Sumo tournaments take place a handful of times in a year, moving from city to city. They last for 14 days and attract crowds that, while not as big as those that attend baseball or football games, are testament to the equivalent standing of this sport with its two modern rivals.
I passed through town at the same time as the 2013 July Grand Tournament reached its final few days at Aichi Prefectural Gymnasium, Nagoya. Arriving early, I bought one of the last remaining tickets, for the cheap seats at the back. I had arrived almost an hour before the first bouts started and there was almost no-one there. Music played in the background while kimono-clad men swept in the dohyo, the equivalent of the ring.
I remained all day, and by early evening the arena was full of excited fans, cheering and gasping as the wrestlers grappled at each other's belts, dumped opponents out of the ring, or stomped their feet in intimidation.
Sumo wrestling is steeped in Shinto tradition. Before each bout, a man in a ceremonial kimono holds up a fan and and chants at each competitor as they sit beside the judges on opposite sides of the dohyo. The wrestlers walk up onto the ring and rub salt on to their hands, sometimes throwing handfuls of it high into the air. They stamp and stretch in front of each other. They repeat this act of intimidation a number of times. Then the referee calls out and they charge.
Sometimes the action is over in seconds, with the loser quickly falling or finding himself shoved unceremoniously out of the ring. Other times the advantage swings from one to the other.
That morning I had stood opposite a mountain of a man in a blue kimono. He had long black hair, slicked back into a small knot at the top of his head. He was wearing the traditional square Japanese sandals. Just a sumo wrestler on his way to work on Saturday morning on the train to Nagoya.
I passed through town at the same time as the 2013 July Grand Tournament reached its final few days at Aichi Prefectural Gymnasium, Nagoya. Arriving early, I bought one of the last remaining tickets, for the cheap seats at the back. I had arrived almost an hour before the first bouts started and there was almost no-one there. Music played in the background while kimono-clad men swept in the dohyo, the equivalent of the ring.
I remained all day, and by early evening the arena was full of excited fans, cheering and gasping as the wrestlers grappled at each other's belts, dumped opponents out of the ring, or stomped their feet in intimidation.
Sumo wrestling is steeped in Shinto tradition. Before each bout, a man in a ceremonial kimono holds up a fan and and chants at each competitor as they sit beside the judges on opposite sides of the dohyo. The wrestlers walk up onto the ring and rub salt on to their hands, sometimes throwing handfuls of it high into the air. They stamp and stretch in front of each other. They repeat this act of intimidation a number of times. Then the referee calls out and they charge.
Sometimes the action is over in seconds, with the loser quickly falling or finding himself shoved unceremoniously out of the ring. Other times the advantage swings from one to the other.
That morning I had stood opposite a mountain of a man in a blue kimono. He had long black hair, slicked back into a small knot at the top of his head. He was wearing the traditional square Japanese sandals. Just a sumo wrestler on his way to work on Saturday morning on the train to Nagoya.
