Asashoryu, come back! We're sorry! We didn't mean it!

Somehow I don't think we're going to be hearing that collective cry from the Japanese any time soon - not after what's been going on here over the past few weeks. The media in this country have been engaged in the national trashing of a hapless 26-year-old from Mongolia. Forget his real name – he's known here only by his Japanese name, Asashoryu. He's the Grand Champion of sumo wrestling, the best in the business, with 21 tournament wins to his credit. You'd think he'd be pretty popular, and he was, for a while. But now the country's love affair with the big Mongolian has gone bad. A few weeks ago Asashoryu asked to be let off work, pleading injury – and was then spotted playing in a charity soccer match back in his home country. National outrage ensued.

It's been going on for weeks, 24/7. Asashoryu says he's depressed. Japanese commentators say he's a wimp and should be drummed out of the sport; some called for him to be placed in confinement until he apologized. (Apology is a big thing here; his refusal to show contrition probably heads the list of his sins at this point.) His wife has left him, and there's talk he's going to be charged with tax evasion. (One wonders – how come that didn't come up while he was still winning tournaments?) On August 30 he was finally allowed to head home for treatment and recuperation. It's probably the end of his sumo career.

It hasn't been pretty. And it potentially raises a lot of interesting question about sports in general, the herd mentality of the Japanese media, and the role of outsiders in Japanese society. A lot of us foreigners have been discussing whether Asashoryu's treatment has to do with the fact that he's one, too. He's not as unusual as you might think. If you include Asashoryu, there are now 61 foreigners from a total of about 700 wrestlers – and many of them are in the top rankings. Sumo is, of course, super-traditional. It's been around for centuries and many of its customs are intertwined with the national religion of Shinto. Its rules of conduct are arcane and, at times, not exactly humane. Newcomers get hazed unmercifully.

That could be one of the reasons why Japanese themselves no longer seem interested in playing along. This year the number of new Japanese nationals signing up to join the sport as new recruits was exactly zero. It seems they'd rather play baseball or soccer – the cool sports in today's Japan. Enter the foreigners.

And that's the paradox. Sumo is regarded as super-Japanese – but it can only survive if it stays global. If it were only that easy. The Japanese aren't quite as xenophobic as the conventional wisdom would have it. They can also be enthusiastic about other foreigners who come to Japan to perform high-profile jobs – like the odd senior executive or baseball coach. But sumo isn't just bound up with Japan's national narrative – it's also in crisis, a perfect example of the painful adjustments that face this country as the pressures of globalization force it confront some of its traditional ways of doing things. So someone who violates the sport's code of good behavior is asking for trouble. And Asashoryu has gained something of a reputation as a wild partier and cocky violator of sumo's hallowed rules. (That's not to say he deserves it, of course; it's hard not to feel sympathy with a 26-year-old who's had his life ruined for a relatively minor offense.)

There's something about sports that awakens deep and violent emotions in people. Perhaps it's because, for many people, athletes are the only heroes they have left. Just witness the hysteria in the U.S. when some sports idol is caught running afoul of the law – like National Football League quarterback Michael Vick, who just pleaded guilty to involvement in illegal dogfighting. (None of the people who helped him have been raked over the coals in public in quite the same way, needless to say.) Of course, the laws violated by Vick were official ones; the ones Asashoryu broke are mostly unwritten. You sort of wonder which is worse.