S.O.S. (Shinjinrui on Sumo)
by Chris Gould
In
the second of a three-part series, Chris Gould examines the
difficulties that young Japanese experience in relating to sumo
personalities, and assesses how sumo might address such
difficulties.
On January 22nd 2006, the famed English football club Manchester United toppled their arch-rivals Liverpool with a last-minute goal. The euphoric United defender, Gary Neville, failed pitifully to control himself and celebrated highly provocatively before the Liverpool fans. In a land where football authorities live in permanent fear of crowd trouble, Neville’s actions were heavily frowned upon, and he received a stern reprimand. But Neville’s angry response to his dressing down revealed the large extent to which footballers, and their supporters, thrive on the manifestation of pure emotion. ‘Do they want a game of robots?’ he inquired of the footballing authorities.
Neville’s words are particularly pertinent to present-day sumo. They appear on the lips of Japan’s shinjinrui, the ‘new race’ of under-30s, whenever they contemplate their ‘national’ sport. Shinjinrui are comfortable with Neville-esque outbursts of passion, and identify strongly with footballers, K-1 athletes and tarentos who are prone to them. They are thus deeply frustrated with sumotori who are bound by convention to restrain their emotions. They feel short-changed on entertainment when a wrestler chooses to celebrate an adrenaline-pumping victory by trudging meekly to his corner, or when his opponent takes defeat incredibly politely and never queries the referee’s decision.
In shinjinrui eyes, such emotional restraint merely reinforces the image of sumo as a sport which is desperately out-of-touch with the world as they view it. Sad as it seems, young Japanese overwhelmingly perceive sumo as a surreal (if not nightmarish) community, overpopulated with dull, fat people who are obliged to swear allegiance to a redundant samurai tradition, and who are forbidden from driving cars, donning ‘normal’ clothes in public and marrying without their coach’s permission. Shinjinrui appear convinced that whereas top footballers and media personalities are to be fawned over, sumotori are merely to be pitied. (‘The younger ones wipe the older wrestlers’ bottoms, yes?’ said one.) It is these perceptions that the Japan Sumo Association (NSK) urgently needs to shift if it is to disprove allegations that sumo is ‘a game of robots.’
Personality Problems?
Sumo’s lack of emotion is far more irksome to shinjinrui than it was to their parents. Whereas many older women believe in sumotori sex-appeal, younger women generally find blubbery sumo frames repulsive. Whereas rikishi may seem shining symbols of strength to older men, they appear cumbersome athletes to younger males who adore K-1 and baseball. Unable to value sumotori in terms of sex-appeal or fighting prowess, and egged on by media increasingly preoccupied with Celebrity, shinjinrui feel bound to judge sumotori on personality. Predictably, they find little inspiration in the brief, monotonous responses uttered by rikishi in post-match interviews, and in the fact that wrestlers negotiate most bouts in an emotional void. They also find it comical when sumotori catch themselves on the rare occasions passion seeks to overwhelm them, pounding the dohyo in nerdy fashion when defeated, and feebly pumping a fist in victory.
Tellingly, the sumotori by far the most popular among shinjinrui is treasured not because of his sumo ability, but because of his flamboyant dohyo personality. Ironically, though, he is the wrestler who most resembles a robot! Nearly every young Japanese has heard of Takamisakari, the man nicknamed Robocop because of a mechanical limp and a tendency to perform the shikiri-naoshi like a malfunctioning robot. It matters not to shinjinrui that Taka will never achieve greatness; the fact that he is bizarre in the ring, and listens to the Beatles outside of it, makes him acceptable enough. Second in the shinjinrui popularity stakes is Kotooshu, but only because his good looks have been compared to those of a footballer, David Beckham. The third most-liked (and also most hated) wrestler is Asashoryu, easily the finest rikishi of his time, but often noted by youngsters for his fiery demeanour. In the words of 17-year-old Fumiko: ‘I understand why, when Asashoryu shows feeling, young people relate to him. We recognise his emotions.’
Unfortunately for shinjinrui, such sentiments remain unshared by the NSK, which classifies raw emotion as incompatible with sumo’s samurai code, and hence erects another barrier between itself and young Japanese. Shinjinrui judge the NSK’s disciplining of Asashoryu for an outpouring of emotion as an affront to their values. They also deem it harsh of the NSK to dismiss a sumotori (e.g. Kotokanyu) for unlawfully striking an opponent when footballers receive a short suspension for the same offence.
