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A minute later, they were back at it. This time, though, they’d just restarted when Ward faulted again. Two and you’re out, which meant Bresnan took the win, adding an anti-climatic end to what had been one of the most — and to be perfectly honest, one of the only — exciting matches of the day.
Because the truth is, despite its many virtues, arm wrestling doesn’t make for the world’s greatest spectator sport. Mainly this is a problem of brevity. The average Grapple match was over in one or two seconds — a length not exactly conducive to dramatic tension or mythic story arcs.
Which is not to say, however, that the day was anything less than wildly entertaining. There were steely glares and raucous taunts and mounds of absurdly well-developed musculature. There was one woman who competed in heels and another who reapplied lipstick between rounds and plenty of others who looked like they could probably stomp me with an unfriendly glance. There were haircuts that would be equally at home in either Williamsburg or Broad Channel. There were cowboy hats and oversized American flags and reflective sunglasses. There was a champion named Buttafuoco (admit it, you just snickered).
And anyway, on a certain level, there’s something inherently entertaining about spending time immersed in a heretofore unfamiliar scene, gawking at the rituals of yet another of our many self-selected tribes. There seems no limit to the range and specificity of human enthusiasms. It’s a situation both amusing and bewildering — heartening and discouraging at the same time. Frisbee-golfing, spoon collecting, video-dancing, wife-swapping — there’s an expert constituency out there for just about everything.
Interestingly enough, the highlight of the afternoon was delivered not by some grizzled veteran but a rookie on a lark. South Ozone Park’s Mirline Berrouet came to the contest at the behest of her high school chemistry teacher, and, despite going up against what was advertised as some of the toughest competition in the Northeast, made her way into the final round and a second place finish.
Clad in a black “NYC ARMS” T-shirt, Berrouet started her improbable run by crushing former National Champion Sue Fisher.
“A huge upset!” the announcer shouted as the audience — if not stunned, at least surprised — burst into applause.
And from there she kept rolling, each time climbing shyly up to the stage and beating down her opponent. Then, with a sweetly sheepish smile on her face and her eyes fixed firmly on her shoes in a way that would make Conor Oberst proud, she’d shuffle back into the crowd and take her seat, clapping politely for the next round of competitors.
In the semifinals she beat Fisher again, and though she went down in the final round to this year’s champion, it was an undeniably outstanding debut.
I caught her on her way out, and asked if she’d mind taking a minute to talk. Still shy, but accommodating nonetheless, she agreed.
And so, reportorial jackass that I am, I pumped her for quotes, insight, motivation. Why had she come to that day’s competition? Her teacher had suggested it. Had she ever arm wrestled competitively before? No, she hadn’t. Was she surprised at how well she had done? Yes, she was.
So what, exactly, was this anyway, I asked. The start of a semi-pro arm wrestling career? The precursor to a tour schedule and twice-a-day workouts? Or was it just a gas, a game, a one-time thing? A fierce rebuke to professionalism and its devotees? A small triumph for those few of us still out there who, basically, have no idea what we’re doing?
