Having reviewed Jeff's Movimus battle with Marco Talus earlier this month, I wanted more of the cocky and charismatic young wrestler. I put my $25 on his most "hearted" (i.e. liked by viewers) match, against Richie. Jeff has three inches and about four more balls on little Richie, who is, in his own right, a real firecracker. Still, in most respects the two are well matched, Richie's denser muscle being an equalizer.
In a vigorous fight that lasts 22 minutes, Jeff plays the showy heel to the limit, at one point offering his hand in a gesture of sportsmanship, then abruptly withdrawing it when Richie reaches out to shake it. How many times have we seen that? And it works every time. Richie plays straight-man to Jeff's antics, less expressive, more relaxed, while Jeff mugs for the cheap seats. But this is not pro wrestling. It's a submission fight, the winner being the wrestler who gets five tap-outs in a legitimate athletic contest. Each new round Richie and Jeff get a little more heated, growling mad at times, with the penultimate round being the most ferocious.
Even if he weren't a terrific fighter too, Jeff's suggestive expressiveness in combat would win him legions of fans. I have this theory that fighters have the best cum-faces. Just a theory, mind you. I haven't done all the necessary research. It amazes me how hot I find Jordan-vs-Towler to be, with the wrestlers doing nothing overtly to sex the match up, apart from their skimpy tropicalia trunks, and yet ... two smooth, sticky, very young bodies entangled, huffing, pushing each other to push harder ... it's hard to deny the appeal of all this. Male sexuality is all wrapped up in fighting. Wrestlers put out different pheromones than yogis or bank managers do, I suspect, though no rule says a man can't be all three things. Still, any amount of pugnacity gives me more wood than any amount of inner calm or capital can do. That's just science, by now.