Greek Mythology: Family Tree
Still WIP

My Life Adventure

My Life Adventure
We are all assigned a default operating system by society. Get a stable 9-to-5 job, white picket fence, climb the corporate ladder, manage the endless loop of domestic chores, and save the “real living” for retirement or brief two-week vacations.
But lately, a series of compounding events forced me to step off the treadmill and take a hard look at this setup. Losing people close to me has been a stark, painful reminder of just how short our time really is. When you combine that grief with the grinding exhaustion of a corporate environment where you feel you aren’t contributing anything meaningful or building real connections, you hit an existential wall. Life starts to feel like a complete waste of the precious time we have. In the office at 2pm on a lovely spring day I’d often be thinking “Why am I wasting my time here today?”. Becoming completely overwhelmed by it all, I decided I needed to reset my mental framework.
So, I started looking into philosophy. I wanted to see how historical thinkers dealt with the problem of a meaningless grind and how to build an intentional, high-utility lifestyle. It allowed me to examine what is meaningful to me, then design my own framework on my lifestyle – pulling learnings that I already inherently had but framing them into my own philosophy. Maybe you’ve heard of the Socratic method, well I have found The Rossophical Method.
A foundational pillar of my outlook comes from Jean-Paul Sartre and the concept of Existentialism. Sartre famously argued that “existence precedes essence.” In simple terms: you are born first, and it is entirely up to you to define who you are and what your purpose is. There is no pre-written script. Sartre called this Radical Freedom. It means you have the absolute power to choose what your life looks like and how you live it. Neither a deity, nor your family, nor your culture has predefined your track. It is entirely up to you to choose.
The danger, however, is that making your own choices takes immense effort, leading many to default to what Friedrich Nietzsche called Herd Morality. This is the uncritical adoption of societal norms simply because “everyone else is doing it.” Society hands us a default, pre-packaged checklist: get the rigid 9-to-5 corporate job, buy the suburban house with the white picket fence, have kids, and repeat.
There is nothing inherently wrong with any of those choices—if you explicitly want them. The trap is falling into them by default. Nietzsche argued that to live a truly authentic, life-affirming existence, you must strive to become the Übermensch (the Overman)—an individual who rises above herd expectations to actively forge their own values and design their own path. Whether you ultimately choose a conventional lifestyle or a completely radical one, the value comes entirely from the fact that you made the conscious choice. You are the one driving, not the herd. Only you can make your life happen.
If existentialism gives you the freedom to choose your path, Stoicism provides the urgency and the boundaries to actually execute it. To live a life of fulfillment, you have to confront a brutal reality: time is your most finite asset, and you are likely wasting it.
The Roman Stoic Seneca delivered a sharp reality check on this in his essay On the Shortness of Life:
“It is not that we have a short space of time, but that we waste much of it.”
We spend an immense amount of our limited existence on the tedious and the meaningless—soul-crushing work, trivial corporate dynamics, and endless administrative chores. To break out of this wasteful loop, you have to master what Epictetus called the Dichotomy of Control:
“We cannot choose our external circumstances, but we can always choose how we respond to them.”
Burnout and a wasted life happen when we spend our finite time agonizing over things we cannot control—like a toxic corporate culture, macroeconomic shifts, or the opinions of the herd. Stoicism demands that you ruthlessly divide your life into two columns: things that are up to you (your thoughts, your boundaries, your actions) and things that are not.
By applying this filter, you develop an acute sense of urgency. You realize that because your days are numbered (Memento Mori), you literally do not have the time to misallocate your mental currency on external corporate noise. You reclaim your time by focusing entirely on what you can control, ensuring that your energy is spent on living intensely right now, rather than merely existing.
While the internal side of my philosophy is highly individualistic, the external side—how I interact with others—is anchored in traditional reciprocity from Confucian philosophy.
The Golden Rule: “Do not impose on others what you yourself do not desire.”
When it comes to people, basic respect is the absolute baseline. If you wouldn’t want to be dismissed, exploited, or ignored, don’t do it to others. If you wouldn’t want to live in a degraded, careless world, don’t litter and take the extra two seconds to recycle. By focusing on these local, micro-scale acts of respect, we fulfill our duty to the collective without losing our individual freedom.
