When I visited the Nippon Budokan (日本武道館) to watch the Kokusai Kendo Senshuken (世界剣道選手権大会, World Kendo Championships), an unexpected surge of joy coursed through my veins. This is probably how Brazilians feel when watching a soccer match between their national team and anyone else: they own this game. Beating the life out of their opponents is part of their birthright.

The Budokan was rissui no yochi nashi (立錐の余地なし, crowded with hardly any place to stand) and — judging from the cheering, ecstatic crowd — everyone was feeling the same surge of joy. We're good at this, and unlike with other kokugi (国技, national sports) like sumo and judo, Japan still excels at kendo — to the extent that tsuizui o yurusanai (追随を許さない, no one else comes close).

Kendo is weird and often brutal but the Japanese have been taught to believe there's something inherently trustworthy about anyone who has devoted a chunk of their lives to swinging the shinai (竹刀, bamboo sword).