Awe

Usually at night. Bonfires corner a tented ring, at the center of which lies a flattened mound of sand, with ropes marking the boundaries. Having just previously frequented the accompanying matsuri and dined on lovely Japanese okunomiyake or takoyaki or yakisoba or a variety of other freshly prepared dishes, the spectators slowly gather round, the luckier ones (or perhaps the ones with higher social standing) get the coveted three benches that line each side of the square. The PA comes on, squeaking out long passages, some devotional, some factual, but all with a deep air of tradition. Something hangs in the air, as if thousand year old rocks are about to come alive and grace those gathered here with their timeless presence. From the outsider's perspective, it does not, cannot, make logical sense. That which is unfolding is uniquely Japanese, uniquely tied to this land, to these people's hearts. I look, I see images, but there exists a missing link in my head. The PA quiets down, followed by a lonely drum beat. Soon, the silence is ruptured, as the taiko roars, and ten, twenty (one thousand) drummers unleash a violent sound storm into the night. The crowd hushes up, communally in awe. Any minute now it will begin and the anticipation is practically livid. The entrance to the big tent on the side slowly opens and from it emerge the starring attractions of the evening. Clad in extravagant kimonos, they slowly and determinedly, yet with an air of elegance, walk toward their stage, where for a few brief moments each of them will command the eyes, ears, and hearts of everyone present. The crowd admires, wihtout public judgment, even though privately all are making their bets. From appearances, it is difficult to tell who will be triumphant but all have been waiting a long time for this, eagerly preparing, anticipating. As the time nears for the starting gong, the kimonos are shed, revealing rather large human bodies, dressed in nothing but a thick strong cloth designed to cover the minimal and the most private part of the male anatomy. It turns out these are all kids, high school students, between 15 and 18 years of age, but from their size and demeanor, they almost look older, wiser. The referee, dressed in the most elaborate kimono of all, steps into the center of the ring and makes what appear to be introductory announcements. The gong sounds and the tournament begins. In all, there are probably fifty wrestlers, each of whom has committed (or perhaps sacrificed) his mind and body to this endeavor known as sumo, the national sport of Japan...

We all heard of it, some of us may have seen it on TV, if only for a few brief moments, but I don't think any of us, including myself, had the slightest idea about the importance, relevance, and esteem of this tradition in Japan. The most popular sport in Japan is, by far, baseball, an American import, which undoubtedly must be a bane to the pride of many Japanese. And so they revere sumo, which, with its more than a thousand year tradition, cannot be claimed by any other culture or nation. Originally closely linked to the Shinto faith, the sport has evolved to become a major phenomenon(The fact that, professionally, the sport is currently dominated by non-Japanese (with the rising star hailing from Bulgaria) must also cause some consternation, but nevertheless.) This is much more than a purely spectator sport, because intuitively it isn't all that much to look at. (I mean, and I say this without any offense, the main sight is two unusually fat men, wearing nothing but thick thongs, slapping, grabbing, hugging, and trying to lift the other out of the ring or drop them on the ground.) Because it is so wound up in tradition, because it has been happening for a very long time, and because it provides an occasion for local residents to come together and enjoy their community, it is inevitably reveered and will continue to thrive for a good long time to come. Surely, there is a professional aspect to it, just like any other major sport, but to become a sumo wrestler is to be respected, admired, and loved much more than a major league baseballer or NBAer. Training usually starts in elementary school and continues on through to high school. Naturally, many do not pursue it past that, but some do, and it comes to dominate an entire lifestyle. There's so much more to say, about all the rules, all the ranks, all the special moves, but that's for another time and place...

The first two fighters emerge, face each other. Each bows to their coaches, to the judges, to the referee. Each brushes aside some sand, goes down into the posture, slaps his thights, rises up again, walks up to the starting line. Again, they engage in ritual, eyeing each other all the while. Finally, they get in the ready stance, crouching, both fists firmly in the ground. The referee gives his mark, and they're off. It lasts but a few seconds, ending brusquely with a throw or a simply push. At the end, they both bow, the winner squats in victory. They walk off, and two more fighters emerge. The weeks and months of training are devoted to those few split seconds of glory, of ultimate reverence. As I have said before, it is beyond my comprehension, but well within the bounds of my awe...

http://www.absoluteastronomy.com/encyclopedia/s/su/sumo.htm