The Man Game (40 page)

That what you said when you burned down—

Litz grabbed for Campbell's legs, then somehow had him in a headlock. When Campbell fought back he increased the pressure. Campbell found an ear and tried to tear it off Litz, who promptly kneed him in the face and chose to liberate him with a burning red neck-wringer. Campbell gasped,
whuorked
, rubbed his eyes, and walked it off for a couple steps hunkered over studying his nose for blood, which there was, then abruptly felt Litz shove him from behind, whiplashing him to the ground. Through teary eyes what he descried from his place face-down in dirt was the finish to Litz's forward somersault, which had been vaulted off his own fucking back and landed perfectly, impressing the woodsmen to no end
{see
fig. 9.2
}
.

Litz saw a window of opportunity in a flinch of time when he was out of Campbell's peripheral, and in that rush of adrenalin he nearly snatched his point. He intended to sneak up behind Campbell and pirouette him through a move that finished with a spine-ruining pile-driver. But just at that instant Campbell's head slumped back. The knuckles of his limp hand touched his forehead. Campbell said: Oh, mah lord, as he promptly fainted. Litz found himself in the unexpected
position of having caught Campbell in his arms
{see
fig. 9.3
}
.

FIGURE 9.2
Gone Fishin

Calabi's commentary: Your opponent's face should be as firmly planted in the earth as you are free a any gravitational impediments; airborne versatility will surely impress the court a public opinion.

Why thank you, declared Campbell, I didn't know you're such a gentleman.

Litz dropped him. The audience blew their tops off.

Rising from his faked woozy spell, Campbell saluted everyone with the pleasure of a true trickster princess. It was no move. Good for a laugh, but anyone could pretend to faint. Not a point. Campbell thought he'd whipped a new move on him, which was not the case.

Get, said Litz.

What the fuck, said Campbell. We're tied. One-one.

You don't get a full game. You heard Pisk. One-point games. You interrupted a game. If you don't get a point, you go back into the crowd, eh.

That was a point.

Boo, said most of the audience. Nah, you didn't.

Yes I did. With the Faint.

The Faint. You and your names, said Litz. Doesn't mean it's a move just because you did it.

That was Campbell's point, claimed a minority of the crowd. Campbell got you with the Faint.

Guys, said Litz, not so much pleading as shaking them
down. That's not a fucking point. That's too easy. If you're expecting to come in here and win games with minky little points like that, no. No, that's not how we play. Look, I did a thing over his fucking back. We all agree, no point. This thing he did, it's not a point any more than that, less even.

FIGURE 9.3
The Campbell, aka the Faint

Calabi's commentary: As much a matter a comic timing as athleticism or strategems, the Faint is popular among lesser talents whose charms lie in their persona. Few opponents will be tricked into catching your fall, but the laughter a the crowds can be its own reward.

Campbell said: I pl
an
ned that move.

Don't matter. Not a move. You could never trick no one to catch you again. It's just a thing you did. And you shouldn't a gloated aboot it. You already
lost
.

I'll do that move again, Campbell said. Fuck, I'll show you it's not so easy. Campbell shook his head and walked back into the crowd to collect his clothes. That was my fucking point, he bellowed from behind friends.

Litz saw his opportunity and couldn't resist: he chucked the dumb kid through a fast Medical Breakthrough that included an elbow three times in the face, worsening the shape of Campbell's bloody nose and losing him the game
{see
fig. 9.4
}
.

You aren't ready, said Litz to his fallen competitor.

Moving on, said Pisk, pointing to Boyd.

Boyd's arms instinctively flexed a wrestler's pose, his palms up, amounting to the confused gesture of a praying delinquent. He brandished his arms expecting Pisk to cringe. This was not a beast, it was a child. Pisk half expected him to flee the scene. It all depended on what Boyd did next. Pisk waited to see what the ignorant kid thought wise and then
he'd take him to school. Every hair on his body was ready to strike from any angle.

FIGURE 9.4
The Medical
Breakthrough, early
sketch

See Calabi's commentary on
p. 92
.

Boyd leaped forward. Pisk limbered. He saw Boyd falter midway between steps one and two and decide to throw a punch instead of whatever plan A had been. Off balance, unprepared, and slow, Boyd's arm swung past Pisk's face. He'd lost count of how many times he'd practised the move he did next.

