Chaaa—unch! The mat is wired for noise. It sounds like your desk stapler amplified 200 times. Another chaaa— unch. The 300-pound Russian has to be paraplegic after that one: body slammed from a height of six feet onto his lower spine. First time I’ve seen them, the honest wrestlers, and I’m appalled, worried. I’d rather have student discount tickets to a vasectomy.
The Russian has survived. He slugs the Hawaiian in one ear: again, again, maybe 15 times. Armlength, tailored blows, phony as those step-on-his-toe-see-him-dance paper dolls they sell outside on Eighth Avenue. In real foot pounds the impact would splinter fist and head alike. Dean Ho goes down, groggy. Volkoff stomps on his ear with the left heel, as, simultaneously, his right heel bangs out a stapler sound effect: chaa—unch, chaa—unch. But Ho recovers. With that kind of miracle they could charter a new Lourdes. Ho slingshots his body off the ropes: spectacular collision mat-center. Volkoff flying-mares over Ho, hooks Ho by the elbow, cartwheels him in turn through his legs. They land on their heads. Beautiful in a way; anything so well-choreographed deserves respect. What it is—it’s an Apache dance for jocks.
Comments