The Old Master Goes Home
Theodor Adorno said that when it comes to the paintings of Old Masters that their late works are catastrophes. The old works’ maturity, he wrote, “does not resemble the kind one finds in fruit. They are for the most part not round, but furrowed, even ravaged. Devoid of sweetness, bitter and spiny, they do not surrender themselves to mere delectation.” As for Old Masters, so for Old Champions. John Brzenk, the greatest armwrestler to walk the face of the earth, went home on his shield at the King of the Table 6 supermatch series in Dubai last weekend.
Few Americans know Brzenk’s name, but every armwrestler in the world has looked up to him. A former Delta airlines mechanic with an “aw shucks attitude,” big dimples, and thumbs the size of Miller cans, Brzenk spent a quarter century undefeated, often flying to the far reaches of the former Soviet bloc to rip men twice his size to the pin pad. He even had an action figure made of him in the 1980s—he’d been an extra in the corny Sylvester Stallone vehicle about armwrestling called Over the Top (1987).
Though the Russian Alexey Voyevoda would end his 25 year winning streak, as cataloged in the seminal documentary Pulling John (2009), Brzenk would remain an elite competitor into the 2010s. He toyed with retirement, but it didn’t stick. The table kept calling him back and he’s been back for about a year and a half now. At 58 years old, he can still keep up with many of the new breed. That’s the thing about armwrestling: it’s a tendon sport. Strength matters, but connective tissue and technique matter more. You can age with it, as Brzenk has, because tendons don’t flag as fast as muscle.
But it’s not as if he's weak. Derek Smith, a California young gun half Brzenk’s age, lost to Brzenk not long ago. Brzenk’s back pressure—his ability to pull his opponent’s hand towards him—"feels hydraulic,” Smith said. And that’s another thing about armwrestling: it’s all about intimacy. You can’t hurt someone who’s far away from you. Maybe at the cafeteria table during recess third graders can grip up and then try to rotate their arms counterclockwise, but if you do that as a grown man you’re liable to shatter your humerus like Narsil. It’s a game of angles and leverages, moves and counter moves. What you really want is to get your opponent close enough to you that they’re too weak to resist you burying the back of their hand below the pin line.
John’s preferred way of doing this is what’s called a low-hand top roll. Here’s how to picture that: take your elbow and plant it on a table just in front of your sternum. Now look at your hand. Tilt your fingers up, then lower them so they’re parallel with the table. Next, make like you’re trying to hold a cylinder in your hand, forming an “o” with your thumb and index finger. Try tucking that “o” into your left breast pocket. That’s a low-hand top roll. It belongs to a species of armwrestling techniques known as “outside” armwrestling, because you’re moving your shoulder backwards and away from the center of the table to pull it off. The opposite of a top roll is an “inside” move called the “hook,” which is when you cup your hand while moving your shoulder forward. Brzenk can do it all and more, of course, but the low hand top roll is his signature. If he takes you with it, it means you can call him daddy even if everyone else still calls him John.
But Brzenk’s been on a losing streak. He’s had two supermatches in three months, all while battling respiratory issues. When he has stepped to the table he has looked groggy and unfocused—not a good headspace when you’re facing killers like Georgia’s Irakli Zirakashvili and Kazakhstan’s “Bruce Lee of armwrestling,” Kydyrgali Ongarbaev. His joints creak, his shoulder nags him, and over the weekend he had to face one of the strongest men in the history of the sport: Russian phenom Denis Cyplenkov.
Cyplenkov cuts an imposing figure. His hands are like steering wheels; if I had to choose between a million dollars and his head filled with quarters, I’m going with his head, and when Canadian armwrestler Devon Larratt faced Cyplenkov in 2018, he said his biceps “looked like an ass,” they were so big. Cyplenkov was the tournament king of the 2010s. But now Denis is back from four years off due to health complications. In the interim, the “Georgian Hulk” Levan Saginashvili has become the strongest in the sport. What the armwrestling world wants to know is if Denis is anything like the monster we knew.
Fifteen years ago, these men met at a supermatch event in Las Vegas called Vendetta. Brzenk, nearly twenty years Cyplenkov’s senior, made quick work of the young man. Denis was the bigger man then just as he is today. At the weigh-ins, Brzenk came in over thirty pounds under Cyplenkov, who tipped the scale to 276lbs. Brzenk’s biceps measured 17.3 inches and his forearm 15.7; for Cyplenkov, 20.4 inches and 17.7 inches.
