While the grand tradition and ceremony of sumo dates back over 2,000 years, we can’t help it: there’s just something that’s more bizarre and compelling than superlatively athletic and prestigious about all that flesh colliding in the center of a ring to engage in a supreme slap-fight. Why in the name of all that is awesome would we not be thrilled by hours on end commanding joystick-guided Asian titans with racks that would send Christina Hendricks’ jaw to the floor? Why wouldn’t we opt for pitting plastic avatars of platenoid-shaped men against each other instead of feasting on some 20,000 calories a day knowing we’re SUPPOSED to be getting fatter?
(Wait, can we change our minds? Because that other thing sounds awesome too.)
One of each Sumo Smackdown combatants’ two joysticks advances the wrestler forward while the other turns him to the right or left. There’s even some strategy associated with whether you prefer to attack with a mountain of a man whose gluttony has gone straight to his gut or his bottom-heavy adversary.
Fresh from the virtual aisles of Firebox – they of the Inner Selfie Stick and Habanero-Infused Gummy Bears – comes Sumo Smackdown, the realization of our boyfriend dreams of holding sway over living, breathing masses of squatting Japanese flab dressed in stylish mega-diapers.
How has it taken us this long to fall in love with this sport?
