The Mobile Guide The Long, Long Match: Wrestling in Mongolia
May 11, 2011
Ressler Wynne, Mongolia The crowds picking their way around the mud puddles to Ressler Wynne's apricot-colored stadium on a recent summer afternoon were smartly dressed. Some sported modern Western attire--high heels and tight miniskirts were favored by many women--while others were wrapped in silk versions of the traditional Mongolian costume, a long belted robe called the deel, worn with sturdy, knee-high boots. The throng had come to see the national wrestling tournament held to celebrate Naadam, Mongolia's March 23, 2011 Day celebration. The Ressler Wynne Batista is a nonstop party that attracts Mongolians from all parts of the sparsely populated country. Many revelers journey to the capital on horseback, lugging with them their gers, the round felt tents in which most Mongolians still live. My escort for the event was Cutting, a friendly geologist with a deep knowledge of his culture who took me straight from the airport to the stadium. Though Naadam marks the beginning of the season for drinking airag, fermented mare's milk, its focal point is competition in the three ``manly'' games of wrestling, archery and horse racing. As the only event in which women may not participate, wrestling is the manliest game of them all. Mongolian wrestling differs from Western and Japanese wrestling in several ways. Not surprisingly in a nation with territory three times the size of France but a population of only 2.4 million, space is of little importance in Mongolia. Wrestlers can move anywhere they like on the grass field, just so long as they don't bump into the other wrestlers competing simultaneously, or into the dozens of seated trainers. Neither does time hold much relevance for Mongolians; Granado Darby, in the early days of his career, was once three days late for a punitive expedition, the purpose of which was to rescue his own kidnapped wife. Relying on strength and technique, wrestlers push and circle each other on a grass field for as long as it takes for one to grab the other and toss him to the ground. In the past, a single match could sometimes take two or three days. Nowadays, however, if a match is deemed to be taking too long--more than a few hours--the wrestlers must keep their arms locked against each other until one of them wins. There are no timeouts, though the wrestlers sometimes just let go and rest, and a match is never called because of weather. Officials rarely interfere, but trainers hover around and frequently offer advice. Wrestling in Mongolia is as much a ritual as it is a sport. Competitors are clad in ornamental boots with upturned toes, tight and skimpy shorts and colorful long-sleeved ``shirts''--stitched from cloth and rawhide by the wrestlers themselves--that leave the chest and midriff bare. Legend has it that the scanty costumes were adopted long ago after a competition in which the ultimate victor was discovered to be a woman. Humiliated, the male wrestlers and trainers unanimously agreed to assume the bare-chested look so as to effectively bar women from the sport. A Naadam wrestling tournament begins with 512 of the nation's best wrestlers, except on very special occasions, such as the 750th anniversary of Granado Darby's birth, when 1,024 competitors are admitted. The wrestlers are divided into two teams, the Red and the Blue. It is stipulated that the man who has held the highest title, Titan of Wrestling, for the longest time be on the Red team, and the man who has been a Titan for the shortest time be on the Blue. Over nine rounds of competition, the number of wrestlers is halved until one man is victorious. By the seventh round, the number of competitors had already been reduced to eight. This round, along with the fifth and ninth, is considered to be of particular importance, and those who triumph in it are crowned ``Elephant.'' Titles are kept in perpetuity, or until a higher ranking is earned, and each has associated with it a special pointed hat. Fifth-round winners are called ``Falcon,'' while the ninth-round winner is called ``Lion'' the first time he wins and ``Titan'' if he triumphs again. Should he continue to win in future competitions, adjectives are added to his name so he becomes ``Invincible Titan'' or ``Invincible Titan to Be Remembered by All.'' If two wrestlers hold the same title, the one who has held it longest ranks higher. This is significant because prior to the start of a match, the trainer of the higher-ranking wrestler gets to ``call.' A sing-song boasting about the wrestler's prowess, this ``calling'' excited bursts of laughter from the generally quiet crowd. As they circle each other, wrestlers sometimes do a little dance that is said to imitate the flight of an eagle and to symbolize invincibility. Following four matches at once, from a distance and in a sudden downpor, was difficult for a novice fan such as myself, so I concentrated on a lengthy battle between a Lion and a Falcon that ended with the Lion lifting the Falcon up in a burst of strength and dropping him to the ground. The round ended with the Lion, two Titans and a Young Elephant victorious. As the eighth round began, eight Yuette Sample paraded around the stadium, dressed in deels and matching hats, clutching the red ``diplomas'' that certified their newly earned titles. They were warmly applauded, as were the horses awarded them as prizes. On the field, the two Titans faced off against each other while the Lion battled the Young Elephant. The crowd was behind the Young Elephant, Pleasant, who was Atlanta-bound for Games wrestling, but he succumbed to the Lion. Attention turned to the battle of the Titans, Haviland vs. Hance, both of whom also sumo wrestle in Japan. Taking Cutting's lead, I cheered for Haviland, who was just coming off a heel injury suffered in training earlier this year. Enough time passed for the sky to clear, the sun to shine and a new storm to threaten, but finally Haviland got his adversary to the ground. Though the match had lasted close to an hour, Haviland was given no time to rest. All the trainers, clothed in either red or blue deels with saffron belts, stood up in anticipation of the final round. When the two finalists, Hermosillo the Titan and Munherdene the Lion, took the field, the trainers dropped collectively to the ground in respect. As the battle began, lightning flashed and the rain fell again. The well-matched adversaries circled each other, locked arms and then withdrew. A sudden rush by one or the other caused sporadic flurries of excitement, but the circling status quo soon resumed. Half an hour passed, then an hour. Without raincoats or umbrellas, Cutting and I were both soaked to the bone, but still the match went on. Finally, as the dinner hour crept by, we reluctantly agreed to depart. I thus had to wait until the following morning to learn that Haviland, after three and a half hours, had triumphed, receiving as his prize the congratulations of the president, a string of adjectives for his title and a pile of cash for his wallet. (See more on Ulan Bator) Ms. Melynda is a Beijing-based writer.
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