Philosophy without action is just an academic exercise. To make these concepts real, I’ve mapped them into a concrete blueprint for my life. Maybe you’ve heard of the Socratic method, well I have found The Rossophical Method.
To kickstart this mental shift, I needed to get completely away from screens, corporate timelines, and comfortable routines. I decided to pack up a solo, hardcore bicycle touring trip across the country. I needed a massive circuit breaker to reset and find myself. Without consciously knowing it at the time, this trip was my entry point into practical Stoicism.
The ancient Stoics regularly practiced a concept called askesis—the deliberate choosing of voluntary hardship. Seneca famously advised taking a few days every now and then to eat the cheapest food and wear rough clothes. The philosophy is simple: by enduring difficult tasks, long days, and harsh weather on purpose, you fundamentally recalibrate your baseline. You learn exactly what you are capable of handling, and you realize that the daily corporate anxieties you left behind aren’t actual hardships at all.
Spending weeks out on the road, moving entirely under my own power with a loaded bicycle, provided that exact Stoic training ground. Stripping life down to basic physical effort, unpredictable weather, and immediate, tangible logistics creates immense mental space. When you are climbing a mountain pass in the pouring rain, life becomes incredibly simple. You endure the difficult in the moment, which makes everything else in normal life feel incredibly easy by comparison.
On that road, stripped of modern distractions, I finally had the time to think, reflect, and learn from these ancient masters—piecing together in my head the things that truly matter to me. Now, I’m writing them down.
For me, applying Radical Freedom means redesigning life to find a fairer balance between responsibility and freedom. I want to be fair with my time: live more, work less.
Practically, that means shattering the assumption that employment must be an uninterrupted 40-year grind. Instead, my life design might look like working six-month contracts to fund deliberate, extended breaks between roles to travel, explore, and actually live. Life is fundamentally good—we need to go live it while we have the health to do so.
This structural shift ties directly into the concepts found in Bill Perkins’ book Die with Zero, which challenges the traditional herd mentality surrounding personal finance.
The standard societal norm is to spend a lifetime working, amassing a massive net worth, only to pass away with a huge portion of that fortune unspent, leaving it to your heirs decades down the line. To me, unless you purposefully choose to exchange thousands of hours of your life purely to hand over cash later, this is a massive waste of life and time.
Of course, helping your kids is great. But they should be taught to fend for themselves, with parents providing assistance when it actually matters. It is vastly better to spend that money during your peak health windows, creating vivid memories and shared experiences with the people you love while you are all still here to enjoy them.
If Shu and Zhong dictate how we treat people, they also dictate how we treat our surroundings. If everyone took responsibility for the minor, local details, the global environment would look entirely different.
Consider a simple example: littering and recycling.
Every year, the US discards around 40 billion aluminum cans into landfills. That is roughly $800 million worth of aluminum thrown directly into the rubbish, despite the fact that aluminum is infinitely recyclable and takes 95% less energy to recycle than to create from scratch.
It takes exactly two seconds to choose the correct bin. If every person committed to these tiny, effortless acts of universal respect—not littering, recycling a simple can, treating a stranger with basic courtesy—the world would be a demonstrably better place.

When designing your own personal operating system, you don’t need to fit neatly into a single box. You don’t have to be a pure Stoic or an uncompromising Existentialist. To put a twist on it: you don’t need to follow a philosophical brand name when you can create your own boutique blend.
You can use Existentialism to claim your freedom, Stoicism and Nietzsche to empower yourself against societal expectations, and traditional Confucian reciprocity to govern how you treat the world around you.
Only you can make your life happen. Be mindful, be meaningful with your time, and don’t be afraid to update your framework as you progress through life. I am a different person today than I was yesterday—hopefully a better one.
Socrates famously said that “the unexamined life is not worth living.”
It took me 35 years to start actively thinking and framing my ideals into words and a moral code.
TLDR: I rode a $258 Walmart gravel bike from Seattle to St. Louis by linking historic, forgotten rail trails—surviving 3,112km with zero mechanical failures. Guided by the Stoic truth that you can’t appreciate comfort without enduring hardship, I embraced mandatory disasters: dismantling locked security gates, crawling over rubble inside a pitch-black collapsed tunnel, and battling soul-crushing 35 km/h headwinds. These trials cleared the palate for incredible highs—pristine tarmac, mid-country tailgate parties, and wild trail tortoises. It was a glorious, character-building descent into Type-2 fun that I would never repeat, but absolutely recommend to anyone with a machine that pedals.