To court shinjinrui acceptance, then, sumo must fully explain the virtuous reasoning behind emotional restraint. It must start by stressing that a sumotori does not abstain from celebrating victory or bemoaning defeat because he is emotionally deficient. Instead, he is loyally following a section of the warrior’s code similar to that described in the treatise Hagakure: ‘Certainly we should try not to become dejected, and when very happy should calm our minds.’ When applying these sentiments to modern Japan, the NSK should focus on defeat in particular. It should highlight the physical pain that wrestlers feel when dumped on a solid-clay canvass, and should advertise the incredible strength of mind needed to simply grin and bear it. It should be ‘cool’ to be calm.
Difficult as it may be in a society which increasingly values image over action, the NSK should promote the deadpan face of a sumotori as a symbol of heroism. Was it not with such a face that Chiyonofuji blocked out the cot-death of his daughter to capture the yusho of July 1989? Was it not heroic of Wakanohana I to stoically compete in a tournament following the tragic death of his son, or of Tochinishiki to impassively win a title-match in full knowledge of his father’s passing the previous night? Was it not equally heroic of Musashimaru to enter his final few bouts without the use of his injured left hand, or for Onokuni to grimace only slightly for the post-match bow despite having fractured his ankle? Is it not incredible that Taiho did not complain when a poor refereeing decision ended his 45-match winning streak, and instead blamed himself for deploying the wrong tactics? Armed with such powerful examples, the NSK can proudly proclaim that behind reserved sumo personalities lies an abundance of inspiration.
More daringly, the NSK could consider letting slip to shinjinrui that, despite appearances on the dohyo, young deshi share much in common with them behind the scenes. Sumo coaches nigh-unanimously believe that today’s novices train less assiduously than those of twenty years ago. Occasionally, their comments appear in the media (as did those of Taiho in 2005) and are interpreted by shinjinrui as another gratuitous attack on their values by old fogies. However, with a touch of spin, these comments could reach over the barrier to shinjinrui under the headline of: ‘Our deshi are just like you.’ When combined with the outbursts of oyakata who claim that young deshi ‘lack the respect of old,’ Japan’s youth can be shown that their love of individuality and rebellion is certainly shared by novice sumotori. The NSK should explain that, contrary to popular belief, sumotori – especially senior ones – do have social lives! The NSK should also stress that its mission is not to zombify free-spirited young men, but to encourage such men to conform to a particular code of behaviour. It should be underlined that no young deshi can be forced to conform, that the exit door is always open to those overwhelmed by sumo’s expectations. Indeed, each year, several sumotori (sometimes high-profile ones like Futahaguro) part company with the NSK for this reason. Those who embrace sumo to the bitter end should be revered simply for staying the course.
Through engaging with emotional restraint rather than mocking it, Japanese youngsters should recognise that sumotori are not an alien race of social misfits, but shinjinrui themselves who have, mostly through choice, altered their behaviour to suit the system. This should be considered, if not entirely ‘cool,’ then at least praiseworthy by a young Japanese population who would much rather the system altered to suit them.
What of the West?
Personality issues will be especially pertinent if sumo decides to broaden its fan-base by appealing to non-Japanese. Although there are many western converts who adore sumo tradition, Dr Lyall Watson does not speak for everybody when saying: ‘We don’t want sumo to turn into western wrestling.’ A most noticeable feature of the 2006 US Sumo Open, for example, was how the – mostly uninitiated – crowd thrived on the moments that were most similar to western wrestling, such as when the Bulgarian combatant Stilian Georgiev theatrically disputed the call of an official.
Georgiev, for whom such disputes are common, is a fervent advocate of emotional sumo. ‘Yes, I want more emotion in sumo,’ he told me. ‘When I win, I punch the air and jump about. I want to do that. And once, when I lost, I punched a chair.’ Aged under 30, Georgiev fully understands why similarly-aged Japanese mock sumotori, and is impressed that one of his feisty ex-training partners, the ozeki Kotooshu, has adjusted to sumo’s behavioural norms. He appears a touch resentful that Kotooshu – or Kaloyan, as Georgiev knows him – has had his personality changed by the professional sumo environment: ‘Kaloyan was always funny before, but he is more serious now.’ That said, he admires professional sumotori who remain emotionless when repeatedly whipped by a stablemaster’s bamboo cane. (He insists he would simply retaliate.)
