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Olympia 2010: Disillusion
|The great Dem (short for Demetrius, though, to those in the know, his name
could be short for something else) stood proud among the other huge
competitors upon the stage at Mandalay Bay. In everyone's minds he was
certain to be awarded the Olympia crown.
So perfect in every gigantic muscular detail: six foot six of prime male beef, barn-wide shoulders, striated beyond belief, long thick neck supported by superb trapezius muscles, huge, swelling chest (shaven for the first time in many years and thus revealing the true magnificence of his astounding pecs), perfectly shaped arm muscles, a true eight-pack rivaling any mountain range, with obliques curving down to encase -- but we'll return to that in a moment.
The quads swept out nearly as wide as his deltoids and his calves balanced them perfectly. In addition to all that he was drug-free, perfectly honed, paper-thin skin enhancing every striation and every pulsing vein. Monstrously huge and aesthetically unbeatable. Everyone was agreed on that: the bulky and steroided craze of the old Weider regime had been condemned and Dem now exemplified the New Perfection of Magnificent Male Musculature.
Back to those obliques. In the "good old days" of Schwarzenegger and Zane, contestants' trunks had been real dorky; the days of Flex Wheeler introduced the much more flattering posing trunks but, even then, the "rules" forced men to pull up the trunks at the rear to display their striated glutes. Since those days the thong had finally been introduced, thus displaying nearly all man's greatest attributes more favorably.
Now, in 2010, the new Powers That Be had decided that the WHOLE man must be displayed and every part of him should be seen to be balanced -- and magnificent. So the twelve extraordinary finalists in the Olympia contest were proudly exhibiting their Complete Manhood in public for the first time. And no one was more impressively complete than Dem.
There were two other new rules this year: no man was allowed to be given the Olympia crown more than once in his career, thus putting an end to the annually boring inevitability of the same giant being crowned eight or nine times. And the other regulation ensured that the judges (and only three of them) should all have won a place in at least the top three of previous contests.
Down in the judges' box that year were: Siegfried Schwerkamp (the enormous golden Teuton who had come in second for more years than anyone cared to remember), Kris Korbo (the gigantic African-American who was so into the ladies that he never had quite enough energy to achieve his optimum in contest), and, last but not least, Fyodor Andreyev, the most recent of many post-*perestroika* phenomena to arrive from Russia.
The finalists embodied the cream of the world's handsomest, sexiest physiques, with Dem towering above them all physically and in charisma. His laser-like sapphire blue gaze would sweep the judges and the auditorium as he moved effortlessly from magnificent pose to magnificent pose. No one could touch him and the crowd had been going crazy every time he set foot on the podium. The nearest to him in muscular stature, though not in height or charisma, was the simmeringly jealous Brad (he went by no other name) – huge and magnificent, but clearly on steroids and, though undeniably impressive (and desirable as a bed-mate), nowhere near Dem's perfection.
Imagine the unbelieving crowd's volcanic rage, therefore, when the judges (all wearing tight helancas to show off their own still-great physiques) mounted the stage to place the Winner's Statue before Brad, demoting Dem to second place. Brad, of course, was delighted and made no bones about jeering at Dem who stepped graciously aside, somewhat tight-lipped, and gave the pride of place to the yellow crew-cut steroid-freak Brad.
The crowd went mad and stormed the stage, sweeping aside the judges and the other contestants. They hoisted Dem on their shoulders and paraded him all over the place yelling "Champion! Champion! Champion!" They almost trampled the enraged Brad to the ground with their disfavor.
It soon became clear that the New Management of the Federation were still hankering after gross bulk and had given instructions to the very well-paid judges to give first place to Brad, since he had, like so many others, labored for years in second and third place and had thus "paid his dues". This, under the one-year-only rule, would be his only chance to shine, whereas Dem was a neophyte and might win another year. No one ever discovered who had paid whom but there were plenty of rumors and accusations of partiality. It seemed the New Management were no less corrupt than the Old one. (The same had happened to Dieter the year he should have won the overall National crown which went, instead to a vastly inferior physique.)
As for Dem, he had no intention of letting matters rest there. He had inherited a dogged persistence from his Scottish forbears and he had recently been reading Dumas' "The Count of Monte Cristo" and this gave him several useful ideas for his revenge against the System and the judges in particular. He was to get his first vengeful opportunity that very night at the Champion's banquet.
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