Alistair Overeem and Japan’s icon architecture

[Harrie Nak]

MMA fans and media constantly argue over whether a particular athlete is a “Top 10” fighter. Alistair Overeem is no exception to this rule. In fact, he’s the most obvious example.

The public perception of Overeem is complicated by his infrequent defending of his Strikeforce heavyweight title and frequent participation in K-1. He has been accused of evading his responsibilities as Strikeforce’s heavyweight champion and disregarding the North American MMA ideal: three fights a year, against top challengers, all while building a legacy.

For many fans, Overeem’s desire to fight in K-1 rather than MMA seems like an affront. In a sport still thirsty for great athletes and unique talents -- especially at heavyweight -- how can such an intriguing, thrilling fighter disregard MMA almost entirely? It seems like there needs to be an adequate explanation as to why regular K-1 jaunts appeal more to him than what is the undeniable goal of most fighters: climbing the rankings by conquering solid competition, whether in Strikeforce, the UFC or elsewhere.

To explain it, I would have to talk to the man himself, a task that proves difficult. I had been in pursuit of Overeem for the better part of a month for this piece. Before meeting him at the K-1 World Grand Prix 2010 press conference, I had not had any contact with the Dutchman, simply because of how insulated his inner circle kept him.

MMA is still widely praised for having the most accessible star athletes in the world, a sport where any UFC fan can stake out the fighter hotel on fight night and meet his or her heroes. However, Overeem avoids many of the outrageous personal and media demands heaped upon fighters through his entourage. Two of its principals -- and Overeem’s closest liaisons -- are Eldar Gross and Remco Peperkamp

Peperkamp is charismatic. Perpetually smiling and naturally easy going, he’s gifted with an aura of geniality. He makes you feel as if you have known him for years. Peperkamp has been Overem’s best friend since childhood and, as a result, makes the perfect right-hand man. Much in the same way that NBA stars use their closest confidantes to coordinate, Peperkamp is an expert at feeling out and handling potential distractions for Overeem during training and while abroad.

Gross is Overeem’s documentarian, the man behind the wildly successful online documentary series “The Reem,” which has served a vital role in reinforcing the recent buzz surrounding Overeem. Thin, with curly dark hair and a perpetual five o’clock shadow, he has the look of an auteur.

Asking him a question about Overeem or filmmaking -- the two subjects about which he is incredibly passionate -- launches him into an intense treatise of an answer.

A workaholic and perfectionist, he apologetically declined my invitation for dinner, for no reason other than he was fixated on fine-tuning the latest episode of “The Reem” in time for the K-1 World Grand Prix on Dec. 11.

Two days before K-1, all promotional activities are throttled to a trickle of interviews, most at the behest of K-1’s World Grand Prix broadcaster, Fuji TV. Making an exception for K-1’s television partners is par for the course, but discussion of the matter is a stark reminder of the state of kakutogi in Japan.

“K-1 has declining viewers. There are guys who have been champion three, four times. They need a new poster boy, and Alistair is a fresh new face [that] might attract a new kind of viewer,” says Gross. “I talked to [Fuji TV interpreter Russell Goodall], and he said that the things they’re doing now they’ve never done before: the variety shows, the daytime TV, interviews with ladies magazines, newspapers -- things that are normally not done with K-1 just to put the name out there to a new audience because they need it.”

Cognizant that his wide exposure on Japanese television will help boost awareness in himself and K-1, Overeem and company are shrewd enough to recognize what it means for his bottom line.

“He sees it as a step in his career, and, in the end, it’s about making money and there’s money to be made here. The bigger the exposure and the bigger the fanbase, the more money he receives, so he sees it as part of his job,” says Gross.

Having experienced an impoverished youth, Overeem realizes he only has so long in the fight business to make the millions he can use to provide for his family and, later, comfortably retire.

“I know what it’s like to be poor [living with] my grandmother. I know what it’s like to have no money. I know what it’s like to be in debt. I know what it’s like to make money, to get out of debt. It’s been a long process, and you have to be careful about these things. These are the years that you can make money, so do it while you can and don’t spend too much,” Overeem says over dinner.

Critically, Overeem actually enjoys the spotlight and does not seem to tire of it, as many celebrities inevitably do.

“The thing is I do like Japanese television. It doesn’t make any sense at all to me, and it’s kinda funny. The humor level is the same, and I’m having fun,” he says with a smile.

