500-Pound Giants: My First Sumo Tournament in Tokyo

It’s 2 a.m. in Texas. I’m hunched over the poker table, eyes heavy, constantly refreshing my phone. Why? I’m in a four-hour virtual queue, trying to score tickets to one of Japan’s most iconic sporting events—the Grand Sumo Tournament in Tokyo.

I didn’t care where I sat. Ringside? I’d risk a 500-pound man being thrown into my lap. Nosebleeds? Fine. I just wanted in.

What Makes Sumo So Special?

Before we get into my experience, here’s a quick crash course in sumo.

Sumo isn't just a sport—it’s tradition, ritual, and raw power rolled into one. Matches are quick, explosive, and deeply symbolic. The rules are simple: force your opponent out of the ring or make them touch the ground with anything other than their feet. No closed-hand punching, no o hair-pulling or eye gouging.  Everything else? Fair game.

Some terms to know:

• Rikishi – Wrestler

• Dohyo – The ring

• Basho – A sumo tournament (15 days long)

• Mawashi – The belt wrestlers wear

• Gyoji – The referee (think: priest-meets-judge)

• Chanko Nabe – The wrestler’s go-to hot pot meal (20,000 calories a day is the norm)

A Rough Start (Thanks, Tokyo Nightlife)

My ticket was for Day 12 of the tournament. I intended to get there at 9:00 a.m. but stumbled in closer to 10:00—my one 10pm nightcap the night before turned into clubbing and darts until 5am. The arena was nearly empty, which surprised me, but I figured it would fill in as it got closer to the big-name matches that don't start until late afternoon.

I grabbed a bento box loaded with sushi and steak, plus a steaming bowl of Chanko Nabe. Also: beer. Lots of beer. 

The Calm Before the Chaos

The moment I stepped into the arena, I felt it—this wasn’t just a sporting event. It was something else entirely. There were no jumbotrons. No loud music. No flashing lights. Just silence between matches and traditional banners carried by hand to signal each bout.

Despite my seat being in the second-highest row, the view was amazing. I chatted with the people around me—locals, travelers, die-hard fans. Some pointed out wrestlers to watch, including the crowd favorite:

Onosato: The Pride of Ishikawa

At 24 years old, Onosato was undefeated going into Day 12 (11-0). A win today meant he’d clinch the entire tournament. Everyone in the arena knew it.

He’s 6'3", 421 pounds—average for a top-tier rikishi—but incredibly agile and technical. Since debuting in 2023, he's won three championships and multiple special awards. The crowd called him The Pride of Ishikawa, and when his name was announced, the energy in the building changed. People stood. Phones were raised. Cheers erupted.

When the Ring Becomes Sacred

Before the main matches began, all the top division wrestlers entered the ring together, formed a circle, and bowed to the crowd in perfect synchronization. It felt more like a ceremony than a sport. That’s when the gyoji stepped in—dressed in ornate robes, holding a fan, and exuding authority.

Top-ranked gyoji even wear a tanto dagger on their belt—a symbolic reminder of the seriousness of their role and the weight of honor in the dohyo (ring). The tanto is meant to express the seriousness of this role and the gyoji is prepared to commit seppuku should he make a major mistake. Beautiful. Unapologetically traditional.

The Matches: Controlled Fury

Once the top-tier matches started, everything sped up. Some wrestlers tried to overpower. Others moved around, using feints and sidesteps to send opponents flying out of bounds. Some relied on slaps to disorient, then locked into their opponent’s mawashi for a finishing throw.

Each match lasted maybe 10 seconds. But the tension? It was like watching a fuse burn down—fast, unpredictable, and thrilling.

The Main Event: Onosato Delivers

When Onosato stepped into the ring, the crowd roared. But he didn’t start right away. He crouched down, then stood up again. Once. Twice. Three times. Each false start drew a collective gasp. He was not accepting anything other than the perfect launch. The delay caused frustration in his opponent who now begins to grunt and slap his mawashi loudly. Onosato un phased. 

Finally, he committed. Knuckles hit the dirt. The clash began.

His opponent rushed in but that was the plan. Onosato sidestepped the charge and used his opponent’s momentum to push him out of the ring in one smooth, powerful motion.

Victory. The crowd erupted. Onosato had just won the Grand Tournament—back to back.

Final Thoughts: Tradition Meets Thunder

Sumo wasn’t what I expected. It was more. More disciplined. More intense. More emotional. The tradition, the precision, the silent moments between chaos—every bit of it captivated me.

I came to Tokyo looking for a spectacle. I left with a deep respect for a sport rooted in centuries of history, ritual, and honor.

Would I go again? In a heartbeat. I’ll even be watching from back at home.