I've been getting requests to talk about the sumo thing I've been doing lately, so before I continue my screed about last weekend's Xtreme Drifter Experience let's learn about that.
If there's one English word the Japanese understand perfectly well it's 'yes'. The counterpart to 'yes' is commonly referred to as 'no' in western societies, but in Japan 'no' really means 'yes', albeit with a few caveats. Luckily I've found that 'yes' is generally the best answer to give to extract maximum enjoyment and breadth of experience out of my minimum time here, so when Goto-san at the Town Hall asked me to join the annual sumo tournament I reflexively said...
As much as we Americans chuckle about the the continental land masses who clash mightily against each other's mountains and valleys of flab to push their opponent out of the ring--not to mention the diaper-looking waist/crotch protectors actually called mawashi--sumo is not easy by any stretch of the imagination. It combines the best weight manipulation tactics of judo and greco-roman wrestling, along with vicious palm slapping/pushing and even neck grabs, ending up as a tricky, physically draining contact sport. That's all done, of course, with no head protection, no footwear and a gritty dirt ring (painfully frigid earth underfoot both practice nights as well), so you'll understand why I finished the first night with an open knee gash, aching blue bruises on both shoulders, a square-shaped bloody scrape on my back about 3"x3" and a bloody chin. And I wasn't the only one, trust me: one guy almost got knocked out cold after his opponent fell on him causing his head to meet compacted dirt. Oh, and the condition your feet are in after a session...it's a good thing we purify the ring with salt before each match, you know, so the next guy with open wounds on his soles can walk on it.
The key is really to manipulate your opponent's center of gravity and push them out of the ring or cause them to fall. So much as a toe out of the ring or a knee down and you're done, so you have to be acutely aware of your position and stance at all times on top of thinking about the best way to get that sucka off balance. And weight's not everything, though it's a major factor if the difference is great enough, say 50lbs. or more. One of the two matches I lost Thursday, the second practice, was versus a man at least 40lbs. lighter who got waaaaay under my center of gravity by grabbing and lifting my ankle, forcing me to hop around on one leg trying to twist him out.
Which brings me to the results: yeah, I only lost two matches at practice out of more than ten, so I'm pretty good at this thing. I even beat our semi-pro coach, if I may brag a bit, and they put me on the first string "A-team" for Tuesday's tourny, no joke. My strategy is pretty simple, but totally psychomologically advanced, man: everyone wants to beat the American for whatever deep-rooted cultural reasons, so when the match starts and we lock up I grab their mawashi, a nice tool to exert leverage, and give them what they want by way of letting them take me to the edge quickly. They think they got me right up until I twist them from their belt and toss them out or to the ground. Nice and clean.
I'll let you know how far I get on Tuesday, though I have no clue how the other teams in town are or who's even on them.
If there's one English word the Japanese understand perfectly well it's 'yes'. The counterpart to 'yes' is commonly referred to as 'no' in western societies, but in Japan 'no' really means 'yes', albeit with a few caveats. Luckily I've found that 'yes' is generally the best answer to give to extract maximum enjoyment and breadth of experience out of my minimum time here, so when Goto-san at the Town Hall asked me to join the annual sumo tournament I reflexively said...
As much as we Americans chuckle about the the continental land masses who clash mightily against each other's mountains and valleys of flab to push their opponent out of the ring--not to mention the diaper-looking waist/crotch protectors actually called mawashi--sumo is not easy by any stretch of the imagination. It combines the best weight manipulation tactics of judo and greco-roman wrestling, along with vicious palm slapping/pushing and even neck grabs, ending up as a tricky, physically draining contact sport. That's all done, of course, with no head protection, no footwear and a gritty dirt ring (painfully frigid earth underfoot both practice nights as well), so you'll understand why I finished the first night with an open knee gash, aching blue bruises on both shoulders, a square-shaped bloody scrape on my back about 3"x3" and a bloody chin. And I wasn't the only one, trust me: one guy almost got knocked out cold after his opponent fell on him causing his head to meet compacted dirt. Oh, and the condition your feet are in after a session...it's a good thing we purify the ring with salt before each match, you know, so the next guy with open wounds on his soles can walk on it.
The key is really to manipulate your opponent's center of gravity and push them out of the ring or cause them to fall. So much as a toe out of the ring or a knee down and you're done, so you have to be acutely aware of your position and stance at all times on top of thinking about the best way to get that sucka off balance. And weight's not everything, though it's a major factor if the difference is great enough, say 50lbs. or more. One of the two matches I lost Thursday, the second practice, was versus a man at least 40lbs. lighter who got waaaaay under my center of gravity by grabbing and lifting my ankle, forcing me to hop around on one leg trying to twist him out.
