Cousins. Rivals. A Wrestling Story Pt. 4: Black Bear vs. Direwolf
Hey there, it's been a while. Life has been intense. I'm sure the below entry will disappoint some readers as it's not the explosive finale with my cousin (there are some reasons why I can't share that yet). But it's a little vignette that has to be shared. All about unfinished business, an old rivalries.
I got most of the details from my 18 year old stepbrother, Oskar, as I wasn't there myself and neither was Tommaso, so I'm handing over to his perspective for this story. The fight details I got from watching the footage - oh, that'll make sense shortly.
Summer, late 2017. There was a family BBQ to celebrate / commiserate the closure of the Marrone restaurant, which my stepdad and uncle had been running and slaving over for the past decade. Uncle Alessandro was the chef, and my stepdad Jonas handled the business side, as well as (in the early days) the construction. It was a very successful venture, but it had taken a lot out of everyone, even the kids - in an Italian environment, children are essentially slave labour - and there was no small amount of animosity between my stepdad and uncle as they endlessly disagreed on the smallest details.
It's amazing things had run as well as they did, given the two men are polar opposites - my uncle, the bravado-filled italian, and Jonas, the stoic Englishman. But make no mistake, they both thought they were the boss. Tensions had been building for years, and working together seemed increasingly untenable despite everyone's best efforts to keep things pally. Growing up, I'd often hear Jonas return from the restaurant and head straight down into the basement, which he'd converted into a spartan weight room. An hour of muted grunting later he would emerge, all musk and sweat, and collapse into his bed - I contend to this day that his pecs, each the size of my head, were sculpted out of his enmity for my uncle. Now the situation between Tom and me was the straw that broke the proverbial camel - the business had to go.
I was laying low visiting some friends, and Tom & Fran were nowhere to be seen - just two of many elephants in the room that day. "Just when we needed some strapping lads!" my grandmother complained, fanning herself while directing Oskar and Davide to lug and move boxes of plates and various supplies around ready to be sold off.
That summer was ludicrously hot, even for Italians. Around the yard, the men and boys were all in open shirts and swimshorts that clung like second skins as they worked. My aunts were fussing over the BBQ, using the last of the good ingredients to cook up a feast.
Uncle Alessandro stomped over to the BBQ and pinched a chop to taste - in his late 40s, he was stockily built, but defined - you could tell that he was once pretty muscular, but years in a kitchen had added some bulk. He'd been a blackbelt in karate in his youth, and he wore a gold neckchain emblem from his dojo, that always set against his thick black chest hair.
He finished the chop and, wiping a greasy hand down his trunk, waved the bone at my mother who had cooked it. "More pepperoncino Lucia! There's a reason i was the chef eh?" he postured.
Jonas fired a look from the far side of the garden, where he stood, brooding. Somehow he'd managed to get sunburnt even when standing in the shade. His roots were Nordic, and his hairless skin was like milk. When I first saw him topless as a kid, i thought he was a Viking invader. Now well into his 40s, he still cut a physique that outshone mine. I've always been envious of those boulderlike pecs that I've never seemed to be able to match, in fact, it feels like they've only expanded as he's gotten older and a little more stocky.
Sure, Tom and I might fuck around with being alpha males, but these guys were the real deal silverbacks. Absolute tree trunks of men. I'd always wondered who would come out on top if they clashed. Even though Jonas had been around for nearly 20 years, Alessandro still treated him like an outsider. Clearly he felt threatened. But now he had some ammunition and felt this would be the perfect juncture to unload.
"I guess your mind is wondering, eh Lucia? Wondering how you ended up with an Ercula for a son. Well, maybe if you'd sent him to my karate class..." He was talking at my mother, but his gaze was fixed on my stepfather.
Kudos to Jonas. He wasn't my biological father, but he was fiercely protective of me and our branch of the family. Just as Alessandro was protective of his own.
Hearing this slander across the yard, he held the gaze and yelled, quick as anything "Oh yeah? We all know what you did for the sensei to give you that fucking black belt!" gesturing a handjob.
In a flash belaying his size, my uncle bounded towards Jonas, his bare feet slapping across the paving. Jonas pushed off the wall and assumed his full, hulking size to brace for impact.
But Sandro stopped right in front of him, still holding the gaze. Their foreheads met and were almost immediately bound by sweat. Suddenly they were both breathing heavily, their mammoth frames heaving, even though nothing was happening except that neither had blinked. As their noses touched, it became clear they were pressing into eachother, like prize bulls testing the water before locking horns. Clearly neither man was intimidated. The intense silent stare was only broken by an exchange in low tones that nobody could hear, in fact nobody was really paying them any mind at all except Oskar, who saw them through the kitchen window where he and Davide were stacking up dishes. The family had seen them argue so many times that they were oblivious to the tinder box situation. Oskar, who at 18 was just starting to discover the alpha world, could sense the electricity that could spark off a serious fight at any second.
