Sumo wrestling is to Japan what bull fighting is to Spain, soccer to Britain, and what AFL is to Australia: not just a sport, but a cultural event. Simply, no trip to Japan would be complete without experiencing the energy and ceremony of a Grand Sumo Tournament. At least that’s what my friends living in Japan told me as we boarded the train bound for Kokugikan, Tokyo, home to the first Tournament of the 2004 Sumo calendar.

To the unsophisticated eye, Sumo may just look like two fat men in satin jock straps scuffling like kids in the playground, but this is a sport that dates back 1500 years, in which tradition and ritual are as important as technique, and upon which an entire way of life is based. For this reason, the Grand Sumo Tournament is the ideal place to sit back and observe the sporting culture of Japan.

My friends and I had tickets for Sunday, the final day of the January competition. The champion and crowd favourite, Asashoryu, had been decided the previous day, but still had one bout remaining that would determine whether or not he finished the competition with a perfect scorecard: fifteen wins from fifteen bouts. As we entered the stadium gates, I was struck by the number of Western accents I heard amongst the gathering crowd. All there with the same intention: to transcend the realm of mere ‘tourist’, and gain an ‘authentic’ Japanese experience. Manning the ticket booths were low ranked Sumos in colourful robes. This not only adds something to the occasion, but also discourages any unauthorised entry.

The first thing you notice upon entering the Sumo stadium is the sheer size of the competition area, the dohyo. The inner circle is a little over fifteen feet in diameter, which is hard to believe when the generously sized Sumos, known as rikishi, are inside it. When they approach the dohyo for their bout, each competitor throws several handfuls of salt into the circle to rid it of evil spirits. They then take up the familiar crouching position, rubbing their hands together and clapping, before opening out their arms with palms turned upwards, to symbolise a fair fight without weapons. The stamping Sumos are famous for, called shiko, is a means of intimidating the opposition and building crowd support. Although a bout rarely lasts longer than twenty seconds, Sumos of the highest ranks can do this for up to four minutes before they are called to begin.

A bout is won by forcing your opponent out of the inner circle, or by touching the ground with any part of the body other than your feet. There are scores of ways to drop an opponent, but only the very keenest of observers would be able to detect the difference between a ‘tsuki’ and an ‘oshi’ motion. Seizing the part of the band covering your opponent’s groin, the mawashi, is considered below the belt, so to speak, as is pulling on his topknot, the chonmage. There are six Grand Tournaments a year, each of which runs for fifteen days. The rikishi that finishes the competition with the greatest number of wins is awarded the Emperor’s Cup, as well as a curious assortment of fringe benefits that will ensure his weight won’t slip during the off-season, including a year’s supply of beer, his weight in tea, and a beef cow ready to eat.

We found some empty, cushioned seats down in front of the dohyo to get a taste of the action. This is hazardous, however, as there is always the danger of being hit by a flying Sumo or two, to whom gravity is not kind. Here in the (authentic if you don’t duck) nosebleed section, the sounds of slapping naked bellies, strained grunts, and feet scuffing the sandy floor provide the sort of aurally rich experience you don’t get sitting at the back. Unfortunately, we hadn’t paid for this privilege, and it was not long before we were told to find our allocated seats, which were right up the back of the stadium. But as I soon discovered, Sumos are big from wherever you’re sitting.

Throughout the day, what felt like an endless stream of low ranked rikishi took their turn in the circle, stamping and grunting until one was on the floor, or a member of the front row. It did not take long to get a feel for the rules, even with all announcements being made in Japanese.

Things got considerably more exciting late in the afternoon, when the formidable Takamisakari, nicknamed ‘The Slapper’ by my hosts, swaggered into the ring. He was named such, because in preparation for each bout, he turned to the audience and slapped himself raw. To prove just how tough he was, he repeatedly slapped his chest, legs, and even his face, and the crowd clearly loved every minute of the spectacle.

For the attention he drew to himself, Takamisakari was one of the few wrestlers of the tournament to have commercial sponsors. In a sport where tradition is so highly valued, it was odd to see the ten-or-so men circling the circumference of the ring displaying their company logos on primitive cardboard signs worn around their necks. But all the sponsors in the world couldn’t help poor Takamisakari. Despite the build up, he lost easily to his opponent, leaving him with a dismal record of four wins, eleven losses.

The last and most anticipated bout of the day was that between the tournament’s grand champion, Asashoryu, and the wrestler ranked below him, Tochiazuma. The Mongolian Asashoryu is currently the only rikishi to be ranked ‘yokuzuma’, an elite level reached only through an impeccable physical record and proven strength of character. Amongst the smallest of the competitors at a mere 138kg, Asashoryu had won every one of his bouts, and today’s performance would either make or break his perfect record. However, he would first have to overcome the controversy of the previous day, where after winning his final bout, he raised a clenched fist in triumph. It is an unwritten law in Sumo that emotion never be shown.

Asashoryu and Tochiazuma faced off in the ring, clapping and crouching, before lunging at each other with the force of charging rhinoceroses. The 3000-strong crowd shouted out in frustration as neither competitor budged for what felt like minutes. Suddenly, with a deft arm movement, Asashoryu had control of the bout, allowing him to effortlessly manoeuvre his much bigger opponent to the edge of the circle, until he tumbled out. And with that, the champion had maintained his flawless tournament record, chalking up fifteen wins out of fifteen bouts. Always a gentleman, Asashoryu extended a hand to the sprawled Tochiazuma and helped him back into the ring.

After a lengthy presentation ceremony, my friends and I joined hundreds of others braving the winter chill to catch a glimpse of Asashoryu as he left the stadium. A gold convertible waited outside the door to take him on his victory parade through the busy Tokyo streets. As he came out, triumphantly brandishing the Emperor’s Cup, the jovial champion waved to the crowd, and an awaiting gaggle of press photographers.

And at that, Asashoryu was driven away amidst the roar of an appreciative crowd laden with all the Sumo merchandise they could carry. In below-zero temperatures, Asashoryu greeted his excited fans from the backseat of a topless car, wearing nothing but his thin Sumo robe. Yep, Japanese love their Sumo.