Professional sumotori have traditionally recognised a need to satisfy western cravings for sporting emotion. Consequently, they have oft overplayed the shikiri-naoshi (e.g. through exaggerated staring) when on foreign tours; however, rikishi should not feel impelled to show emotion. Rather, the NSK should divide its foreign performances into two segments. The first segment should involve 45 minutes of jungyo (practice), allowing for animation among sumotori, and possibly even hana-zumo (comedy sumo). The second segment should aim to mirror a basho environment. This way, rather than impinge upon each other, the ‘playful’ and ‘professional’ sides of sumotori are separated, and offer audiences a more accurate insight into the many layers of sumo personalities.
Fed-up Females?
Professional sumo is not the most female-friendly of environments. Its deference to the Shinto religion entails adherence to the belief that the bleeding associated with menstruation is a sign of impurity. Consequently, as all professional dohyo are consecrated in a Shinto ceremony, women have never been permitted to set foot on one. This issue alas masks the fact that sumo is replete with important female figures known as okami-san (stablemaster’s wives), who take on many of a stable’s administrative tasks. No female interviewee has, as yet, confessed to being turned off sumo by its attitude to women alone, but many have expressed dislike of the status quo.
While ageing men may scoff, shinjinrui women are unimpressed with sumo’s treatment of Osaka’s first female governor, Fusae Ota, who tirelessly campaigned for NSK permission to present a prize to the winner of the Osaka tournament. For four consecutive years, the NSK was torn between flouting a 47-year old gubernatorial convention, or flouting Shinto doctrine, and consistently favoured the former. Despite this, the ‘Ota Question’ has not disappeared, and a select band of fans was polled on the issue during the basho of November 2004 (albeit via amusingly indirect questions).
It is indeed true that women of more advanced years, besotted with strapping young rikishi, are generally distracted from subordination debates. As Liliane Fujimori explains: ‘They do not feel any more left out than the men. They find it perfectly normal that they cannot mount the dohyo and dare not even pretend that they can match the physical strength of great male fighters.’ But, unfortunately for sumo, there is no evidence to suggest that younger women will behave in the same way. Shinjinrui women believe that they are destined to become more financially independent than their mothers. They are convinced that sexism in Japanese society has diminished during their lifetimes – especially since the raft of tentative Equal Opportunities legislation since 1985 – and give little indication of passively suffering discrimination, especially when taking up sport. ‘I know what it is like to be a female in a male-dominated sport,’ said a confident 16-year-old, to nods from her peers. ‘I practice shorinji-kempo, and it is hard. Boys laugh and I feel this is discrimination.’ These changing social attitudes constitute ominous portents for present-day sumo, described perfectly by Naomi, who is in her late-20s: ‘When fans like my mother and grandmother stop watching, how will sumo replace them? How will sumo explain to women that they should appreciate a sport which subordinates them?’ As Tomoko, a teenager, adds: ‘Older women like flesh, but young women find the mawashi so cheesy.’
With the NSK possibly requiring decades to assess its stance, a more immediate solution to the problem may lie with amateur sumo. Free from Shinto constraints, amateur sumo spawned the Japan Women’s Sumo Association in April 1996, with competitors tying their mawashi around leotards. Amateur women’s sumo is now a world-wide movement which boasts several stars determined to attract new female fans.
One such star is Hiroko Suzuki, the gifted Japanese middleweight who earned two gold medals at the 2005 US Sumo Open. In her shinjinrui years, Hiroko mastered several sports including judo and American football, and now promotes sumo in true shinjinrui spirit. ‘I entered sumo to help spread the popularity of women’s sumo,’ she says. ‘It is necessary to have more female wrestlers so that the popularity of sumo increases. I hope that other women will also help develop the female sumo movement.’ The advance of women’s rights in professional sumo, Hiroko says, must be carefully managed: ‘It must be observed that sumo has an ancient background and an important role in Japanese history. We need to invest time and effort, and make a big agreement with professional sumo if women are ever to be allowed on the professional dohyo.’ For now, she is interested in drawing crowds, and doubtless finds it ironic that the sport which once passed a Female Prohibition Law now readily begs for female support.
Sumo’s female recruitment drive is not helped by the flurry of negative tabloid stories concerning sumotori and their failed romances. Such stories only serve to increase female hostility towards sumo personalities, and often result in their siding with the wrestler’s girlfriend. One particular event in 1993, which resulted in sumo’s most popular wrestler, Takanohana, dumping his glamorous film-star lover Rie Miyazawa, is still remembered by virtually every shinjinrui over 20. The conclusions that both male and female shinjinrui seem to have collectively drawn are that: Rie (the tarento) was ‘cooler’ than Taka (the sumotori); that Taka (the sumotori) was unworthy of Rie (the tarento); and that the break-up was solely the fault of Taka (the sumotori). Although Rie-gate raised key questions regarding sumo’s treatment of women, shinjinrui women have seemingly ignored them, instead simply forming a conviction that sumotori are stuffy personalities and that tarento are more worthy of their respect.
