Il sumo spiegato mossa per mossa.
Sumo is a lifestyle. But as a spectator sport, it's more like chess than professional wrestling. Which is not to say there isn't plenty of posturing in the dohyo, the fighting ring. Upon entering the arena, the athletes, called rikishi, stand in their respective corners, throwing large handfuls of salt into the ring in a dramatic arc. The gesture is a ritual of purification, as well as a way of exciting the crowd and intimidating opponents. Two formidable foes step into the small circumference, no more than four-and-a-half meters, upon clay lined with woven rice straw to mark the boundaries. A wrestler automatically loses the match if he steps outside the ring. In such a small space for two massive bodies, training comes down to strength, focus, and balance. The clashing of behemoths lasts a few seconds and is a sight to behold, even to the untrained eye. But once I understood the basic mechanics — how artistry and intellect merge with combative winning moves — I began enjoying sumo on a whole new level.