At the center of Planet Marfa is a circular dance floor below a geodome climber you might see on a playground. The effect this creates is a sort of open-air mini arena, Mad Max-lite. On most nights, the floor is filled to varying degrees with casual bar-goers – dancers swinging their hips, karaoke superfans, or couples two-stepping to Norteño tunes, moon visible through the dome’s cutouts.
But this past Sunday, the geodome transformed into something like a Superdome, hosting what is arguably the town’s most beloved sports event – Armed and Generous, Marfa’s 3rd annual arm wrestling competition. For the last three years, the dance floor has transformed into an arm wrestling ring. At the center: a tall table with four foam pads – two upon which to rest one’s elbows, and two flanking the middle, marking where the competitors' clasped hands will land, on one side or the other, depending on who wins.
The bar swarmed with people, wrestlers and spectators alike, taking their seats in a semi-circle around the “arena.” As a competitor, I was guided toward a group of volunteers holding waivers for competitors to sign before getting into the ring. Despite the cloudy weather, the turnout was strong and the energy was high.
“ It's so primal, you know?” said Christy Miller, who created and organizes the event. “How do you not get excited about someone getting together and showing a feat of strength in front of everyone that I know? It's pretty funny, with a friendly edge.”
Friendly and charitable: the arm-wrestling competition raises money for the Marfa Education Foundation through real-time donations (often placed sports-betting style on the table during a match).
When I called Miller to ask about the event and how it came to be, she told me that the competition was actually created in honor of Jeffrey Hester, a good friend of Miller’s who passed away in 2021. “ He was super important in my life,” said Miller, “and I was ruminating on something that he would think was totally hilarious and would love to talk about.”
Miller said Hester was a true “yakker” and loved to talk to everyone. She said a drive across town with Hester meant myriad stops to say hello to whoever happened to be walking down the street that day. “Because he literally knew everyone, I wanted to think of something that everyone would enjoy doing,” said Miller. “And I don’t know where it came from, but the idea arose.”
As a one-time child, I am familiar with arm wrestling in the way I assume most people are: that informal test of strength you do at a picnic table around lunchtime, a feat that will get you extreme cred with the other kids or somehow humiliate you to the point where you beg your mom to let you stay home from sports camp and maybe move away. After signing my waiver I felt nervous and amped to compete, my primal spirit emerging.
One p.m. hit and a hush came over the crowd as three Marfa ISD students, guided by singer Amanda Bloom, sang a stirring rendition of the national anthem. Guests, with the seriousness of superbowl attendees, stood up and put their hands over their hearts. The anthem finished and the games began.
The tournament was separated into a men’s league and a women’s league, 32 participants in each. There were familiar favorites on the board: Coach Linda from MISD, reigning champ in the women’s division, and Augie Gonzales, two time champion in the men’s division. A buzzy energy permeated the crowd as the first wrestlers took the stage.
Up first from the women’s division: Christie Kettering from Texas A&M, and Charissa Afshar, both in exquisite colorful textiles. It was, at the very least, a perfect sartorial match.
The crowd went quiet, the competitors locked eyes, and referee Kaki Scott blew her whistle. Immediately the crowd erupted into shouts and cheers as the wrestlers gripped each other, odds changing as their locked arms moved side to side, a slow, uneven metronome, the crowd getting louder as the fists grew closer to the table. Kettering and Fisher’s hands were dead center, Fisher holding until at last giving in, Kettering taking the match. The crowd erupted into cheers.
Marfa Public Radio’s own Christopher Dyer, with the gravitas of an MMA announcer (and a touch of Wayne Newton), called out the rest of the matches, winnowing down the list. Each match, the challengers pushed their way through the dense, cacophonous crowd, meeting at the table. There were some friendly jibes, some dramatic upsets, an appearance from a sasquatch, and competitors holding the line, arms trembling, veins popping, then, giving in, hands falling and hitting the foam.
It was nearly impossible to avoid getting swept up in the action. I was seated next to Angie Johnson, who swore she’d leave after she wrestled, but “I’ll leave after this drink,” turned into “I’ll leave after this cigarette” and then into “I’m not leaving.” This seemed to be the sentiment from most of the crowd, casual viewership leading to total investment. At the end, we were all yelling everyone’s names, chanting, stomping feet, throwing bills into the ring. Miller told me that this year’s competition raised around six thousand dollars.
I won my first round, then lost immediately to first-time participant Maud Hernandez, who came with a crew of superfans – dubbed “The Maud Squad” by Dyer. The Maud Squad had the letters of their champion’s name written across their stomachs in red-paint, high school spirit night style: M-A-U-D. Maud would later take the crown.
As the men’s competition proceeded, a competitor was erased on the board and replaced by a single, unfamiliar name: Gil. Whispers abounded. He was from out of town, and he’d decided to swing by. When Gil entered the ring, it was clear he was a force to be reckoned with – well over 6 feet, muscled with a wooly beard, he towered over the other competitors.
Rumors flew about the mysterious Gil: He decided to swing by just five minutes before the match! He arm wrestles in bars and he hasn't lost since junior high!
In a total upset, Gil handily made his way to the final round, where he defeated reigning champ Augie Gonzales, winning the men’s competition. I tried to find him afterwards, but in true enigmatic challenger fashion, he swiftly disappeared into the crowd, never to be seen again.
Sometimes Marfa life can take on the quality of an extended Portlandia! sketch; a townwide arm-wrestling competition certainly seems to fit the bill there. But somehow, this event transcends the twee – it’s become a meaningful gathering moment for a town where common spaces can sometimes feel few and far between. “ I think our community can be quite divided. I mean, we unite around certain things…” said Miller. “And I was just looking for something that would fit the bill for that.”
Having met Hester myself, and having found him deeply charismatic, friendly, and very good at making eye contact, it seems just right that an event in his honor would necessitate an unusually intimate connection. The thing about arm wrestling is that no matter what, it demands that you look into someone else’s eyes, acknowledge their strength, their presence, and then, grab hands, and hold.
All photos by Christy Miller.
