Featuring: Ryuji Kamigawa Date: 06/10/11 Event: Shockwave 2011
More From Ryuji Kamigawa
My name is Ryuji Kamigawa, and I am a man of many talents. Unfortunately, all of these talents are related to being good at beating up people. I never went to university in my home country, and quite frankly, I don't especially care.
I leave Japan for the first time in my life with a simple goal in mind: to make it as a professional wrestler in one of the greatest promotions on Earth.
Undoubtedly, I will have a story to tell from the moment my career in Global Championship Wrestling begins, but like all of my compatriots, before that story is told, I must tell the story of how I got here.
The story of how a bouncer at a popular hostess club stopped fighting drunken lechers and started preparing to face the world's very best.
Follow along, won't you?
Club Dekedan
Osaka, Japan
Two years ago…
As I stepped out from one of the many "staff only" areas of Club Dekedan, in my signature white tuxedo and black sunglasses, I noticed something odd: a non-Japanese man sitting nearby on one of the club’s many couches, chatting up one of the hostesses.
Right away, that set off red flags in my mind. Hostess clubs are a very Japanese institution, and contain a great many unspoken rules that Westerners cannot simply grasp. Hell, there are a lot of native customers who don’t understand them either. For that reason, almost every club has a strict "Japanese only" policy. Mr. Gaijin over there stuck out like a sore thumb.
I pulled my sunglasses off momentarily to look at the man. He was thin and short, with shoulder-length white hair, and seemed to be very at ease. It was clear that this was not his first time in a hostess club, and judging by the total lack of attention being paid to him by the other bouncers and staff, not his first time in Club Dekedan.
Shaking my head, I made my way over to the gigantic, circular bar perched smack-dab in the middle of the club. Generally, the bar was my vantage point for the evening, to make sure nothing untoward was happening. Its location was also convenient, as I could book it to any corner of the club as fast as possible.
The fact that ownership didn’t mind if I had a few cheap drinks on the house on shift was a secondary benefit.
I nursed a Kirin Ichiban straight from the bottle, all the while casting the occasional glance over my shoulder at the white-haired man chatting up the hostess. From this distance, I couldn’t make out who it was for certain. Either Ayako or Shiori, judging by the hair, but…
"Easy there, killer," I heard a voice behind me say, and a meaty hand clapped me on the back. The force jarred me from my thoughts, and I looked back to see Ryudo, one of my fellow bouncers. "He’s good. Though I can’t say I don’t understand. You’ve never seen a white guy here before, have you?"
I shook my head. "It was my understanding that they’re not allowed in here." Really, though, I didn’t know why it bothered me so much. As long as he wasn’t causing trouble, what did it matter to me whether he was Asian or American or Finnish?
"Usually, yes, that is our policy. He’s an exception, though. Ownership thinks of him as "honorary Japanese." He’s spent a lot of time in the country over the past few years or so, and makes it a point to come here on all of his trips. He’s spoken extensively with the owner. He’s better vetted than most of our regulars, so old man Kakihara don’t mind. Plus, he usually drops a ton of money here."
"Really," I asked, sizing up this supposed high roller. "He doesn’t look like he’s got a lot of money." Indeed, he wasn’t dressed like a businessman at all. His clothes were casual, a t-shirt promoting something or other, and a pair of tight leather pants.
"Looks can be deceiving," Ryudo shrugged. "All I know is what I’m told, and all the girls say he’s nothing but a gentleman. Never asks for paid dates, either. Just comes here and drops a small fortune on alcohol and sings karaoke into the wee hours."
"He’s never tried to sleep with any of them," I asked, in a bit of shock. That was more self-control than most regulars possessed. Granted, for all I knew, some of the girls *did* sleep with the regulars, but that sort of activity was strictly off the books. A lot of clubs got closed down for that thing, and Club Dekedan hadn’t made it to the top of Osaka by taking needless chances.
"Nope. But don’t take my word for any of this. Go over and talk to the guy. He’s pretty friendly, and he’s pretty much fluent in Japanese. Besides, he just ordered a bottle of one of our expensive reds, so you go deliver it to him."
