Wrestling: Dance of the Rhinoceri

Without sumo wrestling, there might be no Japan. According to legend, the Japanese won their homeland in a sumo match between a Shinto god named Takemikazuchi and an aborigine. Takemikazuchi “crushed his opponent like grass” and thus took the deed to the Land of the Rising Sun.

Since they owe so much to sumo, it is no wonder that the Japanese are wild about the sport—even though it has lost some of its appeal since the good old days of 2,000 years ago when wrestlers fought to the death. Now they only try to throw an opponent down or force him outside a 15-ft. ring. To most foreigners, the spectacle of two near-naked, 300-lb. behemoths locked in a sweaty embrace, tugging mightily at each other’s loincloths and grunting like rhinoceri, is about as exciting as a traffic jam. That makes it all the more astonishing that the two brightest stars currently on the sumo circuit are 1) a Eurasian and 2) an American ex-football tackle from Hawaii.

The Great Maui Hope. Actually, last week’s big sumo tournament at Tokyo’s malodorous Kuramae Kokugikan stadium had enough drama to make a U.S. boxing promoter salivate. There was the old champion, grimly struggling to come back. And there was the young challenger, the darling of the fans, eagerly pursuing the crown.

The winner of more tournaments (27) than any sumo champ in history, Koki Naya, a half Russian, half Japanese who weighs in at 314 Ibs. and is known professionally as Taiho (loosely, “Giant Bird”), had a bad year in 1967. He injured his left elbow and knee and was out of action for eight months. By contrast, 1967 was a banner year for Jesse Kuhaulua, a 24-year-old from the Hawaiian island of Maui. Of Polynesian-Spanish ancestry, he stands 6 ft. 4 in., weighs in at 315 Ibs. and wrestles under the pseudonym of Takamiyama (“High-View Mountain”). He is the first foreigner with no Japanese blood to be promoted to makuuchi—sumo’s big leagues. In all Japan, only 34 wrestlers hold the rank of makuuchi.

Takamiyama’s rise has been meteoric but arduous. Recruited by a sumo manager on a visit to Hawaii in 1964, he was persuaded to move to Japan and train for the ring. In Tokyo, he shivered through the cold, dank winter, struggling to learn the language and get accustomed to the unfamiliar food. All work and no poi made Takamiyama a dull boy. He dutifully performed an apprentice’s chores, such as scrubbing senior wrestlers’ backs, and spent long hours toughening his body by slamming against a wooden pillar.

Dumped. Despite his exalted ranking, Takamiyama still has a lot to learn about technique, as his match with Taiho proved. Following sumo’s ancient ritual, the two giants prepared for battle —rinsing their mouths with water to purify their souls, stamping their feet to frighten away evil spirits, tossing handfuls of salt to sanctify the dirt ring, holding out their arms to show that they had no concealed weapons. After that, they simply stared at each other for several minutes. Only then, with a wave of his fan, did the referee signal for the fight to begin.

It was all over in 30 seconds. Springing forward, Taiho ducked low, grasped Takamiyama in a sukuinage, or “scooping throw,” dumped him on the ground. Takamiyama was not at all dismayed by his defeat. Nor were the critics. The Tokyo newspaper Hochi Shimbun predicted that Jesse Kuhaulua will win the sumo championship “within a couple of years.”