The Rise and Fall of Asashoryu
Asashoryu forced into retirement after nightclub bust-up
Popular opinion is a funny thing. Yesterday's rookie can become today's hero can become tomorrow's villain. And so it has been with Asashoryu, one of the most successful (and most swiftly so) sumo rikishi of all time, a Mongolian legend in his own lifetime.
I never liked Asashoryu, but I could quite comfortably admire his skill and marvel at his speed. He was the opponent you liked to see your favourite rikishi struggle against, and once in the bluest of moons, defeat. He was a bully. A tyrant of the ring. A baby-faced bouncer with an ugly sneer. He was a consummate champion.
It didn't help that Asashoryu was Mongolian. Being an outsider still counts against you in this most traditional of sports, and you wonder whether Japan's self-assured cultural elitism has mutated into an insular resentment. His nearest rival and compatriate, Hakuho, took a lesson and cultivated a gentlemanly, more Japanese calm. The experts at Sumotalk feel that Asashoryu's nationality is the root cause for his vilification. That the double standard runs silent and deep, and that the Japanese would have glorified all Asashoryu's bad behaviour had he been a native.
I don't believe that Asashoryu is a misunderstood victim. I think much of his behaviour played from, and to, his love-hate relationship with the Japanese spectators. "I dare you to dislike me," he seemed to say, with each stare-down of the crowd. Then, interviewed post-basho, he would let loose an easy grin, speaking in mild tones to his fans. Intuition and decisiveness are central to a wrestler's success, and when he swung from rebellion to remorse to sulkiness, Asashoryu read the audience poorly.
Asashoryu retires at age 30, on a career high if not a popularity high. Somehow, in the departure of the sport's most recognisable and forceful character, everyone loses.
Popular opinion is a funny thing. Yesterday's rookie can become today's hero can become tomorrow's villain. And so it has been with Asashoryu, one of the most successful (and most swiftly so) sumo rikishi of all time, a Mongolian legend in his own lifetime.
I never liked Asashoryu, but I could quite comfortably admire his skill and marvel at his speed. He was the opponent you liked to see your favourite rikishi struggle against, and once in the bluest of moons, defeat. He was a bully. A tyrant of the ring. A baby-faced bouncer with an ugly sneer. He was a consummate champion.
It didn't help that Asashoryu was Mongolian. Being an outsider still counts against you in this most traditional of sports, and you wonder whether Japan's self-assured cultural elitism has mutated into an insular resentment. His nearest rival and compatriate, Hakuho, took a lesson and cultivated a gentlemanly, more Japanese calm. The experts at Sumotalk feel that Asashoryu's nationality is the root cause for his vilification. That the double standard runs silent and deep, and that the Japanese would have glorified all Asashoryu's bad behaviour had he been a native.
I don't believe that Asashoryu is a misunderstood victim. I think much of his behaviour played from, and to, his love-hate relationship with the Japanese spectators. "I dare you to dislike me," he seemed to say, with each stare-down of the crowd. Then, interviewed post-basho, he would let loose an easy grin, speaking in mild tones to his fans. Intuition and decisiveness are central to a wrestler's success, and when he swung from rebellion to remorse to sulkiness, Asashoryu read the audience poorly.
Asashoryu retires at age 30, on a career high if not a popularity high. Somehow, in the departure of the sport's most recognisable and forceful character, everyone loses.