Ryudo shoved a bottle of wine into my hands. I knew jack-shit about the vintage, taste, or price (yet another reason they only ever let me mix drinks at the bar and smash faces in), but I could drop off a bottle and bullshit with the customers just fine.
Sliding my glasses back on, I headed over in the direction of the foreigner. Seated next to him on the couch was, in fact, Ayako, one of our most popular girls. Right now, they seemed engaged in light conversation. It was a perfect time to butt in.
"Your bottle, sir," I said, his head turning to look up (and up, and up) at me. Oddly, he didn’t seem particularly intimidated by my size. In spite of being non-Japanese, he didn’t seem that much taller than most of our customers. "Thanks," he replied, as I took out my corkscrew and set about the task of uncorking the bottle. "Don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before."
"Same goes for you," I fired back, working the corkscrew smoothly. "Got the 411 on you from a coworker. Didn’t even know we let gaijin in here."
"Apparently," he said, nodding me a thank you as I poured two glasses, "I’m the only one Dekedan allows in here. And I’m grateful, because I need this place as badly as a lot of the natives do."
That raised my eyebrow a bit. The concept of a hostess club was and is somewhat foreign to most outside of Japan, and with good reason. It is not, as some might think, prostitution; at least not of a sexual nature. I’ve used the phrase "emotional prostitution" to describe it to some foreign friends of mine, and while not accurate entirely, it gets the point across.
Men come here and pay money to feel loved and wanted by attractive women. We sell a fantasy, to put it a different way.
"How so," I asked, only for Ayako to place a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"Don’t make him tell it again," she asked, voice low and pleading. Casting a glance to her companion, she continued. "If you don’t mind…I can explain it to him."
The man nodded. "I’ll take a bathroom break then," he said, rising from the couch. "Don’t run off while I’m gone," he joked, to what seemed to be both of us. Only once he is out of sight did Ayako speak.
"To make a very long story short, Ryuji," she began, "he lost his wife tragically several years ago. He’s dated here and there since, but since he’s famous, it’s hard for him to make genuine connections. People want to date him because of who he is, or for his money, or any of a million reasons like that. Even if Club Dekedan is just a fantasy for him…"
I stopped her. It was the sort of story I’d heard many times before from our native customers.
"And he’s never tried to sleep with you?"
She shook her head. "Sex isn’t his issue. He has thousands upon thousands of groupies all over the world. If he wants to indulge he can. He comes here because we all ignore who he is. For a couple of hours, he can be himself and stop thinking about all of his problems."
I scratched my chin a bit. "So you’re saying he doesn’t fantasize about being with you as much as having a stable, caring relationship? Sounds like those women who go to host clubs."
She chuckled. "He is, in a way," Ayako said. "He’s a lot more emotionally needy than a lot of our other clients, but he doesn’t push us at all. We’re able to provide what he wants. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship. Plus a night here with him’s pretty low-stress. We’ll probably sing karaoke for a couple hours soon."
"Absolutely we will," I heard the man chime in. Apparently he was quick in the bathroom. Or he didn’t want to miss out on time with Aya-chan. It was hard to blame him, really.
As he sat down next to his favorite hostess, I felt his eyes on me. At first, he’d barely glanced at me. Men in his profession of my size must have been common. Now, though, his look was analytical. I’d given many patrons that sort of look over the years to size them up and assess what sort of threat they would pose if it came to fists.
"You’re a big guy," he finally said, sizing me up, "and Aya-chan here tells me you’re quite the bouncer. You ever thought about being a pro wrestler?"
It was an interesting question. I watched wrestling on TV a decent amount. I wasn’t what I would consider a real fan or anything, but when nothing else was on, it was a good way to kill some time. Really, it was one of the few other professions in the world that would let me use my, ah, talents.
Even so, I shook my head. "I’m a bouncer here. I’ve never had any ambition above or below that." Well, ‘never’ might have been a lie, but the sentiment was true. Working here for a few years gave me little desire to do anything else. After all, I didn’t work for money, when it came right down to it. "I will stay here as long as they allow me to."
"Wrestling doesn’t mean you can’t work here," he pointed out. "There are lots of guys who work full-time jobs and wrestle for their local companies. It’s fulfilling to them, the chance to live a dream when they can. Osaka has dozens of small companies you could work for like that when not on shift."