A couple of years ago, shortly after moving to the United States, I discovered something that immediately captured my imagination.
Old railroads.
Not the shiny passenger rail networks you find in Japan or China. The forgotten ones. The railroads that helped build America. The lines that pushed westward across mountains, deserts and plains, connecting towns that otherwise wouldn’t have existed. Many were eventually abandoned as the country fell in love with highways, cars and airports. But some survived in an unexpected form.
Instead of rusting away completely, they were converted into Rail Trails — long-distance walking and cycling paths built on the original railway corridors. The beauty of rail trails is that they inherit all the qualities that made railroads useful in the first place: gentle gradients, direct routes, huge bridges, tunnels and uninterrupted travel through landscapes that roads often bypass. As soon as I discovered these trails were scattered across the country, I did what any sensible person would do…. I opened Google Maps and spent a week connecting them together into one ridiculous bicycle route.
My steed for this 3,112km odyssey wasn’t some high-end, custom-built boutique rig. It was an Ozark Trail 700C G.1 Explorer—a flat-bar gravel bike I picked up at Walmart for $258.
When I rolled up next to others on the trails with a sleeping bag that cost less than a decent dinner and a bike that was being stocked next to the lawn furniture, I got a few looks. But as I pushed through the Cascades and into the heart of the Midwest, my $258 friend didn’t complain once. The tally of my mechanical issues across 3,112km? Zero. Not a frame failure, not a crankset snap, not even a catastrophic bearing blow-out. It survived the sand-traps of the John Wayne Trail, the vibration-heavy gravel of South Dakota, and everything in between.
If your idea of a good time involves smooth tarmac, predictable tailwinds, and hotels that provide complimentary mints on your pillow, close this tab immediately. This section is not for you.
“Peace has cost you your strength. Victory has defeated you.” – Bane
To cross this continent via historic rail corridors, you must embrace a very specific, slightly masochistic philosophy: Fun is optional, but preferred. The disasters are mandatory. There’s a deep undercurrent of Stoicism that reveals itself when you’re stripping down a cheap bike in a dark ditch. The truth is, you have no concept of what is actually easy until you have willingly endured what is genuinely hard. Comfort is a lie we tell ourselves until we’re forced to recalibrate our baselines. You cannot truly appreciate the profound luxury of a flat, smooth trail without first navigating a collapsed mountain cavern or enduring hours of a relentless, soul-crushing headwind. The hardship clears the palate; it makes the ordinary feel extraordinary.
Palouse to Cascades & The Snoqualmie / Sorrento Tunnel Disasters: Day 1 set the tone. I arrived at the Snoqualmie Tunnel only to find it locked up tighter than a Nun’s… office. Naturally, instead of turning back like a sane human being, I completely dismantled a security gate, stripped my panniers, disassembled my bike piece by piece to squeeze through the gap, and rebuilt it in the dark.
If that was a warning from the cycling gods, I ignored it. By Day 4, I hit the Sorrento Tunnel in Idaho. The maps said it was open. The reality was a 2,500-foot collapsed mountain cavern. I scrambled over tons of jagged rubble inside the pitch-black void, dragging a 50kg Walmart bike, only to emerge on the other side into a literal swamp choked by a graveyard of 100 downed trees. I spent two hours wading through mud, lifting a cheap heavy frame over logs, and spotting fresh bear prints, fundamentally questioning my right to exist.
Coeur d’Alene & Norpak Trail: After the tunnel trauma, the Coeur d’Alene was pure cycling heaven. Seventy miles of pristine tarmac, majestic bald eagles, and enough cute baby goslings to temporarily make me forget the severe chafing ruining my life. Because of the Sorrento disaster, this felt like riding through paradise. Then came the Norpak section. It was stunning… until it wasn’t. The trail vanished into another brutal two-hour labyrinth of freshly fallen pines, turning my cycling trip back into a competitive log-carrying event.
The punchline? Days later, I met a fellow rider named Rex on the trail a few weeks later. He casually mentioned, “Yeah, I saw some absolute maniac’s tracks through the Norpak trail and thought, well, if they made it, I can too!” I just stared at him. “Rex… that maniac was me.”
