CALENDAR
WEEKEND
Sumo: Bigger
and bigger By
Nancy Rommelmann
Special to The Times January
8 2004
Larry Brann waits in a chair in the Jun Chong Martial Arts Center
in Santa Monica, smiling as kids in tae kwon do uniforms file into
class on a Sunday morning. Dressed in baggy shorts, Brann is not here
to study the Korean martial art, but to take his first class in sumo
wrestling, which thus far he has only seen on TV.
"It's the ultimate sport," says Brann. "It's like when
you were a little kid, fighting with your brother or sister to be
king of the mountain; your whole job is to get them down. That's what
sumo is."
Brann, a 55-year-old physical therapist from Fullerton, was smitten
enough with sumo to see beyond its image of massive men in topknots
and diapers. He's not the only one. For the past several years, sumo
has been attracting a following in Los Angeles, of people of all shapes,
ages and athletic abilities who realize they needn't be big as Akebono
(the 6-foot, 8-inch, 514-pound sumo legend) to experience the sport's
concentrated grace, strength and precision. This interest has given
birth to classes and competitions across Southern California, and
inspired hundreds of new sumo competitors, some weighing as little
as 100 pounds.
Though, at around 300 pounds, Brann suspects sumo might be a sport
that matches his frame — and his temperament. "The guys
who do it are also incredibly graceful," he says. "And even
though it's like combat, it's a very gentlemanly sport. There was
a match in Japan recently, where one wrestler pulled the hair of another,
and the crowd got very upset; it was considered very unsportsmanlike."
Sumo does have a noble history. According to the Kojiki (or Records
of Ancient Matters), a written history of Japan compiled in AD 712,
the gods Takemikazuchi and Takeminakata wrestled 2,500 years ago to
see which would possess Japan's islands; Takemikazuchi won. The first
match between mortals is said to have occurred in 23 BC, before the
Emperor Suinin; in later centuries, sumo was performed for royalty
and practiced by the warrior class.
Still, "when the public hears sumo, they think it's a big comedy
with big fat guys bouncing around," says Andrew Freund, an American
who caught the sumo bug back in 1997, while teaching English in Japan,
when he and a friend joined in a sumo demonstration.
Despite weighing only 145 pounds, Freund loved it; so much so that
in 1998 he formed the California Sumo Assn., which today promotes
the sport, presents classes and demos, and has been host of the U.S.
Sumo Open annually since 2001. "We're trying to emphasize the
ritual, the respect, the discipline, the basic exercises," says
Freund, who's taught sumo to hundreds at UCLA and other locations.
"We want people to do it properly, for safety reasons, and also
to respect Japanese traditions."
Also helping to promote sumo in Southern California is Takashi Imai,
deputy director of the Japan Foundation in downtown Los Angeles.
"In Japan, sumo is the national sport, like baseball in the U.S.,"
says Imai. "It's not that so many people practice sumo, but they
watch it on TV. But sumo is not only a sport; it has traditional rituals.
"Sumo originally came from Shinto, Japanese religion, and if
you study it, you will find there are many unique movements and gestures,
and that each has its own meaning. This makes sumo different from
most other sports."
Asked if he himself participates, Imai laughs. "I wish I could,"
he says. "I am fat, but being fat isn't automatically qualifying."
Standing in the Jun Chong studio, Svetoslav Binev, the 29-year-old
former sumo champion of Bulgaria and two-time Sumo World Champion,
shows not one ounce of fat on his 183-pound frame.
"Sumo is really simple; it's for everybody," says Binev,
who serves as a California Sumo Assn. coach. He eyes today's class,
which including novices Brann and Danila Oder, a small yet very muscular
woman who, after attending the U.S. Sumo Open in August, thought she
might have "finally found a sport my build might be an asset
for"; and amateur champions Troy Collins, a 250-pound LAPD officer
who won two gold medals in 2003, and Yin Mei Chung, a student originally
from Hong Kong, who fights under the name May Chung.
"It's very hard work, but very great. I love the sumo,"
says Chung, twirling her long hair into a ponytail and, at Binev's
insistence, taking off her silver earrings. "I weigh 110 pounds,"
she says, pumping her bicep, "but strong."
"It's a very mental sport," Binev says, as Freund leads
everyone through a series of stretches, sprints and rolls. "You
can be very experienced, but because of the simplicity of the rules,
when you get in the sumo ring, it's very easy to win but also very
easy to lose. It's so fast."
The rules of sumo are simple: Two wrestlers, each wearing only a loincloth,
called a mawashi, meet in a ring, or dohyo, where they fight to push
their opponent out of the ring, or make any part of his body (other
than the feet) touch the ground. And while professional sumo recognizes
more than 70 kimarite (winning techniques), today's class is less
about strategy than getting people comfortable with the basics, such
as shiko lunges, an exercise that involves a squat, a kick and a slapping
of the leg.
The class has had enough after a dozen; Freund says professional sumo
wrestlers regularly do 200 a day. They also do scarier things.
"In pro sumo in Japan, all the people who join have to do various
exercises, such as matawari," says Freund, explaining that this
is a split, with the legs at a 180-degree angle, the butt and head
touching the ground.
"And these guys are three, four, five hundred pounds, and they
all can do it," he says. "And if they can't do it at the
beginning, they have big guys jump on their back until the tendons
rip, and they're in agony; I've heard people say that they passed
out from the agony, and it takes weeks or months for the muscles to
grow back, but in pro sumo they all do that."
The class is silent. "But we don't practice any of that,"
says Freund, grinning. "OK, let's set up the ring."
While a traditional dohyo is made from clay hard-packed with sand,
Freund's is portable, an enormous plasticized mat that, once unfurled,
releases an enormous odor of dirty feet.