The role of women in sumo is worth an article in itself (watch this space, perhaps). For now, if more general marketing strategies fail, shinjinrui women will prove immensely difficult to recruit, unless that is, professional sumo strengthens its links to amateur sumo, or – perhaps unthinkably – reappraises its ties with Shintoism.
Yokozuna Yearnings
On March 21st 2005, the world’s most famous sumo fan, President Chirac of France, gained greater popularity in Japan than in his homeland by proclaiming: ‘I hope the next Grand Champion will be Japanese.’ The lack of a Japanese yokozuna is the sole issue which unites sumo-lovers and loathers alike. Even sumo-loathing shinjinrui admit that, despite difficulties relating to sumo personalities, they would happily relate to a Japanese personality with yokozuna status.
And so they should. Being English, I can affirm that nations do not take pleasure in seeing their sporting representatives ritually humiliated. Alas, since the decline of Takanohana II in 2001, such humiliation has been suffered by Japanese sumotori and spectators alike. The Hawaiian Musashimaru dominated 2002, before the Mongolian Asashoryu scaled unparalleled heights, winning seven tournaments in a row and setting the record for most bouts won in a calendar year (84/90). With Japan’s finest wrestlers offering mediocre resistance, shinjinrui have found yet another excuse to decry sumo with comments such as those of 24-year-old Keisuke: ‘It is boring now. There are no Japanese yokozuna and the ozeki are rubbish.’ Other youngsters, such as 25-year-old Kentaro, put a surprisingly patriotic spin on events: ‘This is by no means a racist comment, but it is a great shame that our traditional sport, our national sport, does not have a Japanese yokozuna. Deep down, we feel an obligation to dominate our national sport.’
The sumo journalist Michiyo Ishida suggests that sumo needs a home-grown hero to revive support across the age spectrum. 'Until Wakanohana and Takanohana retired [in 2000 and 2003], sumo had a huge following among all age groups,' she writes. 'Today we don't have superstars like Taka and Waka, so the public in general has lost interest.' However, Ishida acknowledges that shinjinrui were deserting sumo long before the intai of Waka and Taka, (partly, she claims, because three fine sumotori were barred from combating Waka and Taka by virtue of their hailing from the same stable). She is correct about 'superstars,' though. In January 2006, when the ozeki Tochiazuma toyed with becoming a yokozuna superstar, Kokugikan attendances skyrocketed. Furthermore, when Kotooshu caught the popular imagination in 2005, he suggested that the 'superstar' for which shinjinrui crave need not be Japanese.
As a result (and especially given the absence of a realistic Japanese yokozuna candidate), certain observers conclude that sumo should not pray for another Japanese yokozuna, but simply for personalities which embody excellence. In the words of Fujimori: ‘Sumo is a spectacle and the most important thing is that it should revolve around combatants who (all being supremely strong) possess personality, and are charismatic enough to mobilise the public’s interest. It is not necessarily the case that these combatants must be yokozuna, but they must inspire respect and fight with real intensity.’ She is far from alone in believing that present-day sumo is sometimes blighted by defensive combat, which is considered dull by even die-hard followers. This view presupposes that rikishi inspire respect by advancing and attacking, without fear of the result, and refocuses debate on the topics covered in the previous issue’s shinjinrui piece.
Aggressive, fearless personalities on the dohyo can only be moulded by the harshest mental and physical conditioning in the heya, according to Dr Lyall Watson, who maintains that: ‘The future of sumo depends entirely on a return to classic sumo. What is needed is a new golden age, with trainers and fighters going back to basic principles, and rikishi who dedicate themselves to the art.’ At a time when shinjinrui are implicitly demanding that sumo modernises, a firmer commitment to tradition may appear somewhat risky. Were sumo to adopt this strategy, it would have to balance the lurch towards the past with modernising initiatives in the other areas discussed. At present, sumo is undeniably suffering from a sizeable gulf between its values and those of shinjinrui. In blind pursuit of divergent paths, the NSK and shinjinrui hold vastly different world-views. The longer each deems their own to be unquestionably correct, the more sumo stands to lose.
Having briefly investigated the psychological and emotional barriers to shinjinrui enjoyment of sumo, we turn our attention to structural barriers in the final piece of the trilogy. We consider whether tickets are too expensive and difficult to acquire, whether tournaments are held in too few cities, whether the jungyo system needs reform, and whether the NSK should more openly embrace amateur sumo.