When you sum it all up, I rode a modified $258 Walmart bike—bundled with cheap gear for a grand total of $563—most of the way across the United States. I dragged it through collapsed mountains, waded it through swamps, pedaled it across desolate oil fields, and camped out on top of the world.
Would I ever do the entire trip again? Absolutely not. My body has still not forgiven me. But would I ride these specific rail trails again? In a heartbeat. They are the hidden, rugged veins of the country, and if you have a high tolerance for type-2 fun and a bike that pedals, you need to go see them.

Starting May 1st, I’m taking a much-needed break from the digital world. I’ve decided it’s time to give my eyes a rest from screens and complex spreadsheets in favor of the vast horizons of the American prairies and mountains. This trip is about disconnecting from the “hustle” and reconnecting with what really matters and I think a 30 Day Gravel adventure into some of the most remote parts of the USA is the perfect way to do that.
The Mission: Seattle to St. Louis:
The goal is to ride my own Iron Horse (bicycle) from the Pacific Northwest all the way to St. Louis using a combination of human power and historic iron. To keep the journey as enjoyable as possible, I am intentionally avoiding highways and heavy traffic. Instead, I’ll be following the historic rail lines that shaped this country, riding the gravel trails where the tracks used to be and jumping on the train where they still run. This takes me back to 2018 Japan touring.
By utilizing the “Rails-to-Trails” network, I can stay off the main roads and immerse myself in the landscape. Here are the major converted rail systems I’ll be tackling:
Rail Trails:
| Trail Name | Distance | Elevation Gain | State |
| Palouse to Cascades Trail | 290 km | 1,450m | Washington |
| Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes | 120 km | 300m | Idaho |
| George S. Mickelson Trail | 175 km | 2,000m | South Dakota |
| Cowboy Recreation Trail | 310 km | 550m | Nebraska |
| Flint Hills Nature Trail | 140 km | 350m | Kansas |
| Katy Trail State Park | 395 km | 550m | Missouri |
Other Trails:
| Trail Name | Distance | Elevation Gain | State |
| Mullan Road / Pass | 110 km | 1,200m | Montana / Idaho |
| Maah Daah Hey Trail | 230 km | 3,800m | North Dakota |
| Black Hills Scenic Loops | 150 km | 2,500m | South Dakota |
| High Plains Connectors | 450 km | 2,800m | South Dakota / Nebraska |

SPOILER WARNING: The following post contains major spoilers for the main story and endings of Cyberpunk 2077. If you haven’t sat through the credits yet, you might want to jack out now.
TLDR: Night City won. I sold my soul to Arasaka for a sterile lie and lived to regret betraying Johnny. A raw look at identity, corporate dystopia, and why I’m going back to burn it all down.
I’ve just finished my first playthrough of Cyberpunk 2077 (base game)… and I lay in bed last night struggling failing to fall asleep because I feel as if there’s a haunting voice in the back of my mind saying
“I’ll tell you what I see. I see a dead man walkin’. A man who’s lost everything, even his own soul.”
For the previous few days, I’ve been trying to process what just happened. To put it plainly: it was a surreal experience. I’ve played a lot of games—The Witcher 3, Elden Ring, even Hogwarts Legacy and usually, I walk away feeling like I mastered the narrative. I make my choices, I accept the outcomes, and I move on. But this? I’ve never played out a story like it. For the first time in my life as a gamer, I found myself paralyzed by the dialogue. I genuinely didn’t know what the “right” answer was.
It wasn’t just a game; it felt like a direct interrogation of my own ethics and morality. I’m left with a feeling of profound regret that I didn’t see coming.
The writing and world-building in this game are on a level I wasn’t prepared for. People call it an FPS or an Action-RPG, but to me, it felt almost like a first-person visual novel. Early in the game, I spent hours just walking. I avoided fast travel because I wanted to soak in the atmosphere—to see the way the light hit the grime and the neon. That slower pace gave me a much deeper appreciation for the game’s thematic exploration of this technological dystopia.
The immersion isn’t just about the rain-slicked streets; it’s in the quiet, uncomfortable moments. The raw themes, the camera angles, the tight close-ups, and the facial features are so detailed that you can actually see and feel the emotions of the person standing in front of you. When a character looks at you with desperation or disappointment, it hits with a weight that most games can’t replicate. You see the constant, suffocating advertisements for products nobody needs, the random NPCs on the street corner struggling with homelessness and violence, while the ultra-rich continue to get ultra…richer. You don’t just see the inequality; you breathe it in, you feel it.
