In Florida: Lock Up! And the Pulse Pounds

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But most arm wrestlers, like those at the Candy Store, are not flamboyant. They tend to be the kind of men, and women, who use Boraxo to get their hands clean after a hard day's work. Often they work at physically demanding jobs, and they only appreciate sports that are physically demanding, like arm wrestling. They are big-bellied, long-haul truck drivers in dark blue Levi's and cowboy boots; gym owners in muscle T shirts; car mechanics in soiled khaki uniforms; skinny blond boys who work as bag boys at Publix; and occasionally they are pretty, olive-skinned women, like Teresa Taglione, with dangling gold earrings, blow-dried hair and lots of eyeliner. Teresa, 24, is a world champion in the women's 120-lb. class. She got involved in arm wrestling through her brother Ray, 33, a stockbroker and gym owner, who is a heavy favorite in today's 155-lb. and 175-lb. classes.

"I come from a typical Italian family," says Teresa. "My mother wanted me to teach dancing. The first year I arm wrestled she wouldn't speak to me. Now she's proud of all my trophies."

Teresa doesn't date arm wrestlers, she says. She prefers "executive types," so she can wear silk dresses. She is the kind of girl that Robin Whiting, a 29-year-old massage therapist, would call a "frilly." Robin is a very muscular 5 ft. 2 in., 145 lbs., and she used to be a body builder. "I quit," she says, "because I couldn't smile at the judges like all the other frillies did. In arm wrestling, the judges don't determine the winner, you do."

A year ago Robin faced Teresa in an arm-wrestling match in Atlanta. Teresa's slam dislocated Robin's shoulder. "It's all in the technique," Teresa says, fluttering her lashes.

Moe Motel (his real name) is a muscular, 24-year-old pressman for a Jacksonville newspaper. Today he is a heavy favorite in the 196-lb. and 228- lb. classes and so far has dispatched all his opponents, save one, without working up a sweat. Moe's technique is to stand expressionless at the table while his opponent grunts and strains against Moe's muscular arm. When an opponent's tugging has pumped enough blood into his arm, Moe slams the challenger to the table, then puffs up his considerable chest and walks erectly around the room, acknowledging congratulations with his impassive face. "This sport means everything to me," says Moe.

It means a lot to Bob Hopkins too. Bob is the favorite in the over-229-lb. class and is the only man to have beaten Moe. He is a plasterer who once played in the U.S.F.L. He used to weigh more than 305 lbs., which made him a bit sluggish in competition, so he dieted to a mere 275 for today's event. He has a menacing black beard that hides his face, ravaged at age 30. Bob used to have a problem with drugs and alcohol, or as he puts it, "They had a grip on me. But no more. Now I speak against drugs to kids at church groups. This is the sideline for the working guys of the world. They come to the table, take off their carpenter's belt, and for 20 seconds they're superheroes."