Take a punch and turn it into ballroom dancing, that was Molly's original idea. She made them do it at least five times a day. Thursdays it was the only thing they practised. Not that they complained. It was the basics of the man game. Plus she loved to watch them do it, now that they were both talented dancers. Helped to have a good teacher. Either of them could warp a speedy knuckle sandwich into a delicate Irish lilt. Ha ha ha, I'm surprised it's so easy, she said. I thought you'd hit each other in the face more, but no. Even Pisk's most brutal punch looked like the opening to a Parisienne tango. In hindsight, Pisk's fancy pattern of footwork had been modified to accommodate his partner's stumbling. And seeing Pisk transform his own uppercut into a majestic triple twirl was something she wanted to show more and more people.

Not tonight though. What Pisk gave them was the original promenade from in front of the Sunnyside Hotel. He took Boyd through a basic waltz then tossed him at the audience.

As Pisk threw Boyd free and watched him skid to a crumpled finale, the men in the front rows who jumped to dodge his body stepped on him. They went spastic with cheer, and when Boyd scrambled free of so many steel-toed boots he was berated by a circle of his buddies.

Pisk felt this great relief, a comeuppance of historical proportions.

That's the exact same damn move, Joe Fortes cried out. I saw it myself.

He pointed his finger at everyone in the audience,
screamed at the top of lungs: We call that the Pisk
{see
fig. 9.5
}
.

The Pisk, cried all. Wa, cried all.

Pisk and his partner met again for a warrior's handshake, full of winning's strength. They looked into each other's animal eyes in almost hysterical excitement. This is really happening, Pisk said, as if to say, There's no turning back.

Litz shook his partner's hand with fingers like icicles, turned to the three contenders and pointed to the pale, nearly albino behemoth. Smith, Litz said. You going to meet me? I'm looking forward to this.

Smith lumbered into the space created by the light of the torches and the shape of the audience. He and Litz were the lone figures of attention, two naked spectres in orange, and Litz, half the weight of Smith, had hardly a sense of where this was going. If Campbell's loss in any way affected Smith's mood, there was no way to tell, for his face was thick and his eyes were small and his hair was white as frost, not to mention he was a mouth-breather.

They met at the centre of the ring and shook hands.

Fuck it, said Litz under his breath and ran at the cretin full speed.

As expected, Smith didn't move an inch as he ran at him. Litz's taking the offensive was the sort of tactic he guessed Smith understood, and sure enough Smith stood his ground, calling the bluff. Molly's voice in his head: It is a bluff. He reminded himself to watch for the arms. He was within five running steps of Smith when he saw the big man's little eyes widen. Four steps and his arms started to brace up. Three steps and Smith's knees bent as he put his weight on his left leg—the last thing Litz needed to see if he was going to try the move. Meant that Litz would
rotate left. Two steps remained.

FIGURE 9.5
The Pisk, alternative sketch, the
moment before the thrown
punch is transformed into a
ballroom move

The last step was more of a spiking jump towards an ever more unprepared Smith. When he landed, his grip on Smith's squishy massive shoulders was unfamiliar, un-Pisk. Litz's weight was forcing Smith back. He was almost vertical himself, and if everything went well that would bring them to equilibrium. With his hands on Smith's shoulders and his toes scraping thirteen feet into the air, he did the first rotation, moving his hands from shoulder to shoulder, facing the opposite direction with his legs still vertical, and prepared for the next rotation while Smith was at a loss to fight back. Litz completed a three-sixty in a handstand on his shoulders. They were face to awed face the whole way. Smith was so hypnotized he didn't feel his knees giving out. Litz remained in a perfect handstand as he fell to the ground.

Ohh
, said many men just when Smith landed flat on his back. Men found it incredible to witness because Litz was still in the handstand. Honestly, he could have held the handstand long after he'd flattened Smith. One of the talents the man game allowed Litz to exploit was his indestructible sense of balance. As Smith fell back Litz began curling down from the handstand, aiming his left knee into Smith's neck.

Whiyaugh, said Smith's mouth being forced open
{see
fig. 9.6
}
.

FIGURE 9.6
Sausage Links