So, back during the Cold War, the two best wrestlers in the world going into the Olympics were a Russian guy and an American guy. They’d caught the world’s attention and quite a lot of political hay was being made. The American was a Joe Cornflakes type, and the Soviet was feared for his mastery of a wicked move called the Pretzel.
The American coach grilled the wrestler relentlessly on the Pretzel, which he was sure to face. It had three stages: the first, which was hard to escape but not impossible; the second, which was itself a world-class finisher; and the third stage … from which no one had ever escaped. They spent every session working on escaping the first and second stages.
On the day of reckoning, after each wrestler had disposed of his opponents handily, the two squared off. The American coach watched in fear, crying out, “No, you’re in the Pretzel, get out!” to no avail as the American wrestler succumbed to the dreaded move’s second stage. As the inevitable third stage closed in, the American coach turned away in bitter, patriotic disappointment.
… Until a mighty cheer rises from the crowd, and he turns to see the referee holding up the American wrestler’s hand in victory!! He rushes to his side. “My boy, you were in the third stage of the Pretzel – how did you escape?!”
The American wrestler, who understandably looks like he’s been through a mangler, gasps out his story. “Coach, there I was in the third stage of the Pretzel. I looked to the right of me, and there’s nothing there. I looked to the left, and nothing there. I looked up … and there’s a pair of balls, right there. So I bit them!” …
… “Coach, you’d be amazed at what you can do when you bite your own balls.”