The press conference was civil. Both men praised each other, addressed concerns about their health, and expressed gratitude at still being around to pull at such a high level. The host asked Denis why he picked John. The answer was simple: he was given a list and John was the most worthy opponent listed. Indeed, in the pre-fight interview, Cyplenkov described Brzenk as his idol, someone he’d been chasing his whole career. For Brzenk, to pull Denis is an honor. Who can believe they’ve held up this long? The match is fifteen years in the making, a clash of titans that fans have pined for just as deeply as they’ve lamented that one man must lose.
In the first round, after Brzenk walked out to Disturbed’s “Down with the Sickness” and Cyplenkov to what sounded like a Russian Simon and Garfunkel song (which also seemed to indicate something about their respective countries), the writing was on the wall. They’d agreed to go straight to the straps rather than getting a natural grip. To outsiders, the straps are a baffling part of the sport. Generally, they’re used to bind the competitors together if they “slip” out of each other’s hands to make sure the match continues. In some rule sets, the competitors can decide to forego all the set up shenanigans and have the whole thing out in the straps. John has had some thumb issues (he fell off his snowmobile) the strap would resolve. Denis, a gentleman, agreed to go into the straps immediately every round.
While watching the ref bind their hands together, I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Cyplenkov’s hand was so big it looked like a lunchbox designed by David Cronenberg clamped around Brzenk’s thumb. What outsiders need to know is that every American armwrestler wishes they could be even half of what John Brzenk has been. I wish I could be even ten percent of John Brzenk.
In a sport still cleft in two by the logic of the Cold War—the other supermatch event Brzenk has competed in during the last months is called East v. West and is held in Istanbul—he’s one of the main Americans who’s been able to give the post-Soviets a real fight. The talent pool is just deeper in the East and oftentimes the state bank rolls their athletes' lives. Those of us in the Anglosphere have to find ways to incorporate training into our everyday lives just to escape mediocrity. But Brzenk? He’s the Giant Killer. He makes it look easy.
But Denis made John look weak. After the first round, which Denis took after John conceded to spare his energy, the second removed all doubt. Denis patiently pulled John toward him, bleeding Brzenk’s strength above the pin pad until the American gave out. Even when John tried to take it inside and hook Denis, the Russian was too much for him. Every round saw John’s face almost pixelating with effort and Denis emotionless, placid, as if he’d popped in for a tough sparring session a few weeks before a big match. Denis even showed John kindness in the set up, the most important part of the match, indicating that he’s just that far beyond Brzenk now. You want to be in your best position before the “ready go”? Fine by me, buddy. I’ve got your number.
These things go for six rounds no matter what. After Denis’s fourth consecutive win, the men hugged. The audience cheered. The next two rounds were honorable and academic. John put up a great fight, but he wasn’t enough. Denis, meanwhile, looked as ecstatic as a piece of granite can look after the match. He’s back and he’s ready to kick some ass. When the announcer asked him who he wants next, no one needed his translator to tell us: Devon Larratt. They have some unfinished business—Cyplenkov crushed Larratt in a left-handed match back in 2015, but Devon’s a right-hander. What was Devon’s response? “Denis, of course. Of course the answer is ‘yes.’ You did very well. I’m not John Brzenk—I’m not John Brzenk. I saw that you were nice. That was really kind of you. See you in October.”
The era now belongs to the men who grew up watching John. Everyone, from the announcers to the audience to the fans and hobbyists who bought the Coresports pay-per-view like me, knew that this event was a shift in eras for the little understood sport that all of us hold dear. If Brzenk had won, it would have meant a few more years of having an American on or near the throne. Devoid of sweetness indeed.
So, what’s next for John? Decades ago, American poet Robinson Jeffers once found a hawk with a damaged wing on his property. He and his son took care of it for six weeks until the poet could no longer take the ignobility of a predator reduced to nursing. Jeffers then gave the raptor the “lead gift in the twilight.” What most people don’t or can’t understand, thought Jeffers, is that “pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse.” Lesser men wouldn’t be able to compete at Brzenk’s level while pushing sixty. But his hand no longer holds the torch. Having known dominance, many a king will eventually watch the borders of his principality draw nearer his feet, strength most in demand only after its supply depleted. After the match, Brzenk hesitated when asked about a rematch. Denis, he told the audience, can still get better. He can’t. But he’s “always open.” Brzenk then waved to the crowd and walked off stage.
Emmet Penney is the editor-in-chief of the daily energy newsletter, Grid Brief and the host of the Nuclear Barbarians podcast. He is also a contributing editor at Compact. You can follow his armwrestling Substack, The King’s Move.
