Arms Dealers on the Intrepid
The idea of an arm-wrestling contest might sound stupid to some, like a rock-paper-scissors championship. After all, this is a "sport" that exists pretty much in the precincts of bars, as a contest between draft beers-one way to waste a lazy afternoon. Something named "The Big Apple Grapple" should've fit the bill nicely: guys teased into wrestling by their girlfriends or their dumb buddies; some goofy characters showing up to get photographed by tourists or the weekend news; and everyone getting a good laugh over the water cooler at work on Monday.
But The Big Apple Grapple was serious indeed, an event assembled by the New York Arm Wrestling Association (NYAWA). This was their 29th year doing the Grapple, and by the end of the day last Saturday, a new King and Queen of Arms would reign over New York City. Appropriately for such a macho sport, it all took place on board the retired USS Intrepid, on the Hudson River in Hell's Kitchen.
Outside the aircraft carrier, parents, grandparents and kids lined up to board the floating museum. You'd think these were the only people who would get out of their houses at 10 on a cold, wet Saturday morning. Past the gates and inside the museum, though, others had left the comfort of their bagels and cream cheese to flex their biceps in manly competition.
While families of tourists from Arkansas looked at gift-shop tchotchkes of military memorabilia, at the far end of the ship's hold arm wrestlers were already waiting to get weighed in. Rows of folding chairs faced a over-lit stage, where referees were measuring and adjusting the "grappling table." On the floor, wrestlers stripped down to their shorts and stepped stiffly onto the scale, redressed and sat quietly. Some of them discussed strategy with their teammates.
Don't Call Them 'Wrestlers'
First of all, pal, listen up: Don't call them "wrestlers." They're "pullers," OK, and this isn't just some game. Got it?
"This is what I do," said Justin Kopa, a puller from Scranton, Penn. These guys take this as seriously as any sport. They practice year round, always training for the next tournament. When they're not practicing, they're working out. Most of them have forearms the size of your neck. Or hips. Once they get to the table, they execute moves like "the toproll," "the hook" and "the post." They scout out opponents, watch their tape and try to figure out how to pick them apart.
"These guys are professionals," Nickolay Hadzhiev said, watching from the stands. Hadzhiev is a 19-year-old Princeton student from Bulgaria. Like his opponents, this Ivy Leaguer didn't come to the Grapple looking for anything more than a challenge. It's certainly not the plastic trophy. Reflecting on the match, Hadzhiev smiled: "When you get into it, you can't get out of it," he said. "There is no going back."
The crowd that showed up was devoted. It was all pullers, or friends of pullers, or their families; a couple of pullers even brought their trainers. Some of the tour groups stopped to watch, bemused at another "only in New York" spectacle. The hell-bent thrill of grunting and groaning while trying to pin your opponent's arm to the table crosses all borders and boundaries. Whites, blacks and Hispanic Americans mingled easily with their Swedish, Uzbeki and Turkish counterparts.
Eastern Europe was especially heavily represented. One tall woman had draped herself in the crimson, white and blue flag of Mother Russia. Mamuka Pajishvili, King of Arms two years running, hails from the Republic of Georgia. But nobody's got a lock on this title. The Brazilian team, anchored by Marcio Barboza, proved to be particularly fearsome.
Anyone expecting gruff overweight slobs would be disappointed: Most of these guys (and four girls) keep themselves in shape and are more than presentable. The community of pullers is one of the attractions for several participants. "[Pullers] are very friendly people," Dina Fortuna said. "They'll welcome you into their house." Dina is the matriarch of the famous Fortuna Family. She, husband Dan and daughter Amanda are all champions. Dina herself belies the image of the female arm wrestler-skinny with a bright smile. Her family got into the sport because of that sense of community. "They're very dynamic people. They're great personalities, but then you get them up there." She laughed and motioned to the table, where all the good vibes end.
Gene Camp, founder of NYAWA, supervised the event wearing a cowboy hat while his mom handed out T-shirts at the sign-in desk.
Every puller focuses on winning their next match, but after that they share a common goal. They want arm-wrestling respected for the sport that it is. Camp compares the Big Apple Grapple to the New York Marathon, something started by running fanatics that went on to become a popular phenomenon. The benchmark they're eyeing is the Olympics.
"If badminton should be in the Olympics, arm-wrestling should be in the Olympics," Kopa said. But pullers still need to settle some problems before they get there, and they know it. "I'd like to see it recognized, because it's a great sport," Fortuna said. But, she admitted, "It needs some fine-tuning as far as how it's run."
Until arm-wrestling becomes a professional sport, it's going to be run by amateurs. And as dedicated as they are, these people are pullers, not administrators. There's no certification process for arm-wrestling organizations; championships can be given out by anyone with a plastic trophy and a free afternoon. There's not even a standard set of rules. Pullers reached a consensus on the basics, like keeping the elbow on the table and all hats turned around, but a lot's still up in the air.
It didn't help that the referees were pullers themselves, volunteers who were also competing in the Grapple. That's the flip-side of the commune atmosphere. The Big Apple Grapple may have been held on the Intrepid, but it could have gone down in someone's backyard.
But arm-wrestling's day as a legitimate sport-up to and including the Olympics-may not be far off. Organizers and adherents continue working to unite the fractured system. Pulling John, a documentary about John Brzenk ("Briz-zink"), a legendary puller, is nearing completion, and some think it will do for arm-wrestling what Pumping Iron did for bodybuilding. Meanwhile Travis Bagent, a motor-mouth champ dubbed "the Muhammad Ali of arm-wrestling," just became the sport's first professionally sponsored competitor.
For now, pullers are content to fill the widening void left by the decaying poker fad (one can only hope). All the local news outlets showed up to the Grapple, but only to take pictures of Cynthia Yarby, the arm-wrestling powerhouse from Wolf, Okla. They taped her fight and left, having gotten their images of a female arm-wrestler to help fill the "wacky" segment of their weekend sports coverage.
They didn't stick around to see her crowned Queen of Arms for the seventh consecutive year, or to watch Mamuka Pajishvili pass his King of Arms title on to another Georgian, this one named Georgi. Then again, almost no one hung around for the whole thing. Curious tourists stayed for a couple of bouts, then got on line for the Intrepid's flight-simulator. Kids got distracted and dragged their grandparents off somewhere else. Even some competitors skipped out early, mostly the ones pissed off with the officiating. At the end of the Big Apple Grapple, all that was left were the pullers slapping each other on the back and mugging for their friends' photographs.
All in all, not a bad way to spend an afternoon.