Safety First? Yeah . . right. Part 1

Mongolia's big Naadam festival is a three day stroke to the male ego through the "Three Manly Sports" of Naadam.  These are wrestling, horseback riding, and archery.  Ironically, women compete in both archery and horseback riding, but not wrestling.  Well, at least now anyway.  Legend says many years ago a woman entered the wrestling competition and won it.  Men were allegedly so embarrassed that for his reason today's Mongolian wrestler wears a very revealing open chested outfit to expose any female wrestler wannabes.  After all, these are the MANLY sports and we can't have women potentially ruining the last bastion of Mongol manhood.  Right?  So women, please polish your saddle and string your bow, but DON'T practice your half nelson or sleeper hold.

Speaking of wrestling, we had a staff retreat the week after Naadam and the MEN had a wrestling competition.  32 of us, well outside the bounds of workmen's comp, risked life and limb to win cups of sour horse milk (called arag).  Being the biggest foreigner, I was automatically enrolled and expected to win.  However, to the disappointment of dozens of adoring fans, I was found to be without the Mongol born skill set of wrestling.  That's right, I'm a lover and not a fighter.  That's why I have five kids and a good insurance policy.  But here is the play by play:

Round of 32: Grossly undersized, my opponent is about 1/3 my size. (no weight classes in pro wrestling here either by the way).  He put on a show until I picked him up and flicked him like a booger.  Nuff said.

Round of 16: Guy wants to become a legend.  Punk goes for a leg sweep and hit my shin like a moth hits a windshield.  Undeterred he dives at my knees to which I deftly put my hands on his shoulders and sit him on his pride before somebody gets hurt.  [and the crowd goes wild!]

Between rounds I pointed out this smaller guy who was really skilled.  The guy I was talking with said, "He is a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and rated in the top ten in Mongolia."  I said, "What do you bet he could put me down?"  "Yeah right." he replied.

Round of 8: Me and Tae Kwon Do (wouldn't it figure!)  Now I know I am in trouble.  A shorter opponent has the advantage if he gets the tall one off balance, and this guy had just beaten a guy twice his size who actually knew how to wrestle.

First move, he goes strength to strength, man to man, . . . didn't work.  If he would have come in a bit more I could have pick and tossed him, but that was "if".  Instead he backed off, and gave me a hard look, concentrated for a moment, grinned (I swear to God he grinned!), then VOOM!  I see a flash of his butt where I know my armpit should've been, then  . . . clouds . . . grass . . . tree . . . ground . . . THUD . . . crack.  

What?  . . . Crack?  . . . What just cracked!?!  . . . Your rib you idiot!

That's right.  As I peel myself out of the grass, I feel a wincing pain that worsened for the next two days and never allowed me a peaceful nights sleep for three weeks.  All that for two cups of sour horse milk.  I need a better agent.