This led me to my final, defining decision. When it came down to the wire, I chose to go solo. I didn’t want to drag Panam and Rogue into a bloodbath for my sake. I didn’t want to let Johnny take over. I decided to work with Hanako Arasaka directly. At the time, it felt like the most “Ross” thing to do: a pragmatic, calculated risk to secure my own survival. I thought, “This is my life, and I am choosing to fight for it on my own terms.” But as the mission progressed, the feeling shifted. “You pick the cards to your own destiny, and I had drawn the Devil.”
On a lighter note, I went into this thinking it would be like the Witcher 3—pick between a couple of main options or end up alone. I focused all my attention on Judy, thinking I was making progress. I was a genius…
It was an amusing, if not disappointing, realization that no matter how much effort I put in, I could never change the outcome. I didn’t know at the start of the game that by picking a male character – I had already hard-coded my failure in that specific scenario. In Night City, some doors are locked before you even know they exist and you end up outside without even a doll or a braindance for comfort…
“Sorry, V. I think there’s a glitch in your optics. You’re looking for a romance quest, but I’m strictly a ‘girls-only’ club. Maybe try your luck at the Afterlife?”
The final act of the game was a slow-motion car crash for my conscience. Every line of dialogue that crossed the screen felt like I was sinking deeper and deeper into a decision I knew I was going to regret. But there was nothing I could do to change it. I had committed.
After the final mission, I found myself in that sterile, clinical medical facility in orbit. The tests, the isolation, the coldness of the Arasaka staff—it was crushing. I realized that in my desperate attempt to “live my own life,” I had walked right into the dirty hands of the corporations. I became the very thing Johnny Silverhand had been fighting against. I thought I was being pragmatic, but I was actually selling out—and in this universe, selling out is a fate worse than death.
Then the credits rolled, and the video messages started coming through. Hearing someone say, “You’re up with all the rich and famous people now…” was nauseating. I wasn’t a legend; I was a digital file in a corporate database. I felt like I betrayed Johnny. I started the game wary of him—“can I really trust him?”—but by the end, he was the only one being honest. He didn’t want to save my body; he wanted to save my will. By choosing Arasaka, I kept my body but lost my soul.
I originally started my journey as a Corpo, so in a way, this ending was a true reflection of the path I began on. It was hollow. It was sterile. And it was a mistake.
You often have to walk the entire length of the wrong road just to realize exactly why you should have turned back at the start. I had to see the cold reality of that space station to realize that Johnny’s chaotic rebellion had more humanity in it than anything the corporations offered. I lied to myself about what we were fighting for.Usually, I’m a “one and done” type of player. But for the first time, I genuinely feel I need to go back. I need to fix the mistake I made. I owe it to Johnny—and to the version of V that didn’t give up—to find an ending that doesn’t involve sitting in a golden cage. As Johnny once said:
“You sold your soul, V… And the worst part is, you didn’t even get a good price for it.”
Night City won this round, but I’m not done with it yet…
fter much reflection, I went back… but this time with my best choomba, Johnny Silverhand. (Don’t Fear) The Reaper is supposed to be difficult, but with new-found purpose and trust in my partner, I knew it was the right choice. It was pure preem carnage—no collateral, no backups, just two ghosts showing the suits that some assets can’t be liquidated. I traded a permanent, sterile seat in Mikoshi/Secure You Soul fortress for the throne at the Afterlife. My legend isn’t defined by a corporate contract, but by the mark I leave on the world through the choices I make.
“It’s not about how you live, V. It’s about how you die. And what you leave behind.”
Strategic Surveillance of Overextended Assets
Note: We are tracking the correlation between the US AI giants and their South Korean hardware suppliers. If the memory-chip leaders (Samsung/SK Hynix) lead a downturn, the US software bubble is likely next.
Key Companies: NVIDIA (NASDAQ:NVDA), Microsoft (NASDAQ:MSFT), TSMC (NYSE:TSM), Samsung (FRA:XSDG), SK Hynix (FRA:HY9H), AMD (NASDAQ:AMD), Micron (NASDAQ:MU), Alphabet (NASDAQ:GOOGL), Meta (NASDAQ:META), Apple (NASDAQ:AAPL), Oracle (NYSE:ORCL), Palantir (NASDAQ:PLTR).