Cultural allure is the simplest reason why Overeem remains adamant about spending the best years of his career in Japan and K-1 rather than exclusively fighting MMA stateside.

On top of Overeem’s fascination with Japanese pop culture, K-1 stars are infinitely more revered in his native Netherlands, and by fighting K-1 and MMA, his chances for frequent fights and paydays are much greater. Exclusively fighting for Strikeforce or the UFC, he would be looking at three fights a year at most. By fighting K-1 and MMA together, he can easily double that.

Though he does not say so himself, Overeem wants to be in the Octagon someday, according to members from his entourage. However, that time simply is not now. The present is all about building his star and his bank account, and Japan is still the best place to do that.

Getting 'The Beast' Treatment

Goodall is an exuberant and engaging man with a long history in the Japanese TV world and Fuji TV. He looks a lot like Hugh Laurie, but his gifts lie in television production and interpretation rather than acting, piano and diagnostic medicine.

The son of Christian missionaries from New Zealand, Goodall has lived in Japan since he was a few months old and thus speaks Japanese like a native. It is quite a sight to see Dr. Gregory House speaking and joking around in Japanese the way that only your average “Taro” does.

He explains how his command of the language smoothed relations with his Japanese wife’s parents. His southern island-dwelling in-laws were originally against the idea of marriage with a foreigner, but once he demonstrated a native grasp of the language and psychology -- Japanese humor, in particular -- it “made him human” in their eyes.

The media process in building Overeem for the Japanese audience mirrors this experience. As a homogenous and insular culture, foreign celebrities -- foreigners, in general -- are often viewed as aloof, inaccessible and consequently alien. Fuji TV’s simple plan in promoting Overeem attempts to overcome this typical reaction by putting him into silly game shows and comedy variety shows.

“The biggest thing that Fuji TV knows is that Alistair is clever and can learn,” Goodall says. “He knows how to play along with the variety shows because that’s a big part of [Japanese] TV culture. Funny is good. Funny is accessible. Oh, this guy can do funny? He’s more human. Alistair can come down to a show, take his shirt off and pick six girls up and be funny."Alistair Overeem and Japan’s Icon Architecture (http://www.sherdog.com/news/articles/1/Alistair-Overeem-and-Japans-Icon-Architecture-29039)

[makavelli]

interessant stuk!

[Fasada]

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.”

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.

The Walk of Fame

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!”

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.

[Fasada]

However, when the ratings come in for the Grand Prix broadcast, there is some disappointment.

The tape-delayed broadcast of the K-1 World Grand Prix scores a 13.0 on Fuji TV. The night’s king was the 2010 World Figure Skating Finals on rival station TV Asahi, which started two hours prior to K-1 and averaged a muscular 22.9 percent rating. Interestingly enough, figure skating was one of the major TV successors to combat sports circa 2006-07, when Japan’s kakutogi boom died. Head-to-head, Asahi’s “Saturday Night at the Mysteries Theatre,” a series running since 1977, bested K-1, notching a 15.8 in the same time slot.

From 2007-09, the World Grand Prix notched ratings of 15.3, 16.1 and 14.7. The numbers are solid but not spectacular, especially for an institution like K-1, which for years has prided itself on crossover spectacle.

Overeem will take on UFC veteran Todd Duffee at “K-1 Dynamite: The Power of Courage 2010” on New Year’s Eve -- the biggest night of the year for the company, in particular, and Japan’s fight scene, in general. Though the event will air on Fuji TV’s rival, the Tokyo Broadcasting System, the network knows that a successful, widely viewed New Year’s Eve bout for Overeem is crucial for it, as well.

And so, it’s time for the variety show circuit.

Treasure Hunting

This means more television taping, bringing us to Fuji TV headquarters, located on the leisure island of Odaiba in Tokyo Bay. The guts of Fuji TV are a labyrinth of sprawling gray hallways and fluorescent lighting. It’s a stark contrast to the loud, Technicolor brilliance of its TV sets.

As we are guided through the maze of nondescript halls and otherwise mysterious unmarked doors, Overeem hands me his World Grand Prix title belt and charges me with the price of admission for the day: a job as temporary belt boy.

“Watch this belt and don’t let anything happen to it,” he sternly commands.

