Tough Guys - Part 1

Warning: this story contains some fanciful fighting

“Attention Ladies and not-so-gentle men!”
The announcer’s voice thunders into the sweaty air as I muscle my way to a seat in the back of the arena.
“The one and only Toughest Guy Ever Tournament is about to begin! The steeliest, crustiest, fiercest fighters of all time have stepped from out of the pages of history to make their case for the title here tonight!”
I’m just in time to witness a single-file line of hulky legends strut down an aisle toward the raised wrestling ring in the middle of the arena. Roving spotlights and pounding heavy metal music accompany their puff-chested entrance.
I grin with pleasure at the sight of so many famous egomaniacs. It’s easily history’s greatest ‘who’s who’ event this side of judgment day.
Goliath is the first to catch my eye. The 10-foot man-tree may not be the handsomest philistine to have ever walked the earth, but tries to make up for it with intimidation.
“I’ll feed your flesh to the birds of the air!” he bellows at the preening gallant in front of him.
Blackbeard isn’t impressed. One-eyed and scowl-faced, the buccaneer spits back, “I’ll run ye through with me cutlass and swab the deck with yer innards, thou lumpish, flap-mouthed lubber lover!”
The manly parade continues to fill the ring: Eric the Red, William Wallace, Sir Lancelot, Billy the Kid. Jaws drop as each new celebrity takes the stage.
When all the fighters have assembled along the ring’s perimeter, a pinstriped referee steps up to explain the rules.
“Tonight’s contestants will fight bare-fisted. In order for a match to end, one fighter must be rendered completely incapacitated. Power and skill alone will determine the champion.”
“Let the battle begin!” the announcer booms.
The matches are brutal, mesmerizing the ecstatic crowd. Each man brings his own flavor of ferocity and menace to the ring, but one warrior stands out above the rest.
Wiry Achilles makes dispatching history’s greatest legends seem effortless. The Spartan armored golden boy strides around the ring with his fist in the air after every victory.
Blackbeard limps away with a grumbling “Arrgh,” deprived of his other eye.
Goliath crashes to the deck, crushed under Achilles’ heel.
The Rock curls up in the fetal position, crying in a corner.
Eventually, every other contestant is bested to the point of defeat.
Time has not retired Achilles' title as greatest warrior on Earth.
“Is there no one else?” His voice is a petrifying roar of testosterone. “Is there no one else?”
For the first time tonight, silence permeates the arena. Achilles is content to let the moment linger…
Until I stand up.
Clad in a white robe with hawaiian shorts underneath, I swagger my way down the aisle. Every head in the arena turns toward me, open mouths all.
Achilles shakes his head, catching the crazed sincerity in my eyes.
The referee throws up his hands and walks away.
I shrug off my robe and step up into the ring, peels of laughter ensueing.
Achilles is all grimace as he regards me from the other side. The certainty of victory lights his eyes a wicked, crimson hue.
I crack my neck and raise my fists. A psychotic grin splits my face.
“Shall we dance, my red, red rose?”