Japan’s national sport wrestles with a generational change

By Gearoid Reidy

Like a wrestler entering the ring, sumo is straddling the brink of a new era.

Japan’s national sport seems more popular than ever. Attendance has bounced back from the pandemic; all 90 days of bouts in 2024 were sold out. The Japan Sumo Association, which oversees the sport, is enjoying record revenues. This autumn, it will hold a tournament in London’s Royal Albert Hall, the first outside Japan in 20 years.

And after decades of dominance by foreign wrestlers, the country again has a homegrown grand champion. Last month Onosato became just the second Japanese this century to be named to the highest rank of yokozuna — and at the age of just 25, he could be the face of sumo for years to come.

Yet it has also been shaken by news that Hakuho, its greatest-ever wrestler, is stepping away from the sport. Having retired in 2021, he became a stablemaster, but after one of his students was found to have assaulted subordinates, he was demoted and his team put on ice. Now he’s aiming to promote sumo from “outside the game.”

The timing of these events is coincidental. But it could mark a generational shift in a sport that is fundamentally intertwined with Japanese identity.

The constant crises in sumo throughout recent years speak to this connection. Like many aspects of society in the decades since the 1980s economic bubble burst, sumo seemed to suffer a crisis, teetering from one scandal to another. Its credibility was dented in the 2000s due to revelations of match-fixing and connections to organised crime. TV coverage was pulled, sponsors withdrew their funding, and attendance dropped.

But as a new generation emerged, the public has seemed to yawn at more recent scandals, from hazing of junior members to substance abuse. These days, tickets sell out in moments. The sport has become particularly popular with young women.

Sumo sits halfway between sport and tradition. It’s so ancient that the first bout is detailed in the eighth-century Kojiki, Japan’s oldest text, and said to have taken place between the gods Takemikazuchi and Takeminakata. While codification came much later, largely from 19th and 20th century nation-building that sought to create a sport that elevated and contrasted Japanese culture from the west, much of its appeal comes from this connection to long-gone history.

There are six honbasho, or grand tournaments, each year, with three in Tokyo and the rest in Osaka, Nagoya and Fukuoka. A wrestler’s record in these 15-day competitions determines whether he will move up the ranks; life at the top can be rewarding, while those at the bottom toil. These events remain rich in symbolism, Shinto ritual and traditional costumes. Then there’s the sheer athleticism of men who weigh an average of 160 kilograms (350 pounds), the bravado, and split-second decision-making. The intense staredown before a high-stakes bout can give you chills; they can last just seconds, and one mistake means failure.

Hakuho rarely made mistakes. The Mongolian-born wrestler, who later became a Japanese citizen, was the longest-reigning yokozuna in history, winning a historic 45 tournaments, obliterating a previous record. His battles with Asashoryu, the fiery Mongolian who preceded him as grand champion, got me into the sport in the mid-2000s.

Yet Hakuho wasn’t always as appreciated as that record might suggest. Purists complained that he was too aggressive, celebrated too publicly, and failed to show the “humility” expected of a yokozuna. Rumors abound that he was displeased with his recent treatment. Asashoryu, now a Mongolian politician, tweeted cryptically that “the nail that sticks up is hammered down,” an overused Japanese saying for how society quashes individualism.

Hakuho has been hard done by, with critics arguing he was treated more harshly than others in the past. But he has changed the sport forever. The dominance of foreign wrestlers, once lamented, is now taken for granted as Japan becomes home to more immigrants.

It’s now time for a new generation to turn the page. Onosato has a chance to be the true Japanese champion of recent years; Kisenosato, the only other native-born yokozuna promoted this century, was disappointing — elevated too soon, injured during almost his entire reign and retiring early (he is now Onosato’s stablemaster). Onosato is not only young, he has the perfect foil: Hoshoryu, a Mongolian who is Asashoryu’s nephew and became yokozuna at the start of this year. The rivalry between the hometown hero and a foreigner is a common sporting trope for a reason.

Many things in Japan have moved on from the identity crisis of the Lost Decades, with vestiges from negative interest rates to falling property prices being cast off. It’s time for crisis-ridden sumo to do the same.