Last Saturday evening, I found myself in the bustling village of Carlingford, where every establishment was filled to the brim – not even a single room in any hotel was available. While pondering the hustle, a local bartender informed me of the ongoing “world arm-wrestling competition” taking place at a nearby community centre.
The event had been somewhat embellished in its reputation, yet not so much as its actual name; ‘Armgods Valhalla’. This international event was making its rounds from its home ground in Manchester, England, at the suggestively named Club Torture.
Before making my return journey to Dublin, I decided to make a detour to the event location. I managed to catch the end of a “superheavyweight right-hand” wrestling duel between Maateiwarangi Heta-Morris. The New Zealand Maori, also known as “the Beast”, was up against James Stewart, a traditional Scot sporting his kilt.
As the musicians played and indoor fireworks exploded, the predominately male audience erupted in cheers. Amidst the testosterone-filled atmosphere, the competitors slowly made their way to the stage, their every grimace captured by handheld cameras.
My understanding of competitive arm-wrestling had typically been literary, predominantly from Hemingway’s famed novel, The Old Man and the Sea. His epic description of an arm-wrestling event involving tough dockworkers kept me captivated. But an equally strong memory is of a different kind of contest, one recounted in James Joyce’s short story Counterparts, set in Mulligan’s Pub, Dublin around 1904.
Farrington, the main character in the story who struggles with alcohol, has a terrible night that is made even worse when he is defeated by an English acrobat in an arm wrestling match. This event takes place at the famous Tivoli theatre, with the pair having two matches, one lasting a mere “thirty seconds”. Having recently acquired a keen understanding of the sport, I am of the opinion that Hemingway’s prolonged and overly dramatic portrayal of the arm wrestle, which eventually concludes on a Monday morning as the crowd calls for a draw so they can head to work, is more a result of poor technique than anything else.
Take for instance, a superheavyweight battle in Carlingford that was wrapped up in about 10 minutes. This encounter was a best-of-five match, in which the chap from New Zealand emerged as the winner with a score of 3-1. What took up most of the time wasn’t the match itself, but rather the process of reaching a fair hand grip to kick-start the match. This procedure is quite complex, similar to setting up a rugby scrum, marked by regular resets, and at times even demands the referee to methodically loop a strap between and around the competitors’ hands, much like in some archaic nuptial ritual.
However, all through the quick bouts of physical contest, fans can get quite caught up in the action. There was this small Scotsman next to me, who kept jumping up and down like he was on a spring, all the while showering the Maori contestant with a tirade of slurs. Once the match was over, it appeared the Scotsman was gearing up for a fight with the winner. A rather foolish idea as the winning biceps of Heta-Morris was larger than the Scotsman’s torso. Yet, as they crossed paths, the Scotsman’s seeming fury melted into a grin, wisely deciding to exchange fist-bumps instead.
This is consistent with Heta Morris’s reputation – quite the contrast to his moniker. According to a profile on him by Radio New Zealand in 2019, despite appearances, he is truly a “sentimental gentle giant”. However, it’s worth noting that he has accidentally “broken seven arms” since becoming a professional. Arm breaks are par for the course in this sport, but Heta-Morris credits his career for steering him away from potentially worse activities.
With a past marked by hardships of poverty and battles with alcohol addiction, including times when he was “arm-wrestling his mates for food on rubbish bins”, Heta-Morris believes the sport probably saved him from landing up in jail.
Touching on the topic of nuptial rites during the Middle Ages, the Armgods from Valhalla certainly weren’t the only factor contributing to the lack of accommodation in Carlingford this Saturday. As is usually the scenario in this hamlet, it was also teeming with pillaging viqueens, and not less than two hen dos were happening concurrently.