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During my days of being ten feet tall and bullet proof I liked to engage in the challenge of finger fighting. It was not a skill that you would ever put in your resume but it was great at the parties when the jocks liked to show off their strength and a girl of 110 pounds wanted to do some shaming. For whatever reason I was capable of winning a finger fight with even the strongest of guys. The challenge was to grab your opponent's hands with your fingers entwined with theirs, then you twist and try to push the other persons wrist back, the first persons to call uncle was the loser. Now the advantage I had over most was that I could lock my wrist and it pretty much did not matter what you did, that lock would not break. What would usually end up happening is the jock would get thirsty, give up and I would win by default. That is, until a football player with a grudge wanted redemption for an unintentional ego bruising.
Freddie, not his real name, challenged me to a digit duel and we got down to the business of protecting our honors. He, being a football player and strong as an ox, was actually trying to prove the point that he had been having a bad day in gym class a few years back when I beat him on a "two arm" hang challenge. The rules were simple you hung from a chin up bar in the full chin up position for as long as you could muster and I hung on for a substantially longer period of time than he. I suppose the fact that he weighed 180 and I a solid 110 at the time, never entered into his line of thinking. All that mattered was he got beat by a girl and that needed to be rectified. So with a look of sheer determination he wove his strong fingers through mine and the "get ready, get set, go" was commanded. Freddie took great pleasure in twisting my hands completely around and putting pressure against my wrists. Then a look of complete surprise came over his face; my wrists were not breaking lock. His look was quickly followed by a look of dire pain that came over mine when Freddie lifted me off the floor and gave me a sharp shake. First a felt a pop in the top of my right hand and I let out a squeal that should have broke glass. Freddie let go and I hit the floor.
The lesson today kids is that it is not wise to mess with a football player's pride. He never intended to hurt me, he just wanted his name plate on the trophy of "Manliest Man" untarnished and it came in the form of finger fighting for first place. I will admit I was in a great deal of pain for some time and I never challenged another person again, my finger fighting days were over. And though my glory days may not have warranted me any "hall of fame" status, the reminders , though painful at times, make me shake my head and chuckle at just how ridiculous it all could be. I should have stuck to "rock, paper, scissors" for the finger to finger combat!
I look forward to the day when my grand-children say, "Grandma, tell me about the good ol days!"
