Seven

Three drinks down, Jimmy finally rose from his stool. Like a pneumatic press, anxiety crushed deeply on his shoulders. His stomach felt like it was still sitting at the bar and sure enough, the familiar, sharp tingles sparked around his fingertips.

Jimmy felt like he was about to make the most important decision in his entire life. The future of his mother, his chicken farm, and even his own life depended on whether he could make any money today. Then continue to make money until he was even with Mr. Walsh.

Each step was a strain against his rusted-out stubborn joints. Every fibre of his body was against him making this move, but he knew if he didn’t, he may as well give up on his mother anyway.

“Which one are we going for?” Scott asked.

“I need to ask you a favour, and I really don’t mean for it to be rude.” Jimmy walked as he talked.

“Yeah, mate. Anything.”

“Whichever event I go to, I want you to go to another one. I don’t know how I’d react knowing you won money if I didn’t. Its petty I know, and not fair to you, especially if you want to go to the one I want to go to.”

“Say no more, say no more. That in no way upsets or offends me. I completely understand. I would be the same if I was a newcomer under the same pressures you are for being here. So, where are you going then?” Scott brought up his third and final beer and took a long drag.

“I’m gonna flip a coin for it. Heads I’m going to Pinchy Pathways. Tails, I’m going to Iron Finger. How’s that sound?” Jimmy readied his coin and nodded to Scott.

“That sounds like a plan, and I support you one hundred percent, pal.” Scott gave Jimmy the thumbs up.

Jimmy flicked the coin that weighed a thousand kilos. The continuous cries and cheers of the rabid crowds died away and it felt as though time itself slowed down. Jimmy was overcome with sweaty dread and his heart was about ready to strangle his throat. A hand snatched the coin from the air.

“What?”

“Let’s not leave it to chance. You might end up hating the coin if you don’t win. You need to relax man; I can feel your energy crushing me. Take a breather and just walk toward one. That way is Pinchy Pathways, and that way is Iron Finger.”

“I’m going to Iron Finger.” The sound of surging confidence took Jimmy by surprise.

“Off to Pinchy Pathways for me then. I’ll keep the coin as payment for the drinks I got ya. You’ll never know the results.” Scott laughed and walked in the opposite direction.

Jimmy approached his destination with bubbling fear. He slowly pushed through the gathered crowd and made his way against the log barricades to get a good look of the game.

Two burly men stood across each other at a table. Their arms up in the air, they hollered and called to excite the crowd.

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A weedy, elderly man with bottle glasses approached the table and faced the crowd with a giant grin plastered on his face.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you your two competitors. Standing to my right, on the blue side, is Ludolf Althaus. He is the nephew of the mighty man that brought this tough sport onto our shores. He has won over four hundred official matches and is a favourite to make the finals back in Germany this year. He’s twenty-eight years old, one hundred and twelve kilos and standing at one hundred and eighty centimetres.”

“Get a look at the size of his pulling finger. That thing’s as thick as my wrist.”

“He’s original, where it all came from. He’s definitely got this.”

“A hundred quid says Ludolf wins.”

“I’ll bet ya. It’ll be the other guy for sure. Born and bred Irish fella. He’s got the home ground advantage.”

“Three hundred says Ludolf will do it in under two minutes.”

Jimmy did his best to tune everyone else out. One hundred. Three hundred. There’s no way anyone would agree to bet his measly twenty.

“On my left, on the red side, representing the pride of Ireland, its Craig Flanagan. He’s been a fierce competitor in this lovely sport ever since it made its way here. He’s won just under two hundred matches, and plans on taking his expertise to Germany later this year. He’s thirty-four years old, one hundred and eighteen kilos and one hundred and seventy-two centimetres.”

“I like my odds with him. He’s a farmer. Got that old country strength they all seem to have. Four hundred says he wins in under a minute.”

“Yeah, I’ll take you on.”

“I really don’t know what to think. They are both pretty evenly matched. Sure, four hundred wins and two hundred, but is it really that much of a difference in the grand scheme of things?”

“I’m not sure I even want to bet on this.”

“One thousand says the German dislocates Craig’s finger and wins in less than two minutes.”

Jimmy’s frustration had grown to new heights. He just wanted to think it through. All his options. He didn’t want to hear anyone else. He wanted ten minutes. Maybe he should’ve gone to Pinchy Pathways. He needed money.

“Twenty quid says Craig wins in under three minutes!” Jimmy opened his eyes as he spoke.

“Twenty? What are you on about?”

“It’s all I’ve got. Sorry.”

“All right, lets see how you go.”

The two competitors sat down at the table to uproar. They dug in deep with their battle-ready stances and gave each other a thumbs up.

The referee placed the leather strap around the competitor’s fingers and stepped back. A wild glee caused his eyes to bulge out of their sockets. He raised his hands and Jimmy felt the oppressive, tense excitement take its stranglehold over the crowd and Jimmy wondered if this really was the kind of place right for him to be.

“Ready, set, and. Go!”

Both men pulled and strained with all their might. Necks bulged and backs straightened. Jimmy got a good look at their mighty fingers and couldn’t believe his eyes.

Ludolf pulled with the mighty power of a tank and Craig lurched forward, his body was almost lifted from his seat. The crowd held their breaths and Jimmy’s chest seized.

Just as it looked like Craig would lose, he pumped his body and heaved with the force of an avalanche. His corded muscles stressed and pulled in perfect unison as he brought Ludolf toward him. The powerful Ludolf caught himself at the last second and channelled the power of an ancient oak.

The crowd cheered and jeered. They pushed and pulled at each other in excitement. Someone in the crowd got pushed over and others in the crowd began to trample them. Jimmy helped them off the ground and they immediately rejoined the crushing chaos of the crowd as though nothing happened.

“This is one exciting match!” screamed the referee.

“C’mon Craig, I need a win,” Jimmy whispered to himself.

Craig made another momentous pull, but this time Ludolf refused to budge. As Craig reached the tip of his pull, Ludolf drove himself back again and Craig let out a grunt and was pulled onto the table.

“And the winner is Ludolf!” Craig pulled himself from the table and held up his finger to show it had been dislocated.

“Pay who you owe, and have fun making money,” called the referee.