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Thursday, March 23, 2017

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Greco-Roman wrestling is one of those arcane interests that calls you in from the warmth outside, approaches you to take a seat for some time and watch, then, after it is done, abandons you to ponder what on earth simply happened. 

There were some intriguing sights in Carioca Field 2 in the Olympic Stop in Barra on a hot, sweat-filled Monday evening. It is an aerated and cooled air ship shelter like all the others yet inhabited by the genuine bad-to-the-bone, the individuals who know their stuff, who cheer at the ideal time, similar to the gatherings of people at La Scala, never overlooking anything – or applauding on the wrong one. This, I thought, could intrigue. 

So to the tangle. All things considered, mats. You get great incentive at the G-R, a couple of synchronous sessions, to wrestle, in a manner of speaking, with the complexities and strangeness of everything in those what-am-I-doing-here minutes. 

These were the 130kg standoffs, where the enormous young men conflict. Legitimate quality, as well, after a portion of the refuse had been destroyed in the preliminaries – despite the fact that it would not be reasonable to allude to them consequently face to face. There were 19 of them when it began, bringing a joined meat nearness of 2,420kg. Which is likely a truck or little shed with several ice chests. None originated from the UK, incidentally, one from Australia, the rest from Estonia, Iran, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan (for sure, a large portion of the Stans) and different spots that may battle to work their way into Boris Johnson's to-visit list.
On Tangle B the 21-year-old Russian Sergey Semenov lies confront down on Iakobi Kajaia from Georgia (no adoration lost there, then) and properly mounts him; they connect with, stop, stand and turn around positions. I am currently absolutely dependent on the scores on the screen. The timekeepers appears to have keep running down three minutes as both folks are toweled and water-splashed and get to grasps once more, this time standing up and pushing. 

While I am perusing his CV in the accommodating project takes note of, the Russian has impolitely and astutely diverted the Georgian from the stage – which most likely President Putin was getting a charge out of hugely on TV back in the Kremlin, despite the fact that we ought to perhaps let legislative issues well enough alone for this. 


Over on more nonpartisan domain on Tangle A the sublime Cuban – no different words for it, the man is a creature and a legend – Mijaín López is wrestling the jeans off (not truly) a dumbfounded Swede, Johan Magnus Euren. Out of the edge of my eye I could see they were bolted like stags and afterward they halted – and López got approval. I might want to disclose to you he merited it however I was so fascinated with Tangle B, I spotted just the odd trade. Russia had by one means or another got to 5-0, adequate to break through to the semi-finals. I'm speculating that shoulder toss swung it for Mr Semenov. 

Notwithstanding, it additionally earned him the questionable joy of Mr López's organization for six minutes in the semi-last. That is the G-R likeness being welcome to fight with Anthony Joshua in a blindfold. López won. Semenov was completely knackered. 

I am happy I came now. Furthermore, it regards stop and recollect that being here is precisely what it is about for these folks. They are the monsters of their game and they do it for little more than the awards and two or three weeks in Rio – which may be a stage up from a fortnight in Kyrgyzstan, despite the fact that they say the Tian Shan mountains are wonderful, snow panthers what not. 

By and large the game brings the finest from a considerable measure of these remote territories, where there might or won't not be a plaque outside the home where Riza Kayaalp, the Turkish wrestler, was conceived. What's more, from Pinar del Río in Cuba, the home of López, five-times title holder, two-times Olympic champion, the Teófilo Stevenson of his calling. Bits of gossip spread six years prior that López was surrendering yet there despite everything he is, in his particular violet tights, loved by the cognoscenti, adored for his flabbergasting, weakening blend of chilling quality and guileful nuance. 

In any case he made mincemeat of Semenov, 3-0 following six minutes – and went where all fans knew he was going: into the last on Monday night for a gigantically foreseen coordinate with Kayaalp. 

As we leave, a more prepared master watches, "López doesn't do silvers." You dreaded for youthful Kayaalp, unless you're Armenian or Greek. 

Kayaalp got bronze in London – and a six-month boycott a year later to say awful things about the migrant residents of those nations who organized a sit-in challenge in Istanbul against limitations on the opportunity of the press, among different grievances.
So he is a simple kind of a person as, in a totally unique way, is López. He has been doing this since 1993. He freestyled all around ok as a lesser to win a Container American title before changing to Greco-Roman. This is an irregularity. The last Olympian to get a decoration in both controls was the Swede Jan Karlsson in 1972. 

Enough of Guardianista down-your-nose keen aleckery. 

On the off chance that you look for any timeframe, you come to value the devilishly keen moves in weight and weight as they crawl over a rubbery surface, searching for openings much the way judo warriors do, planting their feet cunningly for the scarcest favorable position, pulling their enemy on to another hold, much the same as boxers do while bluffing. 

Be that as it may, it is not judo or boxing. It is Greco-Roman wrestling and it has been around, in some shape, for whatever length of time that the Olympics themselves


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