"I could come watch you!" Ayako chimed in, and smiled at me. Damn her. I hate that smile. Actually, I love that smile, but it makes it way too easy to give in to her. I’ve never seen a customer who doesn’t completely melt when faced with her grin. Apparently, I’m exactly the same.
"Fine, fine," I sighed. "There’s something appealing about being paid to beat up people, I’ll admit that. I’ve watched it a good bit over the years. How much you charging?"
"I don’t train people for the money," he explained. "I tried that once. You get a lot of people who want in for the wrong reasons. I’ve started training people who’ve got the potential to make it, free of charge. If you want to pay me if you make it big, by all means feel free. I don’t need the money to make my living. I’ve got more put away in the bank than I’ll ever be able to spend."
I looked at the gaijin carefully. Why he’d make this offer to me was somewhat baffling, but if he was willing, who was I to turn down training from a seemingly famous wrestler.
Considering the giant stack of empty alcoholic beverages on the table, his statement about having more money than he could spend was also probably accurate.
"I give in. You’ve got yourself a deal."
"Excellent. I’ve rented out a gym a few blocks from here. There’ll be a few other trainees besides you, but you’ll have more than enough one on one time, that I can assure you."
"Really," Ayako asked. "I didn’t know you were local now!"
"I’ve got a place in Osaka," the wrestler replied. "I enjoy it here, and I managed to get a work visa after a few years of trying."
"So that means I’ll be seeing more of you, riiiiight?" she asked. There was that smile again. How he didn’t just melt into a puddle on the floor was beyond me.
"I don’t know," he replied, a teasing look on his face. "I haven’t seen Rika in a while…"
"Rika?!" Ayako asked, astonished. "You’d pick Rika over me?!"
He chuckled, and lightly punched her on the shoulder. "Naw, you know you’re my favorite, Aya-chan," he grinned. "I’ll probably be here weekly. At this rate, you’ll be the number one girl here in no time, and by then you’ll have no time for little old me anymore."
"Noooooo!" she protested, laughingly. "You’re my favorite! All of the others want too much!"
"Too much" was a codeword for sex. Again, really, I couldn’t exactly blame any of the older businessmen who wanted to bed Ayako. She was, in my humble opinion, the prettiest girl in the club. As I watched the two of them interact, I realized that they were essentially a perfect match. He wanted only what she was willing to provide, and she in turn appreciated that he was willing to settle for a fantasy.
As such, their banter was easy. If I’d met them outside of the context of Club Dekedan, I could easily believe they were a couple. It was as much a testament to her talents as his personality, really. So many other conversations I heard daily felt stilted and fake, in spite of the best efforts of both parties to keep up the carefully crafted illusions that we peddled.
A loud scream from across the club, though, jostled me from the happy mindset and put me squarely back in the frame of mind of the problem solver that I’d been hired to be.
"Ryuji, get your ass over here, we’ve got a problem in one of the private rooms!"
When a call like that came, there was no time to waste. Ayako knew it, and it seemed the wrestler did too. "We’ll talk later," he said, as I booked it across the club to go deal with lord knew what.
That was the first time I ever met Seymour Almasy, the man who would go on to train me for the professional wrestling ring.
Narita International Airport
6.8.2011
Truth be told, I’m not a big fan of airplanes. Being a man my size and cramming into a coach seat isn’t my idea of a good time. When I’m on the road with GCW, I’ll likely be stuck. I’ve heard lots of things about how where one sits on the plane is determined by rank in American wrestling companies.
But since this is a personal flight, I’ve decided to splurge on first class. It makes a huge difference, particularly on what is to be a trans-Pacific flight.
Oh, yes, that’s why I’m here, after all, ready to leave Japan for the first time in my life. Apparently the guy I met in Club Dekedan was more than just "a pro wrestler." He has held titles all over the world. He’s currently working for the only company in professional wrestling that can arguably compete with the one I’ve been signed to.