Which brings me to the results: yeah, I only lost two matches at practice out of more than ten, so I'm pretty good at this thing. I even beat our semi-pro coach, if I may brag a bit, and they put me on the first string "A-team" for Tuesday's tourny, no joke. My strategy is pretty simple, but totally psychomologically advanced, man: everyone wants to beat the American for whatever deep-rooted cultural reasons, so when the match starts and we lock up I grab their mawashi, a nice tool to exert leverage, and give them what they want by way of letting them take me to the edge quickly. They think they got me right up until I twist them from their belt and toss them out or to the ground. Nice and clean.
I'll let you know how far I get on Tuesday, though I have no clue how the other teams in town are or who's even on them.
******************
Lisa channels the hat's power to belt out Tsukumi's city anthem, "The One That Got Away".
Getting back to the rambler's diary, after my brisk rub-a-dub in the park it was time to head to the harbor for the music festival. The festival was a display of Tsukumi's genuinely eclectic musical "scene" and included everything from traditional Japanese fare to hard rock, acoustic folk duos and wedding singers. In that way you might liken it to taking a different drug every thirty minutes: lighting a doobie for the folk singers; downing a few fingers of Jack for the wedding singers; a line of coke for the flutists; some speed for the metal band. It was all very good though and I wish desperately more people showed than the max of fifty or so, but what can you do in a city where most workers are manning either a fishing boat or concrete mill. After the relevant sets were over I accompanied Lisa, my friend Doron, his band mates and a few other local ALTs to have the tastiest seafood lunch I've had in Japan so far.
"Line N' Nose" rocks Tsukumi. I can't tell if Doron's singing in that first shot or inciting the proletariats against the decadent bourgeoisie. In the second pic you can clearly see Slash has taken control of the band, relegating Doron to guitarist.
But wait! If you thought Tsukumi was the end of the line on this insane road trip you are sadly mistaken. I promised Mayumi I'd head across to Mie-machi for my second taste of her neighborhood's Okagura festival so I pointed in that direction after saying my goodbyes in Tsukumi and pulled up to her house an hour later. I should have just walked to the damn shrine instead of showing up on my bike--her neighbors know me from past festivals and all that, but they haven't seen me in three years and rolling up on them I think nearly caused some heart attacks. Anyways, I hunkered down with some food and a cup of shochu for the last hour of dancing and landed myself in some ridiculous hot water. Japan's drink driving laws are unflinchingly strict in that they allow for absolutely no alcohol in the blood, so don't complain the next time you lament the 0.07 BAC law of California. When Mayumi saw me drinking the one cup--a teacup, mind you--of shochu she flipped. We had a discussion about livers, the alcohol content of shochu (around 40-50 proof) and apocryphal folk remedies for hangovers. The situation was made worse when her mother found out. I insisted that after hanging out at Joyfull (sic) for a few hours would detoxify my blood entirely based on the fact that the liver cleans the blood of alcohol at a rate of, at worst, 1/3 fl oz./hour, but she wasn't having any of it.
Mayumi busts a move, while some demon guy flips out at the Mie-machi Okagura.
I was angry. Seething angry, in fact. I realized then that I've never been angry at Mayumi before. Ever. That thought combined with gradual, natural resignation to the fact that I wasn't going anywhere lest I completely alienate my best Japanese friend, and the genuinely amusing joke-strewn conversation we had over dinner at Mie's hippest eatery caused my vitriol to evaporate like drops of water in a sizzling pan. I just can't stay mad at that woman. Unfortunately that meant that she hatched a truly daft plan with her mother to drive me all the way back to Kusu from Mie, which is an hour and a half each way using the toll highway even. Mayumi wouldn't let me pay her gas costs, but I did pay both cars' expressway fares and profusely apologized and thanked Mrs. Usuzuki. The upshot of this is that Mayumi and I talked the entire way and I could feel, literally feel, my Japanese improving. It's like I just leveled up or something. If this were WoW I'd be bathed by a flash of light and one more talent point (which I'd use to get 3/5 in Improved Street Hustle), in FFVII that annoying little trumpet song would play.
Tsukumi from the hillside of Otomo Park. I'm in my underwear behind that camera--an admission that I hope will keep you in nightmares for a week, mwahahaha! Next, a kabosu railway and cars ready to collect the citrus bounty. The kabosu are actually individually wrapped on the tree in those little white bags you see.
It was only 10PM when I got home, but I immediately collapsed into bed exhausted. When I woke at 7AM it wasn't nearly enough to rest these weary bones after that, the most exhausting weekend so far in Japan. So this weekend I'm dedicating to the virtues of taking it easy--I drove to Oita City to meet with friends and have some drinks last night and I'll go on a bike ride tomorrow to Mt. Hane, but that's all simple, relaxing stuff.
Viva la sitting on the duff!
--Matt
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