July 9, 2024
Tokyo, Japan
January 2023
Don Draper’s (John Hamm) poignant ad pitch to Kodak in Mad Men hits you like a truck. Of course, the acting adds to the scene, but I think it’s the universality that makes this moment so compelling.
Who hasn’t felt this twinge about something? About a moment in time? Some place or someone?
On the list of unexpected places to get hit with this feeling of nostalgia, mine for Japan came while watching TV in a London hotel back in January of 2024. While flipping through channels, my thumb froze above the remote when I recognized the setting. It was the Kokugikan Arena.
Twelve months after attending in person and a few thousand miles away, I was glued to the screen watching highlights of the first Grand Sumo Tournament (honbasho) of the year. I didn’t see this as some crazy premonition or a sign from the universe when I found the channel. But it was one of those moments that leaves you with such a strong desire to be back in a place you love. Seeing the same seats where you were cramped in a year before and recognizing the same wrestlers you photographed just poured fuel over this feeling. I wanted so much to be back in that arena and in that country.
There’s an art to simplicity, and sumo is about as simple a sport can get. To win a match, a fighter (rikishi) must shove his opponent out of the ring or force any part of the opponent’s body to touch the ground. There are a few prohibited moves – eye gouging, hitting with closed fists, hair pulling, choking, and grabbing a little too far inside on the opponent’s mawashi (belt) – but just about anything else goes. The initial collision sends a shockwave from the ring, while the grappling and regular slaps resonate throughout the stadium. The referee, or gyoji, adds to the cacophony of sounds, screaming “Hakkiyoi” regularly to encourage the wrestlers to “fight with courage.” These bouts are often over in just a few seconds, but the energy in the arena lasts the entire evening.
Sumo consists of a deep tradition, with a history dating back to the 8th century. It’s likely that it originated as a form of ritual dance, but over the course of centuries it shifted from fights to the death as court entertainment to tournaments sponsored by feudal lords in the Middle Ages to a sport that was so popular that it would take place in the streets during the Edo period. In the 1600s, the sport became more organized with fighters showcasing their strength in formal competitions. Today, there are six official tournaments held annually across Tokyo, Osaka, Nagoya, and Fukuoka, each lasting 15 days. These events are where the top wrestlers compete with hopes of ascending the ranks.
While this national sport has evolved since its origination, it has maintained the pomp and circumstance that pays homage to its early beginnings. Rikishi throw salt to purify the ring before a match, clap their hands to signal to the gods, and stomp their legs from side to side to ward off any bad spirits. Each ceremonial element adds to an already captivating spectacle.
I’m often asked why I’ve chosen to visit Japan on multiple occasions. The mind first jumps to images of cherry blossoms, a cold morning seeing Mt. Fuji across Lake Kawaguchi, or the sleek trains and efficient transportation that manage to run on-time to the second. However, the real answer is its people.
There’s no better story that exemplifies this than my final day in Japan in January of 2023. I purchased tickets to the first event of the annual Grant Tournament at Kokugikan Stadium, and made my way to my small “box” in the lower bowl that claimed to fit four. As if I didn’t stand out from the crowd enough just on appearance, I went to step up into my little partitioned section only to be reminded by someone in the crowd that I need to remove my shoes. As I tried to contort my legs to squeeze into my area, the couples to my left and right surely noticed that the American had arrived.
Instead of glaring at me or ignoring my presence, the couple to the right tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I liked yakitori. It only took a quick nod before they were handing over an unopened box of chicken skewers that they had just purchased from a vendor. Next came a sandwich and two bottles of water. They spoke in the little English that they knew, but the smiles that accompanied their offerings conveyed all that needed to be said. Soon after, the couple to my left handed me an event program and walked me through each of the pages to ensure I was following the fights that were taking place. They shared details and backstories about the wrestlers and showed me their small cloth banners they made to support their favorites. By the end of the event, each couple spoke to me asking what I thought of the wrestling and whether I enjoyed my time. I no longer felt like the lost foreigner.
I was their guest.
I left the stadium feeling extremely grateful. For getting to witness the traditions and ceremonies enveloping the fights, for the incredible show of strength and skill, for the respect and politeness demonstrated within the ring and throughout the stadium, and especially for the two couples who went out of their way to make me feel welcome in a place so foreign.
If you ever have an opportunity to attend one of these tournaments, my only advice is to go. You may not understand all of the intricacies of the fights or what is being said by the announcers, but you will better understand Japan’s culture and its people.
Those few hours in the arena were all I needed to see that sumo goes well beyond sport—it is a nation embodied in a sport.
Don’s pitch was for the Kodak Carousel, a circular projector for slide photographs. “This device isn’t a spaceship,” he explains. “It’s a time machine. It takes us to a place where we ache to go again.” The overlap with this art form that I’ve been drawn to was not lost on me. It has an unwavering capacity to immediately trigger a visceral feeling.
-EK
7/9/24