Sumo Fan Magazine Home
On January 22nd 2006, the famed English football club Manchester United toppled their arch-rivals Liverpool with a last-minute goal. The euphoric United defender, Gary Neville, failed pitifully to control himself and celebrated highly provocatively before the Liverpool fans. In a land where football authorities live in permanent fear of crowd trouble, Neville’s actions were heavily frowned upon, and he received a stern reprimand. But Neville’s angry response to his dressing down revealed the large extent to which footballers, and their supporters, thrive on the manifestation of pure emotion. ‘Do they want a game of robots?’ he inquired of the footballing authorities.
Neville’s words are particularly pertinent to present-day sumo. They appear on the lips of Japan’s shinjinrui, the ‘new race’ of under-30s, whenever they contemplate their ‘national’ sport. Shinjinrui are comfortable with Neville-esque outbursts of passion, and identify strongly with footballers, K-1 athletes and tarentos who are prone to them. They are thus deeply frustrated with sumotori who are bound by convention to restrain their emotions. They feel short-changed on entertainment when a wrestler chooses to celebrate an adrenaline-pumping victory by trudging meekly to his corner, or when his opponent takes defeat incredibly politely and never queries the referee’s decision.
In shinjinrui eyes, such emotional restraint merely reinforces the image of sumo as a sport which is desperately out-of-touch with the world as they view it. Sad as it seems, young Japanese overwhelmingly perceive sumo as a surreal (if not nightmarish) community, overpopulated with dull, fat people who are obliged to swear allegiance to a redundant samurai tradition, and who are forbidden from driving cars, donning ‘normal’ clothes in public and marrying without their coach’s permission. Shinjinrui appear convinced that whereas top footballers and media personalities are to be fawned over, sumotori are merely to be pitied. (‘The younger ones wipe the older wrestlers’ bottoms, yes?’ said one.) It is these perceptions that the Japan Sumo Association (NSK) urgently needs to shift if it is to disprove allegations that sumo is ‘a game of robots.’
Personality Problems?
Sumo’s lack of emotion is far more irksome to shinjinrui than it was to their parents. Whereas many older women believe in sumotori sex-appeal, younger women generally find blubbery sumo frames repulsive. Whereas rikishi may seem shining symbols of strength to older men, they appear cumbersome athletes to younger males who adore K-1 and baseball. Unable to value sumotori in terms of sex-appeal or fighting prowess, and egged on by media increasingly preoccupied with Celebrity, shinjinrui feel bound to judge sumotori on personality. Predictably, they find little inspiration in the brief, monotonous responses uttered by rikishi in post-match interviews, and in the fact that wrestlers negotiate most bouts in an emotional void. They also find it comical when sumotori catch themselves on the rare occasions passion seeks to overwhelm them, pounding the dohyo in nerdy fashion when defeated, and feebly pumping a fist in victory.
Tellingly, the sumotori by far the most popular among shinjinrui is treasured not because of his sumo ability, but because of his flamboyant dohyo personality. Ironically, though, he is the wrestler who most resembles a robot! Nearly every young Japanese has heard of Takamisakari, the man nicknamed Robocop because of a mechanical limp and a tendency to perform the shikiri-naoshi like a malfunctioning robot. It matters not to shinjinrui that Taka will never achieve greatness; the fact that he is bizarre in the ring, and listens to the Beatles outside of it, makes him acceptable enough. Second in the shinjinrui popularity stakes is Kotooshu, but only because his good looks have been compared to those of a footballer, David Beckham. The third most-liked (and also most hated) wrestler is Asashoryu, easily the finest rikishi of his time, but often noted by youngsters for his fiery demeanour. In the words of 17-year-old Fumiko: ‘I understand why, when Asashoryu shows feeling, young people relate to him. We recognise his emotions.’
Unfortunately for shinjinrui, such sentiments remain unshared by the NSK, which classifies raw emotion as incompatible with sumo’s samurai code, and hence erects another barrier between itself and young Japanese. Shinjinrui judge the NSK’s disciplining of Asashoryu for an outpouring of emotion as an affront to their values. They also deem it harsh of the NSK to dismiss a sumotori (e.g. Kotokanyu) for unlawfully striking an opponent when footballers receive a short suspension for the same offence.
