Sumo wrestler turned restauranteur in Kanazawa, Japan

Wait, wait a minute, that face in front of me, the guy, the cook,

That's his face up on the TV, sumo wrestling, yep, that's him, check, double check.

Ahah, that's him on the posters on the wall in his ...what do they call that

Skimpy little outfit that barely covers their enormous bulk.

The outfit whose sole purpose is to hold the jewels and provide a grabbing 

Strap for their opponent, so we can watch, in fascination, the ripple of their bare 

Flesh as they barrel into each other, one heaving the other off the small platform

Onto the laps of the adoring crowd.

Wait, wait a minute, I would not want to be sitting right next to the ring

Where it's possible that a 300 pound man, skimpily clad, likely slippery,

Might fall on top of me.  I place myself back in my seat at the restaurant counter,

The restaurant that has room for eight, maybe ten.  

While slurping sumptuous ramen noodles in a fish broth, I could not stop

Moving my gaze from the screen, to the man in front of me, the cook and owner,

In a back and forth, kind of a disbelief, but why not, after all.

This is Japan, the land of the sumo wrestler, the land of Ramen.