Why we follow: These companies have had ridiculous growth over the last 2 years and account for the majority of AI technologies.
Crash Indicator: If we see a continued sharp downturn in price over 3-10 days with large volumes of people cashing out.
Key Targets: NASDAQ 100 (NASDAQ:QQQ), S&P 500 (AMEX:SPY), ASX 200 (AMEX:EWA), MSCI South Korea (AMEX:EWY), FTSE 100 (BATS:EWU), Nikkei 225 (AMEX:EWJ).
Why we follow: Tracks broader institutional health across multiple jurisdictions to identify systemic risk.
Crash Indicator: If we see a continued sharp downturn in price over 3-10 days with large volumes of people cashing out.
Key Targets: Gold (TVC:GOLD), Silver (TVC:SILVER), Bitcoin (BINANCE:BTCUSDT), USD-EUR (FX_IDC:USDEUR), USD-AUD (FX_IDC:USDAUD), USD TWI (CAPITALCOM:DXY).
Why we follow: Gold/Silver are the bunker; FX tracks larger FX risk across multiple countries and which countries are looking weaker.
Crash Indicator: Rapid flight from risk assets into metals, or a sudden spike in the USD TWI (DXY) indicating a global dollar squeeze.
TLDR: “I automated my Strava data so I can spend less time looking at my laptop and more time getting lost on trails. Check out how I built a 100% cloud-automated fitness dashboard.”
We’ve reached that time of year again. My social feed is currently a graveyard of Spotify Wrapped stats and “Year in Review” infographics. Strava’s version is… fine. It tells me I ran a lot and probably spent too much money on gels.
But as a data person, a once-a-year few pages of stats doesn’t cut the mustard. I didn’t want a participation trophy; I wanted a command center. I wanted to see how my 2025 hill repeats compared to 2018, and I wanted it to update while I was out actually doing the miles—not while I was hunched over a keyboard hitting “Run Script.”
To get this off the ground (and into the cloud), we built a four-stage pipeline that handles the heavy lifting so I don’t have to. Here is the “Pro” setup:
The result? I go for a run, the cloud wakes up, fetches the data, processes the map, updates the spreadsheet, and the dashboard is ready before I’ve even finished my post-run coffee.
If you saw my previous post on the Sumo Data Master dashboard, you know I love a good trendline. But that project was like a manual transmission—it only worked when I sat down at my local PC and ran the code.
The Strava Dashboard is a different beast. It’s fully “Set and Forget.” While the Sumo project taught me how to analyze data, this project taught me how to engineer it. We moved from a local script to a live, cloud-native application.
You might ask: “Ross, isn’t this overkill for a morning jog?” Maybe… But I have my sights set on the UTMB 100-miler this year and praying to the lottery gods that I get in. When you’re training for 100 miles, “vibes” aren’t a training plan. I need to track my cumulative elevation gain over years, know what works for me and be mountain-ready before hitting the start line.
It was also fun and a challenge to see if I could get it working with full automation.
In my previous posts [Sumo Stats 1] & [Sumo Stats 2], I shared how I used AI to build a dashboard and why I wanted to dive deeper into Sumo statistics before our trip to Fukuoka. But data is only half the fun. The real goal was to create Sumo Stables—our own version of Fantasy Sumo.
If you’ve played Fantasy Football, you know the drill: you draft a team, track their performance, and pray for no injuries. But Sumo brings its own unique flavor. In our league, we aren’t just fans; we are Oyakata (親方 – Stablemasters) managing a portfolio of six rikishi (力士 – wrestlers). We generally use a name selector [wheelofnames] and the order will be 1,2,3,3,2,1,1,2,3,3,2,1,etc.
Every tournament, the stables reset. Each player drafts a team of six rikishi, split evenly to reflect the traditional Banzuke (番付 – official ranking):
Once the picking is finished, you must nominate one Captain. There is a strategic catch: your Captain must be a Maegashira (前頭 – the rank-and-file wrestlers). You cannot choose a top-tier champion (like an Ozeki or Yokozuna) to lead; you have to find the value in the mid-ranks.