When I met him years ago, Seymour Almasy had taken a leave of absence from the ring. Now, he was a well-known talent once more, PRIME’s Intense Champion. When I had started training under him, I hadn’t known just how good or known he was, nor what doors being trained by the man known worldwide as the "Final Fantasy" would open.
I don’t fly out for a few hours, but I have arrived early to meet the man to whom I owe the opportunity that I am about to take advantage of. Like me, he’s flying off to a show.
"Long time no see," I heard him chime in, behind me. I turned to look at my mentor, finely dressed in a suit and tie. It wasn’t a look I’d seen him in very often. At my confusion, he sighed and shook his head.
"PRIME dress code," he explained. "For what the contract’s paying me if I keep hitting my incentives, I’ll walk around in a monkey suit on occasion."
I couldn’t help but chuckle. By all measures, he should have looked better in a suit than a burlier man like me, but it just looked…strange on him, particularly with his white hair cascading down over his back.
"So what brings you to Narita," he asked. "Did GCW get back to you?"
I nodded, and the grin on his face expanded. "Excellent! I’m so happy for you!" It was a far cry from the persona he played on television. Over the two years he trained me, I’d gotten to know Seymour. Yes, he was an asshole sometimes, but usually a well-meaning one. The man on TV didn’t have the "well-meaning" part down pat.
"I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous," I told him. "I’m going from tiny Osaka independents to one of the top companies in the world."
"So," he asked. "I’ve worked there before. Their current roster is an incredible collection of talent, but they’re always looking for the next big thing. GCW likes to make its own stars from the ground up where it can. Guys like Andy Murray had exposure elsewhere, but blossomed in GCW. If you put in the time and work hard, the sky’s the limit for you."
"Their array of talent is dizzying," I said, shaking my head. Confidence was rarely one of my weak suits, but looking at the GCW roster was enough to put doubt and trepidation in the heart of a veteran, let alone a two year professional.
Seymour reached up to place a slender, reassuring hand on my shoulder. "It is, Ryuji, but you will not be expected to compete with them right off the bat. You will lose matches, but more importantly, you will learn. You’re better than spending the rest of your life wrestling weekends on the Osaka independent circuit. You’ll never learn or improve further that way. GCW is a crucible. If you can survive the flames, you will come out a far better wrestler."
"GCW ownership and I have never been on the best terms," Seymour admitted to me, "but they respect my opinion of talent in this business. They like bigger guys, always have. You’re right in their wheelhouse, and you’ve got the talent to go far, Kamigawa-san. You just need the dedication to see it through."
"I will be," I told my mentor. "Where are you off to, anyway?"
"Singapore," he replied. "Last ReVolution before Culture Shock and the Dual Halo. I’m a busy fucker these days, but I should be able to watch your debut. I’ll give you a call after, go over it with you."
"Thank you," I nodded. "I don’t want to keep you from your flight."
"Yeah," he said, looking down at his watch. "I should probably get going. Boarding is soon, and I’ve got a lot to think about on the way."
His voice trailed off as he looked down at his shoes for a moment, in heavy contemplation. When he looked back up at me again, his voice was more intense than it had been.
"One more piece of advice," he said, firmly. "Find your reason for competing. I don’t care what it is, but find it. As long as you have a reason, you can’t fail. You might lose matches here and there, but you will never be a failure in this sport so long as you have a reason for going out there every night. I was a success for many years because I had one. I’m a success now because I found one again."
Unspoken, of course, was that he had lost whatever the first reason was somewhere along the way. I assumed that it was his deceased ex-wife, but with Seymour, one could never be sure.
"I have a reason, Seymour," I replied. "Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine."
He looked at me for a moment, and then nodded his head. "Good. Don’t lose it."
And with that, he was gone, leaving me alone to ponder the longest flight of my life, and an entirely new adventure that awaited at the end of it.
Silently, I grabbed hold of the handle of my suitcase, adjusted my sunglasses on my face, and began the long walk to my gate of departure. At the end of my journey was a date with GCW management.
Somewhere along the line, I hoped they’d explain to me just how I was going to be getting to Shockwave 2011. Some wrestlers, I knew, made their big league debuts in Madison Square Garden. Others had debuted in the Tokyo or Georgia Domes.
Me? Well, my debut was set to be out of this world…