heinous fouls, then finally exploded in a raging flurry of karate chops to send his foe to the canvas, down for the count of three and the first fall. When the final gong sounded, Rikidozan had emerged victorious, two falls to one. For people who had had precious little else to cheer about, the ecstasy was almost unbearable.
By March 1, when the Sharpes’ nationwide tour was over and Rikidozan had racked up several more victories, a full-blown national craze was under way, the economic and social consequences of which would be enormous. There was a mad rush to buy TV sets to watch Rikidozan starring in the hastily assembled program,
Mitsubishi Faitoman Awa
(Mitsubishi Fightman Hour), Japan’s version of the Friday night fights, and the rate of cuts, bruises and broken bones among primary-school children jumpeddramatically as young boys around the country took to imitating Rikidozan wrestling. There were reports of viewers watching at home becoming so distraught when a foreign wrestler committed a foul that they smashed their own sets in anger. A number of viewers even died of heart attacks induced by the shock of watching the ferocious images. But in the span of less than two weeks, a decade of public sycophancy of the Americans had officially come to an end.
If anyone noticed that the matches had been somewhat choreographed (which, in fact, they were) he or she was not saying, which was just fine with the promoters. The matches were in fact scripted, rehearsed and staged with the full cooperation of the Americans, who were extremely well compensated for their trouble. If the neophyte Japanese public as yet lacked a full recognition of that fact, then so be it. It was better to focus on the therapeutic benefits of a Japanese victory. For that was where the money lay.
Competitive professional wrestling groups began springing up all over the place, along with pro wrestling magazines. Suddenly there was a great demand for
gaijin
foils. Not everyone could afford to bring over a high-profile performer like Primo Carnera, ‘The Walking Italian Alp’, or the ‘Mexican Giant’ Jesse Ortega. Thus, Japanese promoters looked to the most cost-effective available source, the 30,000 Westerners living in the city. There they picked up the 5′9″, 220-pound Nicola Zappetti with an offer of $500 a match – more than a year’s salary for a Japanese company worker (despite the fact that he knew all of four wrestling holds, which he had learned in the Marines) – and another ex-marine, John MacFarland III. MacFarland was a 6′4″, 250-pound war hero from Omaha, Nebraska, who had done stints in Tokyo with the Occupation forces and later as an employee of an American construction firm at Johnson Air Force Base. Unable to forget the good life in Japan, he had returned to Tokyo in September 1955 to seek his future and found it in pro wrestling, even though he knew next to nothing about it, either.
The promoter handed Zappetti and MacFarland each a pair of trunks and a packet full of $100 bills and gave them a list of three basic rules to follow.
1. Try to stay in the ring for 30–40 minutes.
2. Don’t think of what you’re doing as a sport. Think of yourself as an actor.
3. Don’t ever try to win.
The Americans performed in what amounted to modern-day morality plays, playing a role the Japanese called
inchiki gaijin resura
(literally, cheating foreign wrestler). From the outset of each match, they would commit foul after foul using knuckle-dusters against their smaller, lighter Japanese opponents, who, of course, did not know the meaning of the word treachery. Finally, however, enough would be enough. In a climactic burst of righteous anger, Japanese fighting spirit would prevail and the morally inferior American heel would be vanquished.
It was the pattern established for all pro wrestling matches in Japan involving Americans, and sociologists were quick to see analogies to other forms of entertainment. Wrote
By March 1, when the Sharpes’ nationwide tour was over and Rikidozan had racked up several more victories, a full-blown national craze was under way, the economic and social consequences of which would be enormous. There was a mad rush to buy TV sets to watch Rikidozan starring in the hastily assembled program,
Mitsubishi Faitoman Awa
(Mitsubishi Fightman Hour), Japan’s version of the Friday night fights, and the rate of cuts, bruises and broken bones among primary-school children jumpeddramatically as young boys around the country took to imitating Rikidozan wrestling. There were reports of viewers watching at home becoming so distraught when a foreign wrestler committed a foul that they smashed their own sets in anger. A number of viewers even died of heart attacks induced by the shock of watching the ferocious images. But in the span of less than two weeks, a decade of public sycophancy of the Americans had officially come to an end.
If anyone noticed that the matches had been somewhat choreographed (which, in fact, they were) he or she was not saying, which was just fine with the promoters. The matches were in fact scripted, rehearsed and staged with the full cooperation of the Americans, who were extremely well compensated for their trouble. If the neophyte Japanese public as yet lacked a full recognition of that fact, then so be it. It was better to focus on the therapeutic benefits of a Japanese victory. For that was where the money lay.
Competitive professional wrestling groups began springing up all over the place, along with pro wrestling magazines. Suddenly there was a great demand for
gaijin
foils. Not everyone could afford to bring over a high-profile performer like Primo Carnera, ‘The Walking Italian Alp’, or the ‘Mexican Giant’ Jesse Ortega. Thus, Japanese promoters looked to the most cost-effective available source, the 30,000 Westerners living in the city. There they picked up the 5′9″, 220-pound Nicola Zappetti with an offer of $500 a match – more than a year’s salary for a Japanese company worker (despite the fact that he knew all of four wrestling holds, which he had learned in the Marines) – and another ex-marine, John MacFarland III. MacFarland was a 6′4″, 250-pound war hero from Omaha, Nebraska, who had done stints in Tokyo with the Occupation forces and later as an employee of an American construction firm at Johnson Air Force Base. Unable to forget the good life in Japan, he had returned to Tokyo in September 1955 to seek his future and found it in pro wrestling, even though he knew next to nothing about it, either.
The promoter handed Zappetti and MacFarland each a pair of trunks and a packet full of $100 bills and gave them a list of three basic rules to follow.
1. Try to stay in the ring for 30–40 minutes.
2. Don’t think of what you’re doing as a sport. Think of yourself as an actor.
3. Don’t ever try to win.
The Americans performed in what amounted to modern-day morality plays, playing a role the Japanese called
inchiki gaijin resura
(literally, cheating foreign wrestler). From the outset of each match, they would commit foul after foul using knuckle-dusters against their smaller, lighter Japanese opponents, who, of course, did not know the meaning of the word treachery. Finally, however, enough would be enough. In a climactic burst of righteous anger, Japanese fighting spirit would prevail and the morally inferior American heel would be vanquished.
It was the pattern established for all pro wrestling matches in Japan involving Americans, and sociologists were quick to see analogies to other forms of entertainment. Wrote
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