Arm Wrestling: The Sport That Looks Like Strength and Plays Like Chess

It started, the way a lot of things did, during lockdown. Michael Jervis had spare time and an open YouTube tab. A few arm wrestling clips went by, the algorithm took the hint, and soon he was on Netflix looking for more.

What he found was Pulling John, the documentary about John Brzenk, a normal sized man who stayed undefeated for twenty five years against opponents of every shape and size. They called him Superman for it, because he kept beating men twice his weight. The lesson landed at once. Arm wrestling is not only about strength. Technique matters just as much.

He had pulled a bit at school and always held his own, so he searched for clubs in Scotland. One came up right down the road: Team Hawk, run by Martin out of The Bodybuilding Gym in Edinburgh. When restrictions lifted he went along and got beaten by everyone there, men of every size. He left inspired rather than discouraged, and has gone back almost every Saturday since. Wednesdays are for weights. Saturdays are for the table.

For anyone who has only pulled across a pub table, the real sport is more technical than it looks. Two competitors face off, each elbow planted on its own pad, wrists straight and dead center. When the referee says go, it becomes a contest of tactics and force until one hand is driven into the pin pad, a raised block beside each hand. If the grip slips, the hands are strapped together and it restarts. Let your elbow leave the pad twice and you lose. That is the game in a sentence.

The pressures layered on top are where it gets deep. The cleanest finish is to pull an opponent's hand toward you, bend the wrist back, load everything into their fingers, then fall sideways until the arm opens and drops. None of that is brute force. It is angles, timing, and knowing which way a hand wants to fail. What makes someone great, in Jervis's estimate, is about half genetics and half work.

Two myths die quickly once you start. The first is that you have to be big. Like any combat sport, arm wrestling runs weight classes, from under 60 kilos up to the heavyweights, so you compete against people your own size. The second is about the rules. Pub pullers think moving your body is cheating. It is arguably the most powerful tool in the professional sport, the difference between pushing with an arm and pushing with a whole body behind it. The stereotypical hand jammed behind the back, meanwhile, is how arms get broken, which is why Jervis avoids pulling beginners these days.

Style comes down to levers. Jervis has long arms and a big hand, which suits a toproll: forcing his hand over the top of his opponent's to pile pressure onto their fingertips, the hardest place for them to hold. Shorter pullers counter by hooking, dragging him down to their height, which is deeply uncomfortable when your arms are long. Nobody gets to be good at everything. You learn your levers and you build a game around them.

Then comes the part casual viewers never notice. The setup. Before the referee is satisfied, both competitors are stealing millimeters. You climb your grip up the other hand, flex your wrist as hard as you can, and draw the hand back toward yourself, all without being obvious enough to get pulled up for it. By the time anyone hears go, the match is often half decided. That is the chess hiding inside the spectacle.

That hidden depth is part of why the sport is having its moment. The clips look like pure violence, two people straining until something gives, which is what makes them travel. The reward for watching closely is the layer underneath. The same algorithm that caught Jervis in 2020 is now minting fans by the thousand. Events like King of the Table and East vs West draw real audiences, with names like Devon Larratt turning a garage pastime into appointment viewing. Brzenk himself, the man from the documentary, kept competing into his late fifties against a younger generation before he finally stepped away.

For a newcomer it is an easy sport to start and a humbling one to stay in. There is no hiding at the table. Walk into a club and you learn exactly where you stand within a few seconds, against people of every size, and then you go back and try to stand somewhere better. Jervis learned that on his first Saturday. He still pulls with his team, Central Strength Armwrestling League, the Scottish community built on one idea. Everyone is welcome at the table.

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This story was originally published June 26, 2026 at 6:52 AM.