Not to be deterred, the class helps Velcro the frets that form the
ring and then help one another to tie on the mawashi, the yards-long
cloth that wraps through the legs and around the waist. While pro
sumo wrestlers wear only a mawashi, today's participants elect to
keep their shorts on.
With participants standing around the ring, Freund and Binev demonstrate
how to keep the feet spread, how to grab one's opponent's mawashi
from underneath, how to spin and pivot, how to plant one's head in
the opponent's chest.
"Let's take it easy on the ladies' chests," says Freund.
"Though in a real match, this is often the first place the opponent
goes for."
After they are shown how to bow, how to enter the ring, and how to
stare down the opponent, the neophyte wrestlers face their first-ever
sumo opponents. Brann gets a guy who outweighs him by a hundred pounds.
"Show him who's boss, that you're not scared of him," says
Binev. "Keep your hands behind the line, your butt low, and just
push!"
"No tippy toes!" Freund shouts as the two men grapple. "Keep
your feet planted!"
Brann wins the bout but loses to Collins, who is so graceful and strong
he doesn't even appear to be moving. Freund then takes on Collins.
"The only chance you have if someone is bigger and stronger is
to be quick or have superior technique," says Freund, right before
Collins picks him up and sets him on his feet outside the ring.
Chung faces Oder. Despite Chung having won U.S. Sumo Open medals three
years running, Oder — in one of her first fights ever —
pushes Chung out of the ring. Chung shrugs it off and beats her next
opponent. The matches are fast, none more than 40 seconds, some as
short as five.
By the end of the two-hour class, everyone has fought at least five
times and is drenched in sweat. Freund announces that, for those who
are interested, classes will begin to meet weekly in January.
"Sumo is for everybody," he says, as students unwrap their
mawashi. "There are no specific kinds of people who can and cannot
do it. As long as you want to be in good shape, get a good workout,
get excited, enjoy the dynamic and intensity of the sport, you're
welcome.
And what did Brann think of sumo in the flesh? "It's a hard workout,
very, very difficult, very taxing," he says. "But I'll definitely
come back."
Nancy Rommelmann can be contacted at weekend@latimes.com.
All things sumo: Where to do it, find it, watch it
Classes
The California Sumo Assn. offers classes most Sunday afternoons.
It will host a sumo open house Jan. 18, 1-3 p.m., at Jun Chong Martial
Arts Studio, 11870 Santa Monica Blvd., No. 207, Santa Monica. Open
house, $5; free for spectators. Info: (310) 288-3641 or e-mail director@usasumo.com.
California Sumo Assn.
Introduction to sumo, as well as information on other local classes,
events and tournaments. 1158 26th St., No. 202, Santa Monica, (310)
288-3641, or http://www.usasumo.com.
Nihon Sumo Kyokai
The Japan Sumo Assn., English version — all about professional
sumo in Japan. www.sumo.or.jp
Kokusai Sumo Renmei
The International Sumo Federation — amateur sumo worldwide.
http://www.amateursumo.com
Sumo videos
Including early matches of Akebono, the great Hawaiian sumo champion.
www.banzuke.com
Basho
Basho refers to the Japanese sumo tournament. In Japan, there are
six basho a year, occurring every other month for 15 days. Basho (as
well as local sumo events) is often shown in Southern California on
KSCI-TV Channel 18.
Sumo online
News, views, rules, history and glossary on www.sumotalk.com
Worldwide online forum on everything sumo at http://www.sumoforum.net
CALENDAR WEEKEND
50 pounds and 2 inches away from
glory By
Nancy Rommelmann
January 8 2004
I am going to admit what few women will in print, that I weigh 137
pounds, but right about now I wish it were 100 more. This is because
I have my head buried in Danila's solar plexus and am pushing so hard
that everything from my ears to the arches of my feet is straining
to move her, but Danila, a solid 183, isn't budging.
"Spin! Turn!" I hear people call from the sidelines, people
who are more than 250 pounds, some of them sumo champs, whereas I've
never done this before in my life, the only wrestler I can name is
Gorgeous George, whom my grandmother used to make me watch on her
black and white television set ...
"Squat! Lower!" I register the voice of Troy Collins, a
2003 middleweight sumo gold medalist, who, when it was our turn to
wrestle, gallantly let me push him out of the ring. Then he'd given
me some advice: "When you're in the proverbial stare down,"
the time just before opponents grapple, "a lot of people will
look eye to eye and try to have a psych-out contest. I don't look
anybody in the eye; I focus on where I'm going to attack the person.
You're not going to scare somebody by staring at them; you're going
to get their attention and respect by your technique and by beating
them."
And so when Danila and I entered the ring, I did not affect a Steven
Seagal squint or slap my belt, as I'd seen the other wrestlers do.
I stared at Danila's chest and told myself, I will plant my head there
and push and I will not stop, and I have not, not when she entwined
her ankle with mine and tried to trip me, not when she jabbed her
palm beneath my chin, not when I emitted what sounded like someone
stepping on a baby pig.
"Grab from underneath!" I hear someone shout and manage
to wedge my fingers under Danila's belt, and push her, and push, until
she is tottering backward, if I can just move her two more inches
...
And then she is outside the ring, laughing. Everyone is laughing.
What's so funny?
"We're not laughing at you," says Troy. "You did well;
you didn't stop."
"You're scrappy," says Danila.
I assume the traditional winner's pose, and as I stand back up, I
glimpse my next opponent, a man more than 300 pounds, on whom Troy
had landed after knocking him out of the ring, a strategy to ensure
one's opponent will be in worse shape if you have to fight him later
in the day. And as I envision for the first time in my life a sweating,
nearly naked 300-pound man falling on top of me, the sweet taste of
victory vanishes.
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