Like most media entities in Japan, Fuji TV is incredibly strict. I am barred from being much of a journalist there, though a concession is made for me to follow Overeem as honorary belt carrier. Bringing a camera to catch any of today’s game show filming is thus unconditionally verboten. Not even Overeem’s managers, Bas Boon and Cor Hemmers, are exempt from this rule.

I engage Boon in a long conversation on his master plan of building Alistair into an international star. Boon tells me Overeem is in a “get big in Japan” phase. They do all they can to get him on TV and have him meet a who’s who of Japanese media moguls and celebs to ensure his ubiquity in the country for years to come.

“A few years ago, Alistair sat down with me and said, ‘These are my goals. I want to do things like fight in Japan this often, get titles, and retire at this age.’” Boon tells me. “So I developed a plan to do all of it. I can make it happen because of the network I’ve developed over the years.”

Boon has signed Overeem with Yoshimoto Kogyo -- one of nation’s oldest and most powerful talent agencies. Though Yoshimoto has historically managed the armies of comedians ever-present on Japanese television, its sheer size and reach has seen it extend its promotional efforts to athletes, musicians and actors, as well. Overeem is the company’s first foreign athlete in its nearly 100-year history.

Boon acquired these capabilities by spending more than two decades in the fight game as a producer, promoter and manager. Hemmers himself used to train and manage his stepson, Dutch kickboxing legend Ramon Dekkers, among many other Dutch fighters. A lot of history and ability exists between the two of them, and now Overeem benefits from their combined efforts. However, a media push of this magnitude for one of their charges is a new experience for both of them.

Today, Overeem is filming Fuji TV’s “Junk Cup,” a variety show in which various athletes compete in whimsical and ultimately pointless games. However, Boon takes Overeem’s participation seriously; it is competition, after all.

“Get your team to all head for one lever at a time, all together,” Boon instructs Overeem in Dutch before the game.

In this game, opposing teams of three are strapped into harnesses linked by strong elastic bands. The teams are then set back-to-back at the center of a large, matted circle. At the sound of a buzzer, both teams dash in opposite directions, scrambling to reach three levers at the end of their side of the mat. Whichever team overcomes the pull of its opponents to throw all three of its levers wins.

Representing the K-1 contingent are Overeem, Singh “Heart” Jaideep and Kyotaro Fujimoto. The judo team -- which features Olympic silver medalists and MMA fighters Naoya Ogawa and Hiroshi Izumi -- falls first to the professional baseball team, thanks to their lack of explosive speed and their restrictive judo uniforms. The professional wrestling team, led by Pride Fighting Championships veteran Yoshihiro Takayama, falls next to the American football team due to their inability to choose and drive in a single direction as a team. The sumo team uses brute strength to drag the baseball team to its defeat soon after.

When the K-1 team meets the footballers, Overeem throws the first lever by exploding into a sprint from the opening buzzer. However, his teammates are unable to hold ground the way the footballers can. Kyotaro spends more time being the class clown by flashing peace signs and smiling at the camera than he does trying to help Overeem or Singh reach the levers.

It is a Japanese variety show game, perhaps the summit of purposelessness. Yet, Overeem tries to win. He appears to be the only one trying to do so.

Though his team was defeated in its first and only round, Overeem beams with excitement afterward. Having worked up a light sweat in completing his TV duties for the day, he quickly makes his way through Fuji TV’s gray halls back to his dressing room to change quickly for his next appointment.

“After this, we have a dinner appointment with one of Japan’s biggest baseball stars, followed by a meeting with a film producer. I expect we’ll get done by midnight,” Boon tells me. It is just 7:30 p.m.

“Today sounds like an exceptionally busy day,” I reply, surprised.

“Not just today,” Boon says with a laugh. “It’s been like this for the last eight days, since the grand prix. He’s back in MMA training now, but he’s still doing this much media because he’s smart and he understands its importance. He’s a professional now.”

From the dressing room, Overeem begins humming a short tune while pulling on his jacket and shoes, after which he playfully says something in Dutch. I look at him, puzzled, hopeful in awaiting an explanation. As we leave Fuji TV for the parking lot where he will be chauffeured to his next meeting, he explains it to me.

“We have this saying in Dutch,” he says. “Basically, it’s ‘Who wants to make money? I do.’”

I am not sure whether he is joking. While I cannot tell for sure if it’s a real Dutch saying, I am certain it is Overeem’s personal maxim.