Alistair Overeem and Japan’s Icon Architecture

Team Alistair Overeem and Strikeforce CEO Scott Coker | Dave Mandel/Sherdog.com

Japan is a nation in which cable television and specialized premium channels are not widely subscribed to. The vast majority of Japan’s TV audience is limited to a handful of free network stations such as Fuji TV, Tokyo Broadcasting System and Nippon Television, all of which compete for the same national market. Thus, Japan like most other places, indulges in populist television programming which typically appeals to the lowest common denominator.

“I think that’s the key word: ‘accessible.’ And ‘funny’ is something that the general Japanese public finds easy to understand,” Goodall says. “Everything has to be very simple and straightforward for ojiichan (grandpa), obaachan (grandma) and the kids.”

The greatest case study in this process is Bob Sapp, who became a staple on Japanese television in 2002, turning into one of the most popular celebrities in the entire country and one of the principals of Japan’s “kakutogi boom.” However, when it became clear they were promoting a guy whose personality far outstripped his talents, interest in Sapp declined.

“I think Alistair is one notch ahead of [Sapp],” says Goodall. “He’s clever enough to ride that wagon because he knows that it’s not just popularity for himself but for K-1, as well. A lot of Japanese compare [Sapp] with Alistair, but Bob Sapp was all show and no work.”

This begs the question as to why Fuji TV had not pushed anyone else the same way since Sapp. Why not Semmy Schilt or Remy Bonjasky?

Simply, their inability to excite a majority of the fans despite their winning kickboxing abilities made them uninteresting subjects. They lack the understanding and ability to play to the TV crowd the way that Sapp and Overeem can.

“If you’re the champion, the least you could do is learn a few phrases in Japanese and try to engage the crowd,” Overeem tells me at one point, wistfully shaking his head. “You need to engage the audience. It’s your responsibility.”

File Photo

Semmy "Hightower" Schilt (pictured)

However, as someone who watched the rise and fall of combat sports in Japan, I ask Goodall whether or not this approach to making Overeem popular by crafting a humorous character is really the right way to gain long-term, sustainable interest in K-1. He admits that there’s always that concern, but he is confident that this method of production is a necessity in Japan.

“The true fans may like Badr Hari, Alistair or Peter Aerts, but, really, they love K-1,” Goodall says. “That passion and fandom in kakutogi will never go away, I think. Fuji TV prides themselves on coming up with nicknames and stories, because it’s easier to present [a TV audience] with them. Non-kakutogi fans can relate to the stories, but even the hardcore fans love it.”

There’s a reason the heady days of 2002-03 are called the “kakutogi boom.” The cyclical nature of popular interest in Japan cannot be stressed enough, and loanwords from English like “boom” illustrate how easily fads start one day and die out the next.

Though Fuji TV is making its own best efforts at throwing its weight behind Overeem and K-1, the reality is that without a concerted effort to push fight sport by all major outlets -- television and print combined -- the 2002-03 levels of popularity will never be reached.

If Japanese television executives -- the nation’s ultimate tastemakers -- do not share a simultaneous dedication to re-popularize combat sports, the bust period will drag on.

It is the day after the K-1 World Grand Prix. With his 15-pound, white leather-and-gold belt worn like a warrior’s baldric over one shoulder, Overeem is back on the star-building circuit.

Just hours earlier, Overeem enjoyed the most significant moment of his prizefighting career, as he reached the pinnacle of K-1. He defeated the smaller Tyrone Spong on points, before stopping Golden Glory stablemate Gokhan Saki with kicks to the body in round two. In the final, Overeem crushed K-1 legend and fellow Dutchman Peter Aerts to take the crown. In the tournament, Overeem looked every bit worthy of nicknames like “The Demolition Man” and “Ubereem.”

At a post-grand prix fan party at a trendy restaurant in Shibuya, Overeem has conducted interviews for magazines, television, Fighting and Entertainment Group and the 100 fans in attendance for the last five hours.

Even when Overeem turned his head away to get a bite of hamburger, there were a half dozen recorders and cameras in his face. He did not complain or even show any signs of impatience, despite answering the same questions ad nauseum. Professional as he was, one could never guess he fought three times the previous evening. When Sunday’s engagement ends, it’s time to call a cab and make way back to the hotel.

“We’re going to go toward the train station to get a taxi,” one of the Fuji TV media handlers says.

“Why can’t we just call a cab here?” Overeem asks, as empty taxis pass us, just feet away. “We’re going to attract a lot of people if we walk.”

Of course, that is the point.

“Well, this is what you came here for, right? Get this on film for me,” Overeem says with a smile, handing me his iPhone.

I film Overeem walking down the crowded weekend streets of Shibuya, as mobs of wide-eyed Japanese swarm, cell phones held out before them like amateur paparazzi. Nearby traffic stop, as drivers and passengers lean out of windows to wave at Overeem and snap pictures.

“It’s that huge guy from television last night! The new champion!” one yells.

“Alistair! It’s Alistair Overeem from K-1! Great work, Alistair!” others add.

The crowds grow so large that Goodall -- drafted earlier by Overeem as his personal interpreter -- had to exercise some crowd control.

“Please stay off the roads and on the sidewalk. You don’t want to get run over,” he shouts politely to the mob, trying to save Overeem’s adoring public from auto injury.

No one listens. Overeem shakes hands and takes pictures with the mob of fans spilling out into the street. It seems to never end. Finally, Overeem finds an escape route and ducks into a cab. We do not even sniff Shibuya station.

I hand Overeem back his iPhone and say goodbye. As I turn back, two cameramen are ecstatically congratulating each other.

“That was good panic!” exclaims one cameraman to Goodall. “Great work, everyone!”

“

If you’re the champion,
the least you could
do is learn a few
phrases in Japanese
and try to engage
the crowd.

”

-- Alistair Overeem

The people that walk down these Shibuya streets on a Sunday evening are the hip, fashion-conscious, trendsetting youth of Japan. These are the mercurial potential viewers that the kakutogi industry desperately needs and should be scrambling to reclaim in the post-Sapp, post-Masato world. This is the Japanese analog of North America’s coveted 18-34 male demographic.

These fans do not know Shinya Aoki or Tatsuya Kawajiri. Perhaps they might wonder what ever happened to Norifumi “Kid” Yamamoto, but that’s the extent of it. However, they all saw “the K-1” last night; they know Alistair Overeem, and they are thrilled to see him in the flesh.

For the Fuji TV crew, wading through hordes of young Shibuya denizens wanting to take Overeem’s picture was the perfect “mission accomplished” moment. It validates their decision to push him the way they have and the months of work that went into making it happen.