To court shinjinrui acceptance, then, sumo must fully explain the virtuous reasoning behind emotional restraint. It must start by stressing that a sumotori does not abstain from celebrating victory or bemoaning defeat because he is emotionally deficient. Instead, he is loyally following a section of the warrior’s code similar to that described in the treatise Hagakure: ‘Certainly we should try not to become dejected, and when very happy should calm our minds.’ When applying these sentiments to modern Japan, the NSK should focus on defeat in particular. It should highlight the physical pain that wrestlers feel when dumped on a solid-clay canvass, and should advertise the incredible strength of mind needed to simply grin and bear it. It should be ‘cool’ to be calm.
Difficult as it may be in a society which increasingly values image over action, the NSK should promote the deadpan face of a sumotori as a symbol of heroism. Was it not with such a face that Chiyonofuji blocked out the cot-death of his daughter to capture the yusho of July 1989? Was it not heroic of Wakanohana I to stoically compete in a tournament following the tragic death of his son, or of Tochinishiki to impassively win a title-match in full knowledge of his father’s passing the previous night? Was it not equally heroic of Musashimaru to enter his final few bouts without the use of his injured left hand, or for Onokuni to grimace only slightly for the post-match bow despite having fractured his ankle? Is it not incredible that Taiho did not complain when a poor refereeing decision ended his 45-match winning streak, and instead blamed himself for deploying the wrong tactics? Armed with such powerful examples, the NSK can proudly proclaim that behind reserved sumo personalities lies an abundance of inspiration.
More daringly, the NSK could consider letting slip to shinjinrui that, despite appearances on the dohyo, young deshi share much in common with them behind the scenes. Sumo coaches nigh-unanimously believe that today’s novices train less assiduously than those of twenty years ago. Occasionally, their comments appear in the media (as did those of Taiho in 2005) and are interpreted by shinjinrui as another gratuitous attack on their values by old fogies. However, with a touch of spin, these comments could reach over the barrier to shinjinrui under the headline of: ‘Our deshi are just like you.’ When combined with the outbursts of oyakata who claim that young deshi ‘lack the respect of old,’ Japan’s youth can be shown that their love of individuality and rebellion is certainly shared by novice sumotori. The NSK should explain that, contrary to popular belief, sumotori – especially senior ones – do have social lives! The NSK should also stress that its mission is not to zombify free-spirited young men, but to encourage such men to conform to a particular code of behaviour. It should be underlined that no young deshi can be forced to conform, that the exit door is always open to those overwhelmed by sumo’s expectations. Indeed, each year, several sumotori (sometimes high-profile ones like Futahaguro) part company with the NSK for this reason. Those who embrace sumo to the bitter end should be revered simply for staying the course.
Through engaging with emotional restraint rather than mocking it, Japanese youngsters should recognise that sumotori are not an alien race of social misfits, but shinjinrui themselves who have, mostly through choice, altered their behaviour to suit the system. This should be considered, if not entirely ‘cool,’ then at least praiseworthy by a young Japanese population who would much rather the system altered to suit them.
What of the West?
Personality issues will be especially pertinent if sumo decides to broaden its fan-base by appealing to non-Japanese. Although there are many western converts who adore sumo tradition, Dr Lyall Watson does not speak for everybody when saying: ‘We don’t want sumo to turn into western wrestling.’ A most noticeable feature of the 2006 US Sumo Open, for example, was how the – mostly uninitiated – crowd thrived on the moments that were most similar to western wrestling, such as when the Bulgarian combatant Stilian Georgiev theatrically disputed the call of an official.
Georgiev, for whom such disputes are common, is a fervent advocate of emotional sumo. ‘Yes, I want more emotion in sumo,’ he told me. ‘When I win, I punch the air and jump about. I want to do that. And once, when I lost, I punched a chair.’ Aged under 30, Georgiev fully understands why similarly-aged Japanese mock sumotori, and is impressed that one of his feisty ex-training partners, the ozeki Kotooshu, has adjusted to sumo’s behavioural norms. He appears a touch resentful that Kotooshu – or Kaloyan, as Georgiev knows him – has had his personality changed by the professional sumo environment: ‘Kaloyan was always funny before, but he is more serious now.’ That said, he admires professional sumotori who remain emotionless when repeatedly whipped by a stablemaster’s bamboo cane. (He insists he would simply retaliate.)
Professional sumotori have traditionally recognised a need to satisfy western cravings for sporting emotion. Consequently, they have oft overplayed the shikiri-naoshi (e.g. through exaggerated staring) when on foreign tours; however, rikishi should not feel impelled to show emotion. Rather, the NSK should divide its foreign performances into two segments. The first segment should involve 45 minutes of jungyo (practice), allowing for animation among sumotori, and possibly even hana-zumo (comedy sumo). The second segment should aim to mirror a basho environment. This way, rather than impinge upon each other, the ‘playful’ and ‘professional’ sides of sumotori are separated, and offer audiences a more accurate insight into the many layers of sumo personalities.
