Sports Briefs: Sumo Come Loudly

Part of being a sophisticated and debonair man-about-town--in addition to owning a walking cane--is having a background rich in cultural elements, particularly of obese and underdressed foreigners.

And it's even more fun when one makes fun of said foreigners, a practice which does not in any way contribute to a lack of friendly people saying "howdy" to us Americans when visiting abroad.

There are sporting events outside of New York and Los Angeles, and though there is a fairly dense Asian population in between the two big oceans that are close to those cities, if you want a taste of the sumo culture, Japan is the place to go.

Or to my cousins' house.

Right alongside Spongebob and Nintendo in the eyes of my cousins is sumo wrestling. Occasionally televised on ESPN, my cousins seem to take fancy in seeing 700-pound humans, dressed only in loin cloths, throwing their bodies against each other.

During my college graduation a few years ago, my cousins awoke from their games of tic-tac-toe on the graduation program each time "magna cum laude" or "suma cum laude" was announced.

(Context clues should reveal that my cousins are both "young," as opposed to being 20-somethings who passed the time by participating in childish activities such as doodling or playing with their tassels during the commencement address.)

Proving that having a mannequin with a taped speech as the keynote speaker does not turn everyone off, my cousins paid attention enough to hear that I did not achieve either the elite status of a "macaroni" or "sumo wrestler," as they put it.

But that didn't stop us from pretending.

"Let's sumo wrestle!" they would cry, subtly encouraging me by yanking my arm until it was no longer in its socket.

I would stand up, squat down and slap my legs in a fashion that indicated I was either ready for battle or trying to break wind in the most violent manner possible.

Of course, the pre-wrestling shenanigans happened prior to me pile-driving my cousins into the ground.

I believed in wrestling fair and giving it my all, but this soon gave the boys an idea to wrestle with pillows underneath their shirts, putting them on a level alongside Jabba the Hutt. Not that I've ever thrown an intergalactic gangster into the ground, but now I know what it feels like to do so.

Granted, sumo wrestling with the boys has grown somewhat stale, but that will soon be taken care of with some more elaborate role play.

I'm hoping to get my youngest cousin to dress up like a geisha, but in case he doesn't, there is black hair dye and chopsticks available, which will allow us to dye and style our hair in buns, perfecting the sumo wrestler look.

"Ah, doaka-doh, me go to Jah-pan, wrestle with pros."

Because let's face it, we've got the accents down, and our walking canes are already packed.