt, fling the harsh grains into the ring, lick their fingers, slap their mawashi hard a few times to get the chi going, and hunker down to face each other again. This time the ref is square to the fighters. This is it….

The Babe has not shaved throughout the entire tournament and at this point looks as scrufty as a big fat grizzled relief pitcher waddling out to mow ‘em down in the 9th. He has not just won his past 12 matches; he has obliterated people. But Nara doesn’t appear to be intimidated, his eyes blazing slits as he almost tenderly lays his fist on the line and waits for The Babe to do the same. The scraggly face is expressionless as he waits for the proper instant and only he knows when. Suddenly his fist touches down and they explode at each other like two SUVs colliding. Their initial forays are parried and they scuffle in the middle of the ring searching for each others mawashi’s. The first one to succeed will likely win because he will literally have the upper hand and be able to lift his opponent just enough off the sand to throw him out or down. And then, just as it appears to be settling into a long test, it is over. Nara has hooked his arm around The Babe’s armpit locking him into shoulder throw (shitate nage) and it is over. The Babe gets up slowly spitting sand. He bows to the victor and lumbers out of the ring as the crowd throws pillows into the fighting area to signal its approval of the bout.

But Nara’s glory is short-lived. He loses Friday’s fight to the pesky Purple (who at 4-8 is having a lousy tournament except for his ability to kill the giants). That day’s showcase match features Kaioo and Andy who is currently the leader at 12-0. Kaioo is going to be about as easy to fight as a wounded buffalo which is just what he turns out to be—bull rushing Andy in that first instant, stunning him with head slaps and then turning him around and pushing him out, all in about 10 seconds.

On Saturday, Andy wins easily and goes 13-1. But the Babe loses to go 12-2 . He has shaved, perhaps to punish himself for yesterday’s loss or to simply to change something, anything that will get him back on a winning track. But he fights listlessly and loses. Perhaps he is looking ahead to Sunday but he has dug himself quite a hole. If he had won Saturday, he and Andy would have wrestled one match for all the marbles. But his loss means he has to beat Andy in the final match to force a sudden death play-off. The Babe has to win both fights. Andy has to win just one. Just one more baseball analogy—this is like facing Randy Johnson twice and beating him both times when he is at the top of his game. Any takers?


ENDGAME

The BIG match is preceded by Kaioo’s last fight, this one against Silver. Both men are Ozeki rank on the way down. Their best years are behind them, but they still try hard today because although they won’t win this tournament, in order to maintain their Ozeki status (and all the attendant money and pleasures) they need to do well. After 4 mock squat downs, the ref stands square. Silver puts his fist down. Kaioo clenches the huge ham that is his right hand…. It touches the sand and Kaioo catapults out of his stance low, the top of the ginko-leafed hair on his head aimed right at Silver’s jaw. Silver has guessed wrong, expecting Kaioo to come out shoving or slapping. Basically Silver has guessed curve and Kaioo has thrown a fastball. The huge forehead catches him on the chin and Silver careens backwards like a small car hit by a bus. Kaioo has hit him so hard that HE goes out of the ring too but not as far into the crowd as Silver who has really ruined the day for three prim ladies into whose laps he falls.

They pick themselves off, bow to each other and the camera is now riveted on Andy and The Babe on either side of the ring. The Babe eyes are downcast, Andy staring straight ahead as he always does.

There are 4 mock passes. The niramiai is astounding in its intensity, both men staring holes through each other. The crowd is screaming and waving and the announcers (ex sumo wrestlers with big deep voices) sound like they are about to jump out of their seats with excitement.

The referee stands square. It is time for the huge fists to hit the lines. Two weeks of brutal combat involving dozens of wrestlers are crystallized into this moment.

Andy’s fist is down. The Babe’s follows. Andy comes out slapping. Not JUST a few slaps until he moves in, but like a windmill. On the replay, the announcers note that this 400 plus pound man slaps his opponent 24 times (in about 10 furious seconds) before The Babe somehow comes to his senses, catches the 25th punch with his hand, pulls Andy’s huge arm towards him unbalancing the giant in his slapping frenzy and pushes him out of the ring with an elbow to the chest.

The crowd goes absolutely mishugonah as we say in New York. The announcers are apopleptic. These big boys are now tied and in 10 minutes we get to see a playoff.

The camera snakes into the dressing room where we see each man being regroomed, his mussed up hair being combed and re-braided into the ginko-like top knot. Each man’s eyes are closed as the groomers work on him. Focus is everything now.

And then they are walking into the ring. They ascend the two foot staircase and face each other again. There are the obligatory 4 preliminary squat downs and interminable staring—this takes about 5 minutes during which I doubt I took more than two breaths-- and then the referee is square for the last time.

The fists come down. Andy has gambled on what worked so well for Kaioo. Perhaps he assumes The Babe is fearful of another slapping assault. He comes in low trying for the same head butt that Kaioo used to turn Silver into lap meat. But The Babe has GUESSED head butt and he rockets out of his crouch high, crushing his hands down on the back of Andy’s onrushing neck. It is over in one second. Andy is spitting dirt and The Babe has won!

The two men bow and then the screen is filled with the huge face of The Babe. He strives to look impassive but two tears stream down the right side of his face and another snakes down the left. Even the announcers are silent as the camera drinks in the tears of the Champion.
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