Borja

Finally!

Thank you very much, great idea! I’ll ask the concierge as soon as I arrive. That said, I’ll also head to Ryogoku, just in case there’s something similar to what you mentioned. 🧡

Thank you so much, Patricia-san, for sharing my open letter. It really means a lot coming from someone I admire and from whom I’ve learned so much about sumo. I really missed your posts on X, so I’m really glad I found you here on Bluesky—now I can enjoy your stories and sumo insights again! :)

#Sumo #相撲

I still love sumo. I still admire its rikishi. But today, I feel like those who should be protecting this sport have forgotten to protect those of us who love it from afar.

Sincerely, Borja
@johngunningsumo.bsky.social
@patriciajaydee.bsky.social

I will still travel to Japan. But this trip will feel different. It will be quieter. Emptier. Like a young wrestler who trains every day to stand on the dohyo—only to be told, when the time comes, that he can’t go up.

The real problem isn’t the resellers. The problem is your inability—or unwillingness—to recognize the sacrifice that we, some of the genuine fans, make. We give our money, our time, our dreams—just to reach a goal that, for many of us, seems almost unreachable.

Your ticketing system leaves much to be desired. Worse yet, it enables people using shady methods to grab all the tickets just to resell them at absurd prices. And then you warn us on your official website to avoid those platforms because they might cause problems. But what choice do you leave us?

But today, all of that effort was in vain. I was in front of my computer one hour early, waiting for the official ticket sales website to open. At 3 a.m. here in Spain, my heart pounding, I tried to enter. And nothing. The site crashed instantly. I couldn’t buy a single ticket. No one I know could.

Because you yourselves say you want foreign fans to experience sumo live, to feel the Kokugikan for real.

We, the true fans, sacrifice too in our way. We give time, money, hope. I’m coming all the way from Spain, spending the equivalent of two years of savings on a flight, a hotel, and modest meals—just to be there.

They dream of becoming sekitori, of reaching yokozuna. They wake up before dawn, train until exhaustion, suffer in silence, carry injuries and rigid rules, all in the name of tradition. They give everything, and that moves me to my core.

And I say wrestlers, but they’re more than that—they’re martyrs in their own way. I deeply admire those young men who leave behind their former lives, their youth, and their bodies to dedicate themselves fully to this sport.

I dreamed of sitting there from the early bouts, watching the arena slowly fill with people, feeling the tension rise, the crowd stir, and the air sharpen as the fiercest, most skilled wrestlers step into the ring.

Still, I’ve continued saving since that first trip, with a single goal in mind: to return to Japan—this time, for one reason alone. I wanted to be there in May, during the tournament, and finally experience one day of sumo in person.

Not every country has access to NHK World Premium or to any kind of legal stream of live sumo. And it’s not a matter of unwillingness—it’s a matter of availability.

I understand your stance against piracy. I truly do. I’m lucky enough to be able to access sumo broadcasts legally where I live, and I’m grateful for that. But I know many fans around the world who don’t have that privilege.

And at the same time, I began to notice some things that were being neglected—like how difficult it is for foreign fans to watch sumo live.

Back then, I barely realized the cultural depth and implications that surround sumo, but over time, and with every tournament I followed from afar, I began to understand its complexity, its rituals, and the total devotion of those who walk this path.

I remember my legs shaking as I stood before it. My heart racing when I saw a few rikishi walking nearby. I still keep, with great affection, the autograph of then-maegashira Kotonowaka—a brief but unforgettable moment.

Two years ago, after many years of saving and effort, I was finally able to fulfill a long-cherished dream: I traveled to Japan. And on that journey, which I had worked so hard to make happen, I found myself at the gates of the Ryōgoku Kokugikan..

From a Heartbroken Fan – A Letter to the NSK

Since I was a child, I’ve held a deep admiration for Japan and its culture. A sincere admiration, born from respect, wonder, and love for everything it represents: its history, its aesthetics, its attention to detail—and of course, sumo.