As the stepped even closer together, Jonas' milkwhite abs met Sandro's hardened tan belly, and seemingly by instinct they rutted and bounced off eachother with a sweat-smacking sound, before coming together again.
To Oskar , it felt like they could really thrown down right there, a Thor vs Hercules slugfest in front of half our relatives. He was about to call out to his Dad to chill out, but then, suddenly, they each took half a step off. They straightened up their open shirts and stalked silently into the restaurant, out of view.
Oskar wondered whether they'd somehow managed to talk things out amicably, and continued stacking plates with Davide, Sandro's youngest son who hadn't noticed anything.
Moments later, a green flick of screenlight caught Oskar's peripheral vision - the CCTV camera in the storeroom. The safe had been kept in there, so at some point the family had installed this cheap camera that detected movement but recorded no sound. The room was a tiny rectangular space, little more than a large cupboard really, and lit only by one dim bulb.
Through the greenish haze, he could see the two giants of men once again facing off, their hulking forms pulsing as they knew what was about to begin. Oskar was mesmerised. There was all but steam coming out of their nostrils.
Oskar didnt take his eyes off the screen, but tugged on Davide's shirt to get his attention.
"What the actual fuck!" he said, squinting at the sight. He ran down to the storeroom, following the trail of musk only to find that the door had been locked from the inside - so impotently he returned to the kitchen to watch with my brother. In that moment Oskar confessed to feeling a strange rousing pride for his dad's bulging frame that he'd never experienced before. He had to win.
Inside the storeroom is was like a sauna. The space was tight for one waitress, let alone two giants of men. It was lined with boxes, now empty, that pressed into both of their backs as they squared off. Their already tight shirts were as skin and their hair stuck to their foreheads. From the angle of the camera (behind Jonas, facing Sandro) you could see make out my stepdad's boulder ass outlined in sweat in his swimshorts.
Suddenly the lightbulb flickered, and Sandro delivered an opening slap to Jona's jaw, which he returned instantly and they both went in for the clinch - their powerful hands instead meeting for a test of strength that shook the surrounding boxes as neither man had the force to dominate - to their mutual surprise.
They both let go and allowed the clinch to meet with full force, wrapping their arms around eachother's shoulders, their hands sliding down eachother's backs trying to get purchase as if their were doused in oil. They exchanged some simultaneous knees to the stomach, another, another, before breaking and going into full on slug fest. Neither man tried to dodge or swerve - there was no room - instead they laid into eachother with short blows to the face that would floor most men. The strikes became so fast and rhythmic that the camera feed was a blur for about 10 seconds as both tried to end their contest with a straight knock out. Both knew that any grapple would be long and hardfought, so equal were they in musclepower.
When they paused briefly for a breather, I could see that Jonas' shirt had ripped vertically down his back, exposing tight muscle that had only inflamed from delivering the punches. I can only assume that Sandro's was in the same state. Both men were strong jawed and apart from panting showed no sign of going down or wanting out.
Although there was no sound on the feed, it was evident that there were plenty of breathless Fuck Yous being exchanged and more colourful insults besides as they measured up their next move.
Suddenly they came together again, more tentatively this time, head to head. Sandro grabbed the slit in the back of Jonas' shirt for purchase and landed a big headbutt. As Jonas put his arms up to defend his face, Sandro yanked the shirt up, tearing it completely, and slipped the skein of material around his rival's neck to choke him out. Jonas delivered two swift elbows to the head - Sandro swerved the second and managed to spin Jonas 180 - some karate trick I guess - so he was now held in a standing sleeper facing the camera, with the remains of his shirt around his neck. Sandro's swarthy bicep was pressing into Jonas' neck, his other hand smothering his face and wiping sweat in his eyes, like he was imprinting a scent.
With his other hand he felt down Jona's nude torso, past his Norse chest tattoos to his exposed abs, were he lay down a few smacking gutpunches. It was almost as if my uncle knew id be watching this someday, as he was playing right into the camera - but I think that's just my imagination.
Jonas snarled and gritting his teeth, smashed his head back into Sandro's face. My uncle released the sleeper and aimlessly grabbed for purchase on Jonas' scruff of a beard. Jonas pulled the shirt free from his neck, and spinning back around shoved the cloth right in Sandro's face, his nose dripping blood. Jonas charged and pushed Sandro back a step into the pile of boxes and shelves they had put up together when they set up this restaurant, smothering his face and giving some swinging gutshots of his own with his free hand.