Fed-up Females?
Professional sumo is not the most female-friendly of environments. Its deference to the Shinto religion entails adherence to the belief that the bleeding associated with menstruation is a sign of impurity. Consequently, as all professional dohyo are consecrated in a Shinto ceremony, women have never been permitted to set foot on one. This issue alas masks the fact that sumo is replete with important female figures known as okami-san (stablemaster’s wives), who take on many of a stable’s administrative tasks. No female interviewee has, as yet, confessed to being turned off sumo by its attitude to women alone, but many have expressed dislike of the status quo.
While ageing men may scoff, shinjinrui women are unimpressed with sumo’s treatment of Osaka’s first female governor, Fusae Ota, who tirelessly campaigned for NSK permission to present a prize to the winner of the Osaka tournament. For four consecutive years, the NSK was torn between flouting a 47-year old gubernatorial convention, or flouting Shinto doctrine, and consistently favoured the former. Despite this, the ‘Ota Question’ has not disappeared, and a select band of fans was polled on the issue during the basho of November 2004 (albeit via amusingly indirect questions).
It is indeed true that women of more advanced years, besotted with strapping young rikishi, are generally distracted from subordination debates. As Liliane Fujimori explains: ‘They do not feel any more left out than the men. They find it perfectly normal that they cannot mount the dohyo and dare not even pretend that they can match the physical strength of great male fighters.’ But, unfortunately for sumo, there is no evidence to suggest that younger women will behave in the same way. Shinjinrui women believe that they are destined to become more financially independent than their mothers. They are convinced that sexism in Japanese society has diminished during their lifetimes – especially since the raft of tentative Equal Opportunities legislation since 1985 – and give little indication of passively suffering discrimination, especially when taking up sport. ‘I know what it is like to be a female in a male-dominated sport,’ said a confident 16-year-old, to nods from her peers. ‘I practice shorinji-kempo, and it is hard. Boys laugh and I feel this is discrimination.’ These changing social attitudes constitute ominous portents for present-day sumo, described perfectly by Naomi, who is in her late-20s: ‘When fans like my mother and grandmother stop watching, how will sumo replace them? How will sumo explain to women that they should appreciate a sport which subordinates them?’ As Tomoko, a teenager, adds: ‘Older women like flesh, but young women find the mawashi so cheesy.’
With the NSK possibly requiring decades to assess its stance, a more immediate solution to the problem may lie with amateur sumo. Free from Shinto constraints, amateur sumo spawned the Japan Women’s Sumo Association in April 1996, with competitors tying their mawashi around leotards. Amateur women’s sumo is now a world-wide movement which boasts several stars determined to attract new female fans.
One such star is Hiroko Suzuki, the gifted Japanese middleweight who earned two gold medals at the 2005 US Sumo Open. In her shinjinrui years, Hiroko mastered several sports including judo and American football, and now promotes sumo in true shinjinrui spirit. ‘I entered sumo to help spread the popularity of women’s sumo,’ she says. ‘It is necessary to have more female wrestlers so that the popularity of sumo increases. I hope that other women will also help develop the female sumo movement.’ The advance of women’s rights in professional sumo, Hiroko says, must be carefully managed: ‘It must be observed that sumo has an ancient background and an important role in Japanese history. We need to invest time and effort, and make a big agreement with professional sumo if women are ever to be allowed on the professional dohyo.’ For now, she is interested in drawing crowds, and doubtless finds it ironic that the sport which once passed a Female Prohibition Law now readily begs for female support.
Sumo’s female recruitment drive is not helped by the flurry of negative tabloid stories concerning sumotori and their failed romances. Such stories only serve to increase female hostility towards sumo personalities, and often result in their siding with the wrestler’s girlfriend. One particular event in 1993, which resulted in sumo’s most popular wrestler, Takanohana, dumping his glamorous film-star lover Rie Miyazawa, is still remembered by virtually every shinjinrui over 20. The conclusions that both male and female shinjinrui seem to have collectively drawn are that: Rie (the tarento) was ‘cooler’ than Taka (the sumotori); that Taka (the sumotori) was unworthy of Rie (the tarento); and that the break-up was solely the fault of Taka (the sumotori). Although Rie-gate raised key questions regarding sumo’s treatment of women, shinjinrui women have seemingly ignored them, instead simply forming a conviction that sumotori are stuffy personalities and that tarento are more worthy of their respect.
