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I Got My Ass Kicked at an Arm Wrestling Competition

I really thought, because of my experience breaking up one or two fights in my life, I would be prepared to compete in an arm wrestling competition at a Scarborough sports bar. I was wrong.

Photos by Evan Davis

Have you ever seen the movie Over the Top? It’s this great Sylvester Stallone movie from the 80s where he plays a jacked up trucker who arm wrestles. All of the arm wrestlers in it are super intense, oiled up monsters who scream at each other in that early 90s WWF wrestler kind of way where you think their heads might explode from a mixture of steroids and anger. When VICE Canada sent me to Scarborough, Ontario to cover an arm wrestling competition called the Mike Gould Classic, I was pumped. I expected all the pageantry and showmanship of Over the Top with intense arm wrestling glory and defeat. I was ready to see full grown, muscle bound men decimate each other’s biceps to the point of burst skin, flying guts, exposed wounds and paramedics. I wanted to see gigantic men turned into weeping, helpless children. And I was thrilled about the potential of it all. But instead, I ended up at a place called the Loaded Dog Sports Bar & Pub in a Scarborough strip mall.

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When I arrived with my photographer, the bar was full, but we couldn’t find the arm wrestling. There were tables full of families eating chicken strips and onion rings, and the waitresses looked annoyed. We grabbed a beer and waded through a lot of smiling faces until we found a stage at the far end of the room where we discovered a smattering of beefcake musclemen. On the stage, a tiny battle was already in progress. We had made it in time for the first act: Children’s arm wrestling.

The kids divisions were separated between super lightweights, lightweights and heavyweights—but really, they should have all been classified as super adorable. None of them seemed to care very much, win or lose they would walk off the stage with a straight face and go back to sitting with their Moms. I guess little kids haven’t yet developed the intensity to handle a sport where you can potentially break another man’s arm like it’s a cinnamon stick. And neither had I, really.

What I can do, however, is gauge cuteness. The honorary Brad Casey cute award definitely went to this girl. She demolished a handful of boys and took home two medals for her ferocity. Nice one. At this point, my only hope was that I would fare as well as her. But, as you already know by the headline of this article, I really really didn't.

In order to steady my nerves, we grabbed a couple more drinks and settled in to check out the next match which was billed as Canada vs America. A couple of guys, who looked like bears in bro's clothing, came to the stage. When the American was introduced no one booed, but the crowd went nuts for the Canadian guy. Someone yelled, “Git em!” from the back of the room. I felt uncomfortable, but clearly it was on.

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This was the intensity I was hoping for. Everyone in the room went silent as these two slabs of meat in tight t-shirts tried to turn each other’s wives into widows. Even though the Canadian won the series 3-2, nobody's arm was ripped out of their sockets to reveal a fountain of blood that splashed all over the front row. Bummer. Still, the audience went fucking nuts because Canadians love beating Americans at absolutely anything. Even if it’s just an arm wrestling match in Scarborough.

I approached the American afterward and asked him if he’d ever seen Over the Top. He said it was "Okay, but kind of corny." We talked for a couple minutes and when I shook his hand it felt like the bones of my hand were a squirrel skull underneath the wheel of a speeding tractor-trailer. This was not a good omen.

The next group to compete was called "The Masters." They were basically a group of guys who were over 50 and retired from pro arm wrestling, but still wanted to compete.

They were okay. A couple of them were wearing these weird goth lifts on their shoes.

I asked one of them what that was all about and he said he wore them "because they help you get some sort of height advantage." I asked him if he’d ever worn them to a goth rave, and he laughed and patted me on the back.

The amateurs division was up next, and my photographer and I were pretty drunk at this point, so I finally signed up to compete. I’m not a big guy but I’ve worked in some bars where I’ve had to break up fights, so I thought I could hold my own. That said, I have hair that girls would die for, feminine features, and I weep when I listen to Bright Eyes. And yet I thought, “I’m strong enough to handle myself, I’ll probably just have to go up against some locals. Maybe I’ll even bring home a trophy!” What I didn’t notice was that there were arm wrestling teams that came to this event from all over Ontario. Clearly if these people are traveling just to arm wrestle with strangers in a sports bar, they were serious. I started to get pretty nervous.

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The first guy I was up against came from Ottawa. As if that wasn't scary enough, he had one of those spider-web tattoos on his elbow that meant he was either a neo-Nazi or a former convict. Possibly both. I stared him down to try and intimidate him. “My psycho-glare will help me win,” I thought foolishly to myself.

The man with the spider web tattoo was not intimidated. In fact, he beat me so fast that I didn’t even realize the match had started. Note the instant expression of resignation on my face after I lost.

After the match, a bunch of guys came up and told me they were scared of that guy so I “shouldn’t feel bad” that I lost to him because he’s “probably pretty fucked up.” I nodded solemnly.

At that point I only had one more chance to prove myself and bring home some kind of glory. The next guy I was up against looked like he was 18. He was hyperventilating as he got up on the stage. I sized him up, and figured I’d have no problem going straight over the top just like they do in the Sylvester Stallone film: Over the Top. As we squared up, I felt that we were evenly matched. There was even a fleeting moment where I thought I could win. Evidently, I was being delusional.

After my second defeat, I realized it was time to catch the first bus out of Scarborough. It had been a long day and I met a lot of nice people, but I was ultimately disappointed by the lack of blood and guts in the world of arm wrestling I’d been witness to. Where was the violence? The drama? The dislocated limbs and the line of ambulances outside the venue? Everybody seemed to love and respect each other as equally matched participants, in a greatly overlooked sport they care for deeply.

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I, on the other hand, simply lost a couple of arm wrestling matches and will likely never return to a competition like this ever again.

This isn't the first time Brad has immersed himself in weirdness:

I Listened to K-Pop for 48 Hours Straight

I Had a Face Tattoo for a Week

I Tried to Astral Travel from Toronto to the Pyramids