For decades, one of sumo’s most unique selling points has been its accessibility.
Contrary to foreign media’s ubiquitous framing of Japan’s national sport as a “secret world,” interaction between fans and wrestlers or stables has long been free, easy and commonplace.
However, a massive surge in inbound tourism over the past few years, sumo’s rapidly growing international fan base and the business realities of modern sport are putting pressure on long-held practices and norms.
The worry for some is that sumo will follow the lead of other major sports around the world in creating greater separation between supporters and athletes.
While undeniably there are more opportunities than ever before to consume top-tier athletic content or engage with leagues such as the NFL in the United States or the Premier League in England, most of the time it’s a sterile, corporate affair.
Fans complaining of feeling like mere consumers on a soulless conveyor belt has been one of the downsides of increasing professionalism, with the ever-greater sums of money at stake fueling a drive toward standardization and the prioritizing of profit above all.
In that respect, sumo has, until very recently, almost felt like a throwback.
From “Paper Lion” — George Plimpton’s famous 1966 book about life inside the Detroit Lions training camp — through countless documentaries and articles about soccer, rugby and other top-flight sports through the late 1980s, what stood out most was the level of interaction and sheer amount of access available to ordinary fans.
Of course, in decades gone by, the gap in wages and lifestyles between athletes on the field and those cheering from the stands was far smaller.
Once players became millionaires, clubs increasingly started to view them as assets and introduced additional layers of "protection."
In the 21st century, the idea of wandering unannounced into the training ground of an NFL or EPL team and offering to drive players home after practice is completely inconceivable.
Sumo, though, still retained much of that closeness until very recently.
Prior to the COVID-19 pandemic, it was possible to be a walk-in visitor at many sumo stables. As long as you were quiet, and observed the rules and etiquette, there was usually no problem.
Some stables required at least a phone call the day before, while others only opened their doors to fan club members, but generally speaking, access to even the highest-ranked wrestlers was easy to come by.
Outside of tournament periods, a visitor to a sumo stable would often find themselves the only nonwrestler or coach in attendance. Once practice was over, casual chats in a relaxed atmosphere were the norm, and invites to eat lunch with the stablemaster and rikishi not uncommon.
These days, organized group tours with eye-raising prices are the norm, and far fewer stables allow the kind of access that was once commonplace.
While it’s now easier for foreign visitors without any sumo knowledge or Japanese language abilities to experience the sport, being shuffled in and out as part of a large group can feel like a two-way fishbowl, hindering the building of connections and relationships with those inside.
The gradual streamlining and standardizing of everything from menu options at tournaments, ticket sales, content creation and watching practices is a natural consequence of larger numbers of people wanting to experience a sport.
The family feel, or casual approach, is unsustainable beyond a certain level, so sumo moving with the times is not only understandable but in all likelihood inevitable.
This is something that will only increase. The recent conversion of some boxes in the Ryogoku Kokugikan to a premium seating area is a sign that when the 40-year-old venue is eventually replaced or rebuilt, the new structure will almost certainly have the kind of luxury suites that are common at all modern arenas.
Will VIP lounge packages also encroach on general ticket sales? It’s hard to imagine a scenario in which that isn’t the case.
For tourists whose visits to Tokyo (or Osaka) take place when wrestlers aren’t present, a growing number of shows and events — often using former rikishi — have sprung up to fill the gap.
Such productions can be an interesting and fun alternative, but they lean heavily into showbiz elements and can feel like watching a pantomime at times.
The same can be said for many of the numerous other sumo-themed activities that are now a feature of Tokyo’s tourist scene.
Of course, bemoaning the march of change risks being hit with “Old man yells at cloud” meme replies on social media. Sumo must, like everything else, adapt or wither away, but the sport has to be careful not to lose what sets it apart.
Marketing tradition while driving ahead at full speed may be hallmarks of sports such as rugby and baseball, but it’s one thing to change decades-old practices, and quite another to change those that have been around for centuries.
Sumo, as we are constantly reminded, isn’t just a sport. It’s a lifestyle that contains elements of culture, religion and tradition.
The perpetuation of practices that go back to the 1700s is not only paramount, but essentially the raison d’etre of the sport’s governing body.
Being different from all other modern sports is also a huge part of sumo’s appeal. One of the reasons that it often tops foreign tourists' must-see lists is that nothing else like it exists anywhere in the world.
Change is inevitable and all sports must adapt to modern realities. Capitalizing on continuously rising demand, and streamlining or standardizing to ensure a greater number of fans can experience sumo are good ideas in practice, but if that experience becomes a watered-down version, or if regular fans can only access tourist-focused sumo shows, then something valuable will be lost.
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