Unlike traditional fantasy sports where you just aggregate points at the end, Sumo Stables is about consistency and daily performance. We use a layered scoring system.
Each day, your rikishi enter the ring. A win by a regular stable member earns 1 point. However, your Captain is your “power player”—a win from them earns 2 points. All losses count as 0.
At the end of each day, we compare our match scores. The player with the most wins for that day earns Bonus Day Points that add to their tournament total:
A Barnstorm (全勝 – Zenshō) is when all six of your rikishi win their matches on a single day. To prevent the leader from running away with the tournament, this bonus is handicapped based on your current ranking:
Note: If two rikishi from your own stable are scheduled to fight each other, that match is excluded from the Barnstorm calculation.
On the final day (Day 15), extra Bonus Day Points are awarded to stables holding the top achievers:
Trading can occur regardless of whether a rikishi is injured. Our league allows for two types of movement:
Sumo is a physical sport, and injuries—or Kyūjō (休場 – absence)—happen. If your rikishi is injured, the rules are automatic:
With the Sumo Stats dashboard in hand, our draft wasn’t just about picking names we recognized—it was about portfolio management. The data allowed us to spot the “Back-end Bandits” (rikishi who dominate the final week) versus those who start strong but burn out quickly. This insight is crucial for our trade windows on Days 6 and 11; if a wrestler’s performance trend is dipping, we swap them for a fresh Free Agent.
Another strategic layer was managing “In-fighting.” Because matches between your own stable members don’t count toward a Barnstorm bonus, we used the dashboard to ensure a varied draft. By picking rikishi across different rank clusters, we minimized the chances of our own team knocking each other out of bonus contention, ensuring maximum consistency across the 15 days.
The competition wasn’t just digital. We headed to Fukuoka to witness the action live, managing to secure tickets for Days 6 and 7. There is nothing like the atmosphere of a live Basho, and we even managed to snag some shots with the “big dogs” like Takerufuji.
In the end, the inaugural Sumo Stables title came down to a nail-biting final day between Leighlan and me. Leighlan had been the model of consistency, racking up Day Points throughout the tournament. On the final Sunday, Aonishiki and Yoshinofuji secured me a mountain of bonuses, bringing the score within a hair’s breadth. But alas, no Chanpon (the celebratory feast) for me this time—Leighlan held on for the win.
Poor Joe, on the other hand, picked such a disastrous draft that he became the inspiration for our new Handicap Barnstorm rule. We realized that if someone falls as far behind as Joe did, they need a serious “catch-up” mechanic to keep the group chat interesting!
Since this was our first official Sumo Stables match, we were essentially building the plane while flying it, making several rule changes on the fly. However, the experiment was a massive success. The combination of Python-driven data, a custom Google Sheets engine, and the raw energy of the Fukuoka tournament transformed us from casual observers into obsessed Oyakata (even the tour guide didn’t have the knowledge we had!). We’ll be back for the next tournament—sharper, data-richer, and ready for the draft.
The final answer is not gold, nor treasure, but a ‘planetary reset manual’. The Elbaf Mural confirmed the war; this theory explains the mechanism of the world's rebirth.
For 800 years, the World Government has perpetrated the greatest crime in history. The One Piece is the knowledge needed to undo that crime and complete Joy Boy's promise. For 25+ years, I have been watching One Piece and only now have things started making sense for me to share with you.
