Brothers in Arms

While attending an arm-wrestling competition in Bloem, Oliver Roberts encounters a meditative madman and breaks the first rule of the sport

When I volunteered to arm-wrestle a girl, I realised it was a surprisingly manly act. For as I stood interlocked with her, our elbows resting on red padding, the biased crowd all rooting for the ladies champion, I looked over at her boyfriend and he was incensed. To him, it didn't matter if I won or lost; he just didn't like that I was holding hands with his girlfriend and daring her to lose in front of a roomful of Afrikaans manne.

This was last Saturday, at a gym in Fichardtpark in Bloemfontein. It was the regional arm-wrestling 'compitition' (so said the online flyer) and 20-odd men and a scattering of surprisingly unlesbian women had gathered to attempt to qualify for the national championships, which last year had over 300 entries.

From there it will be the glory of the world championships in Las Vegas. But fame and fortune won't exactly be theirs. John "The Perfect Storm" Brzenk from the US has been the world's top arm-wrestler for the past 25 years. So far, this accolade has earned him between $25000 and $50000 a year, three Harley-Davidsons, a truck and a role in Over the Top with Sylvester Stallone. But keep in mind that most of the competitors here are security guards, maize farmers and shop assistants; ballooning biceps and taut wrists could be their salvation. Winners at the national championships receive a medal and a certificate, plus the honour of competing with heroes such as Brzenk in the worlds.

There is a lot more to arm wrestling than you might imagine (if you ever have imagined). For instance, there are several types of grip - top roll, straight-wristed, classic hook - and your chances of victory are dependent on the style your opponent chooses.

Thus, competitors generally have an idea of each opponent's favoured style - they will have "studied" them beforehand - in order to know which strategy to employ to win. This all seems very unlikely as matches generally last no more than 15 seconds, and arm-wrestlers do not seem the most studious types, but Chris Crous, a Bloemfontein arm-wrestler and organiser, assured me otherwise.

"It doesn't matter how big your bicep is, it's all about hip placement and posture," he said. "Back and side pressure, hand and wrist."

I also assumed that having a heavy-sounding name like 'Henk' or 'Morné' or 'Danie' is of substantial advantage.

Matches are divided into weight classes - intervals of 5kg - and two divisions - left and right-handed. In the "open class" men can compete with women, though I never witnessed this on the day.

Arm-wrestling can also be a dangerous sport. The current SA champion, Terrence "The Highlander" (there can be only one) Opperman, was in attendance in Bloemfontein, but couldn't compete because he'd broken a bone in his hand at a previous meeting.

Crous told me that if the arm is not positioned properly, it is possible for the humerus bone in the upper arm to snap. When I suggested this must be quite a funny thing to see, Crous frowned and listed the 10 rules of arm-wrestling. I was hoping he would say "First rule - nobody talks about arm-wrestling", but the first rule is to shake hands before and after, like gentlemen. Others include no rings or watches, no crouching to create leverage and fouls for lifting your elbow and starting prematurely.

Crous also lauded arm-wrestling for "helping men become men the right way", through discipline and respect.

"Arm-wrestling is for you if your head and heart are in the right place," he said.

It is also a family sport. This became evident when several errant babies had to be cleared from underneath the competitors' table before matches. When I watched mother and daughter - Shirley and Sheree Chamberlain - take each other on, Sheree, the 16-year-old daughter, won.

They have a gym at home where they train with fellow arm-wrestlers, husband and father Lionel and little boy Lannton.

"Ya, I intimidate the boys, I beat them all," said Sheree of her status at her new high school.

Match of the day featured shaven-headed Nico Botha, a man who was taking things very seriously. Dressed in a tight, black vest and with a bearded, manicured face, he prepared himself before each bout via a display of vigorous, meditative breathing.

Whenever he lost a match, he slammed the table with his fist and stormed off in a fit of pique. I was waiting, with considerable relish, for the moment when he either got into a brawl with a fellow competitor or accidentally kicked over a table on top of a wayward baby and had to sheepishly concede to the wrath of the mother.

Neither of these happened but he was thrilling to watch.

"It's all about the adrenaline. I feel a mad explosion," he told me when I cornered him after one of his fights. He had a tattoo of a wolf on his right bicep. He got it when he became an instructor in North Korean Taekwondo.

I asked him about his spectacular pre-fight routine.

"It's meditation," he replied, eyes shifting madly. "I get into a zone where it's just me alone. I hear and see no one. I'm in a deep hole."

Before my fight with her - to get to know her better - I asked the pretty Elzette Burger, 25, why she armwrestles.

"It keeps you fit and releases stress," she replied. "And it makes me feel sexy, especially when I win."

Then I looked over at her bulky boyfriend, who was listening to this and staring me down.

I wanted to be a gentleman, but I simply couldn't afford to lose.

• For more information on arm- wrestling and events in your area, visit www.armwrestling.co.za