The role of women in sumo is worth an article in itself (watch this space, perhaps). For now, if more general marketing strategies fail, shinjinrui women will prove immensely difficult to recruit, unless that is, professional sumo strengthens its links to amateur sumo, or – perhaps unthinkably – reappraises its ties with Shintoism.
Yokozuna Yearnings
On March 21st 2005, the world’s most famous sumo fan, President Chirac of France, gained greater popularity in Japan than in his homeland by proclaiming: ‘I hope the next Grand Champion will be Japanese.’ The lack of a Japanese yokozuna is the sole issue which unites sumo-lovers and loathers alike. Even sumo-loathing shinjinrui admit that, despite difficulties relating to sumo personalities, they would happily relate to a Japanese personality with yokozuna status.
And so they should. Being English, I can affirm that nations do not take pleasure in seeing their sporting representatives ritually humiliated. Alas, since the decline of Takanohana II in 2001, such humiliation has been suffered by Japanese sumotori and spectators alike. The Hawaiian Musashimaru dominated 2002, before the Mongolian Asashoryu scaled unparalleled heights, winning seven tournaments in a row and setting the record for most bouts won in a calendar year (84/90). With Japan’s finest wrestlers offering mediocre resistance, shinjinrui have found yet another excuse to decry sumo with comments such as those of 24-year-old Keisuke: ‘It is boring now. There are no Japanese yokozuna and the ozeki are rubbish.’ Other youngsters, such as 25-year-old Kentaro, put a surprisingly patriotic spin on events: ‘This is by no means a racist comment, but it is a great shame that our traditional sport, our national sport, does not have a Japanese yokozuna. Deep down, we feel an obligation to dominate our national sport.’
The sumo journalist Michiyo Ishida suggests that sumo needs a home-grown hero to revive support across the age spectrum. 'Until Wakanohana and Takanohana retired [in 2000 and 2003], sumo had a huge following among all age groups,' she writes. 'Today we don't have superstars like Taka and Waka, so the public in general has lost interest.' However, Ishida acknowledges that shinjinrui were deserting sumo long before the intai of Waka and Taka, (partly, she claims, because three fine sumotori were barred from combating Waka and Taka by virtue of their hailing from the same stable). She is correct about 'superstars,' though. In January 2006, when the ozeki Tochiazuma toyed with becoming a yokozuna superstar, Kokugikan attendances skyrocketed. Furthermore, when Kotooshu caught the popular imagination in 2005, he suggested that the 'superstar' for which shinjinrui crave need not be Japanese.
As a result (and especially given the absence of a realistic Japanese yokozuna candidate), certain observers conclude that sumo should not pray for another Japanese yokozuna, but simply for personalities which embody excellence. In the words of Fujimori: ‘Sumo is a spectacle and the most important thing is that it should revolve around combatants who (all being supremely strong) possess personality, and are charismatic enough to mobilise the public’s interest. It is not necessarily the case that these combatants must be yokozuna, but they must inspire respect and fight with real intensity.’ She is far from alone in believing that present-day sumo is sometimes blighted by defensive combat, which is considered dull by even die-hard followers. This view presupposes that rikishi inspire respect by advancing and attacking, without fear of the result, and refocuses debate on the topics covered in the previous issue’s shinjinrui piece.
Aggressive, fearless personalities on the dohyo can only be moulded by the harshest mental and physical conditioning in the heya, according to Dr Lyall Watson, who maintains that: ‘The future of sumo depends entirely on a return to classic sumo. What is needed is a new golden age, with trainers and fighters going back to basic principles, and rikishi who dedicate themselves to the art.’ At a time when shinjinrui are implicitly demanding that sumo modernises, a firmer commitment to tradition may appear somewhat risky. Were sumo to adopt this strategy, it would have to balance the lurch towards the past with modernising initiatives in the other areas discussed. At present, sumo is undeniably suffering from a sizeable gulf between its values and those of shinjinrui. In blind pursuit of divergent paths, the NSK and shinjinrui hold vastly different world-views. The longer each deems their own to be unquestionably correct, the more sumo stands to lose.
Having briefly investigated the psychological and emotional barriers to shinjinrui enjoyment of sumo, we turn our attention to structural barriers in the final piece of the trilogy. We consider whether tickets are too expensive and difficult to acquire, whether tournaments are held in too few cities, whether the jungyo system needs reform, and whether the NSK should more openly embrace amateur sumo.
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