The thrill of victory; the agony of defeat.
During a recent jaunt abroad, I watched some Sumo. And though I am no expert, I have enjoyed learning more about the sport, which blends WWE big-fella-tossin energy, the line-watching and strange habits of tennis, the footwork of linebackers and NBA centers, and is some 1300 years old.
In any proper sumo, a big fella (rishiki, in Japanese) tries to force his opponent from a circular ring (that’s dohyo, dude) or to make him (or her!) touch the ground with any body part other than the soles of his feet. This leads to some big-body tossin’.
The dohyo is a 15-foot dirt circle rounded by rice-straw bales. You either throw the opponent out of the ring, or throw them over while inside it. This happens fast, and its decisiveness is incredible to watch. The best rishikis are quick on their feet and so strong that they can win a direct confrontation, too. They are also good at timing: the fight doesn’t start till both rishikis put both fists on the ground. The last to go gains the initiative — sometimes.
(A side note: rishikis traditionally toss salt to purify the ring; rinse their mouths with “power water”; and slap their bellies a lot, because, why not? This spectacle is worth the price of admission itself, as the two big dudes basically posture around the ring at each other, occasionally bellowing.)
