6h du matin.
Mon ami John et moi sommes en route vers le dojo de la Azumazeki-beya, l'une des principales maisons de sumo, où nous allons voir les lutteurs à l'entraînement.
Je suis comme un enfant de 10 ans la veille de Noël.
Une fois l'entraînement terminé, nous sommes invités à déjeûner tous ensemble.
Nous mangeons un excellent chanko nabe, préparé et servi par les plus jeunes recrues de la maison. Takamisakari (leur lutteur vedette) est assis juste devant moi.Je suis comme un enfant de 7 ans la veille de Noël.
Puis en début d'après-midi je me rends au stade où a lieu le tournoi en tant que tel.
J'ai un billet pour un siège en haut au 3e étage, mais comme l'endroit est encore plutôt vide j'en profite pour m'assoir tout en bas, au coeur de l'action. "Temporairement" (hm hm). Petit à petit le stade se remplit et je dois jouer à la chaise musicale un peu, mais j'arrive à ne pas trop m'éloigner.
Quand enfin Ze big guys font leur entrée (les vrais de vrai, ceux qu'on voit à la télé), je me trouve juste à côté d'eux. Je ne peux pas ouvrir les yeux assez grand.
Je suis comme un enfant de 4 ans la veille de Noël.
Mais on me demande une fois de plus de libérer ma place. Je m'excuse poliment et m'apprête à rejoindre mon siège au 3e étage quand... mais que vois-je? Une place libre en plein centre, tout près du dohyo?
Je m'y assois discrètement. Fin de la chaise musicale.
Vague culpabilité, appréhension, excitation, jubilation, tout cela se mélange en un puissant cocktail adrénaliné.
Je ne me contiens plus.
Je suis comme un enfant de 4 ans la veille de Noël qui aurait mangé beaucoup beaucoup trop de bonbons.
Il fait déjà sombre quand je quitte le stade. Dans ma tête c'est toujours la veille de Noël.
Le rues grouillantes d'Osaka, le traffic, les néons colorés, tout cela me paraît féérique et irréel.
Je plane.
______________________________
Osaka, March 23rd 2009, 9th day of the sumo tornament.
6 a.m.
My friend John and I are on our way to the dojo of the Azumazeki-beya, one of the main sumo stables, where we're going to watch the wrestlers training.
I am like a 10-year-old child the night before Christmas.
It's already dark outside by the time I leave the gym. In my head it's still the night before Christmas.
The colourful neon lit streets of Osaka seem beautiful and surreal like fairytale images.
I am floating.
6 a.m.
My friend John and I are on our way to the dojo of the Azumazeki-beya, one of the main sumo stables, where we're going to watch the wrestlers training.
I am like a 10-year-old child the night before Christmas.
Once the morning training over, we are invited to have breakfast together with the wrestlers.
We eat a very tasty chanko nabe, cooked and served by the youngest rookies of the stable. Takamisakari (their star wrestler) is sitting right across from me.
I am like a 7-year-old child the night before Christmas.
Then early afternoon I head for the gym where the actual tornament is being held.
I have a ticket for a far away seat on the 3rd floor, but since the place is still rather empty I baggsie a quality spot right next to the ring instead. "Temporarily" (hm hm). Little by little the gym fills up and I have to change seat a couple of times, yet manage to stay in the same area.
When THE big guys finally walk in (the cool ones, the ones we see on TV), I happen to be right next to them. I can't open my eyes wide enough.
I am like a 4-year-old child the night before Christmas.
But I am asked once again to give away my seat. I apologize politely and start walking toward my crap seat on the 3rd floor when... what's that I see? A free seat right in the center, a stone's throw away from the ring?
I reach it as discretely as possible. Mission accomplished.
Light guilt, apprehension, excitement and bliss all blend together to create a powerful adrenaline-based cocktail. I am overwhelmed.
I am like a 4-year-old child who would have eaten way too many candies the night before Christmas.
We eat a very tasty chanko nabe, cooked and served by the youngest rookies of the stable. Takamisakari (their star wrestler) is sitting right across from me.
I am like a 7-year-old child the night before Christmas.
Then early afternoon I head for the gym where the actual tornament is being held.
I have a ticket for a far away seat on the 3rd floor, but since the place is still rather empty I baggsie a quality spot right next to the ring instead. "Temporarily" (hm hm). Little by little the gym fills up and I have to change seat a couple of times, yet manage to stay in the same area.
When THE big guys finally walk in (the cool ones, the ones we see on TV), I happen to be right next to them. I can't open my eyes wide enough.
I am like a 4-year-old child the night before Christmas.
But I am asked once again to give away my seat. I apologize politely and start walking toward my crap seat on the 3rd floor when... what's that I see? A free seat right in the center, a stone's throw away from the ring?
I reach it as discretely as possible. Mission accomplished.
Light guilt, apprehension, excitement and bliss all blend together to create a powerful adrenaline-based cocktail. I am overwhelmed.
I am like a 4-year-old child who would have eaten way too many candies the night before Christmas.
It's already dark outside by the time I leave the gym. In my head it's still the night before Christmas.
The colourful neon lit streets of Osaka seem beautiful and surreal like fairytale images.
I am floating.
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