The Bear Story

Since I don't have a lot of new dog news to report, I thought I'd tell the The Bear Wrestling Story.

THE PLAYERS
Lonnie - roommate
Don - Ex-Army Ranger
Kevin - Former high school wrestling champ
Me - Fine Art Major
Sampson - 8'+ 700+ lbs - Black Bear

THE SETUP.
It was 1991 and I was attending college in central Minnesota. One of my roommates, Lonnie, came home from his part-time job at the Convention Center where he was helping set up for the annual Sports Show. Lonnie told us of one of the big attractions: Sampson the Wrestling Bear. That evening Sampson and his handler were walking through the Convention Center when Sampson stopped to pee, which Lonnie had to clean up. IT COMPLETELY FILLED A 5-GALLON WET-VAC. A five gallon pee, just think about that. Sampson was a BIG BEAR. He had been declawed and his teeth were worn down but he was still big freaking bear. Sampson was taking on all comers and since we were young and invincible, we decided to take him on. We went out to the bars that night and Don, Kevin and I proceeded to brag about wrestling Sampson the next day. As the night (and beers) wore on, our boasting got more and more out of touch with reality. We were going to open up a can of whup ass on Sampson! He'll never know what hit him! By the end of the night, we had told pretty much everyone we knew that we were going to make mincemeat out of Sampson.

D-DAY.
Boy, did our heads hurt the next morning. We were woken up by the incessant ringing of the phone - people calling us to wish us luck and to ask what time we were going to take on Sampson. Ugh. We were screwed. We now HAD to wrestle him. We headed over to the Convention Center to get our names on the list - secretly hoping that it would be full and we would have an out. Lonnie, being the loyal roommate that he was, pulled some strings and reserved three spots for us. We found the guy running the show and he took us into his office for a chat. We sat down and he handed us all disclaimer forms, stating that we would not hold them responsible if we were injured, dismembered, paralyzed, disfigured or killed. We looked at him, looked at each other and said "Boy, is this stupid. Where do we sign?" Game on.

ZERO HOUR.
The stage they had set up for this event was a lightly carpeted plywood stage, about 15'x20'. No padding. No ropes. No nothing. Don, Kevin and I were discussing this when a sudden collective gasp came from the crowd of about 200 people. Sampson was in the house. He waddled out onto the stage (which was creaking under his weight) on his hind legs. He was big. Really big. Too big. I had the sudden urge to urinate which was quickly followed by the sudden urge to run crying from the room. Thankfully, I was frozen in fear which allowed me to give the illusion of calm and keep whatever dignity I would soon lose. We drew straws and I was lucky enough to be the first to wrestle. Sampson sat down on his haunches which put him at just about eye level. Did you know bears have really big heads but very little faces? And they stink. I asked the handler what I was supposed to do and he said, and I quote "The goal is to knock him over. You get three attempts. Put your shoulder underneath his chin and go."
"Go?!?", I replied. "That's it? Just go? He's going to pop my head off my body like a dandelion from it's stem. "Go" you say. What kind of help is that?"
"Don't worry," he reassured me, "Sampson will know what to do."
"OK, then. Here I go."

I was somehow able to get my shoulder underneath his chin, grabbed two big handfuls of stinky fur and pushed as hard as I could. Imagine this: wrap a really foul-smelling fur rug around the biggest tree you can find and try to push the tree over. That is exactly what it was like. I figure my chances of success hovered around .02%. Sampson just kind of sat there with a that's-all-you-got? look on his face when I felt his neck twitch and heard someone in the audience scream.

When I opened my eyes. I was flat on my back about 10 feet away from Sampson. The twitch I felt was him throwing me through the air by doing nothing more than turning his head. I rolled onto my side and saw Don and Kevin looking at me slack-jawed and bug-eyed. Not a comforting sight. I checked myself to make sure I wasn't missing anything, struggled to my feet and faced my opponent for Round #2. As soon as I had my shoulder in place under his chin, he made what I am told was a beautiful move. He pushed my upper body to the left with his head while he swept my lower body to the right with his left paw - essentially slapping me to the ground and knocking the wind out of me. It took about 30 seconds for me to start breathing normally again before I could get to my feet for Round 3.

By this point, Sampson had pretty much knocked the fight right out of me. He never moved from his sitting position as he threw me around like a three-year-old girl. Round 3 ended pretty predictably: I again got in position and he put his left paw between us and basically backhanded me across the stage where I landed in a heap like a marionette who's strings have been cut. Thank God it was over. I still had all of my limbs, my dignity and clean underwear.

Don was up next and he fared worse that I did. If you can picture a dog sitting down and then put a little doll underneath him in that little space behind his front feet, that's where Don found himself. Sampson pinned him to the floor and tore his shirt. I could see that Don was struggling for his life and was furiously kicking and punching, but Sampson was just sitting there, casually bopping Don in the stomach and chest with his muzzle. Kevin was next and had the most spectacular bout of all of us. At one point, Sampson grabbed Kevin around the side of his chest using his nubby teeth and picked him up off the ground - bruising several of Kevin's ribs in the process - before he spit him out like so much chewed gum.

THE AFTERMATH
We went back out to the bars that night and proceeded to brag about wrestling Sampson. Kevin had scars where Sampson had grabbed him and had some difficulty breathing, Don's upper body was a mass of bruises and I couldn't turn my head to the left for about a week and a half. We were a mess but we did it: We wrestled a bear and walked away to tell about it.