The "One Piece" is not a treasure chest. It is a single, singular entity achieved by combining three elements, restoring the world to its original state:

The foundation of the World Government lies in the Void Century (900–800 years ago)—an elemental war between two opposed ideals:
| The Ancient Kingdom (The Will of D.) | The 20 Kings (The Celestial Dragons) |
|---|---|
| Figurehead: Sun God Nika (Joy Boy), symbol of freedom and imagination. | Figurehead: Imu (Umi), the hidden ruler, an anagram for the Japanese word for "Sea." |
| Ideology: Liberty, shared knowledge, and dreams. The "D" Clan were the Dreamers who willed the first Devil Fruits into existence. | Ideology: Control, slavery, and stagnation. Imu represents the Sea’s wrath—the element that hates Devil Fruits and strips users of their freedom. |
The 20 Kings were rulers of independent nations. When they formed the World Government:

The 20 Kings won the war by committing a planetary act of geo-engineering:


Roger found the One Piece, the truth of the Void Century, and the necessary plan, but he couldn't execute it:
The plan requires a coordinated, planet-altering strike. The One Piece is the knowledge that explains how to activate the necessary Trinity of Weapons:
| Weapon | Domain | Function in the Final Plan |
|---|---|---|
| Pluton | Land/Earth | The ultimate warship (Wano). Needed as the destructive force to physically breach and level the Red Line. |
| Poseidon | Sea/Water | The Mermaid Princess (Shirahoshi). Needed to command the Sea Kings to stabilize the massive oceans and rescue people during the cataclysm. |
| Uranus | Sky/Atmosphere | The weapon of the skies (Likely related to Moon/Fairy Vearth technology). Needed to counter Imu’s power and control the atmosphere and global weather chaos after the Red Line is destroyed. |
Luffy and Imu are not alone. The final act involves powerful forces vying for the future:

The evidence is overwhelming. The One Piece is not a battle for gold or treasure, but who can control the planet's destiny.
Roger laughed because he saw the funny story of a man who was 20 years too early but set the perfect stage for his successor.
"Inherited Will, The Flow of Time, and The Dreams of People—as long as people yearn for freedom, these things will never cease!"
Luffy is the embodiment of that yearning. His final adventure isn't about finding the treasure; it's about using it to tear down the repression of the World Government and Nobles System this will then unite the world, Seas, peoples and cultures.
What do you think? Does the scuba gear theory convince you? Let me know in the comments!

TLDR: I’m a finance analyst who knew zero Python, but I used Gemini to write all the code, connect to a public Sumo API, and build a clean, simple data dashboard called Sumo Stats. I made it so my friends and I can analyze unique stats—like how small rikishi beat giants but lose to mid-weights—before our trip to the Fukuoka Grand Tournament!
As a Finance Analyst, I live in spreadsheets, pivot tables, and dashboards. My world is about taking complex data, finding the patterns, and presenting a clear story. Recently, my interest shifted from quarterly earnings to rikishi (Sumo wrestlers).
This November, my friends and I are heading to Japan to see the final Grand Sumo Tournament (Basho) of 2025 in Fukuoka! We’ve all recently gotten hooked on the sport, and naturally, our group chat exploded with stats and predictions.
I started looking for online dashboards we could use to easily track our favorite wrestlers and make informed predictions. What I found was often overly technical, cluttered, or just not user-friendly.
I didn’t need a complex academic tool; I needed a simple, clean dashboard that anyone in our group could use to see the unique factors—height, weight, and winning techniques—that influence the bouts. I wanted to share something easy for my friends to get excited about, and I wanted to learn to use coding in the process.
My biggest obstacle was simple: I had strong analytical skills from my finance background, but no way to actually obtain the historical Sumo data. The solution came when I found a public Sumo API. The data was available; I just needed a way to ask for it. I decided to treat this project as my personal coding crash course, with Gemini as my technical co-founder. I didn’t master Python; I used AI to write the Python. I’d give it the prompt: “Connect to the data source, extract the entire history of bouts, and save it to a CSV file.” My ‘Aha!’ moment came when I successfully ran that first major extraction, seeing thousands of bout records instantly appear in my Google Drive. The barrier was broken, and I knew I could build a simple, powerful tool for the Fukuoka trip!
Using my finance background in process design, I structured the data pipeline:
The power of this dashboard lies in the unique insights we can now use to impress (and probably annoy) each other with predictions during the Fukuoka tournament. Plus, these stats will be critical for the Sumo Stable/Draft we’re planning, complete with trades and replacements throughout the tournament!
Here are a couple of my favorite findings so far:
The dashboard also provides deep dives into Kimarite (winning techniques) ratios, allowing us to see which technical moves are the most reliable. We’re going to be the most prepared group heading into Fukuoka!
I started this project to create a simple tool for a trip with friends, with zero confidence in my coding ability. I finished it with a live, sophisticated dashboard and a newfound appreciation for what I can accomplish with AI assistance.
This journey is proof that:
If I can use my skills in SQL, pivot tables, and financial analysis to build a sophisticated Sumo dashboard, imagine what you can build by applying your expertise to your own passion project. Go find your AI co-pilot, and start building!







