Regular readers here will know that we, at the North Finchley dohyo, have been getting on with our house cleaning since our wonderful sport was tarnished by the stink of Yak and backhanders. Not that we ever saw any of the filthy lucre or even a heavy geezer in a blacked out Merc. We did however take it upon ourselves to keep a low profile, sweep out any dregs that might have turned up , triple filtered our power water, dried our salt in the late spring sunshine and rededicated the sacred clay.
Our tartan mawashi went on a three week boil wash and spin cycle and our top notches got a spruce up as well.
Even after the cancellation of a big basho we still had a spring in our step when we heard that our heroes were getting with the good works vibe and less of the pocketting large brown envelopes stuffed with wonga malarky.
However we have to admit to being a tad crestfallen at the moment. The reason can be seen after a quick swaatch at Chuchai’s shop.
Yes the one we all watch and cheer, chanko nabe bowls in hand, passing round the one bottle of Kirin, as we huddle round the small bicycle powered, my turn to peddle tonight, B&W telly, we are a poor stable don’t forget, our great hero, the finest champion ever to grace the circle of mounded clay, his fighting days may be over.
When we remember that he is a contemporary of another great champion, The Moose, who has long since ceased to stalk the dohyo, one can understand the great physical and mental effort required to show up each day.
We know your body is broken and the injuries a never ending reminder of your mortality but one more time our champion.