Duba vs. Duda

Wrestling is a great sport. It is a gut checking six minute sprint for your survival as some sweaty dude tries to tear your head off. I know it may be hard to imagine, but while you're wrestling there is no sound, you can not hear your coach or the screaming fans or even your own breath. Nobody would doubt most of wrestling is in your head, you have to suck it up and go or you end up ass in the air in front of your family and friends, wiggling and squirming like a dying fish, and that is not pretty.
Intimidation is also a huge part of wrestling and it all starts at the weigh in. Imagine a bunch of anorexic men stripped naked standing on a scale while everyone on both teams watches...every chubby girl's worst nightmare. One team is in one locker room or at one end of a big locker room and the other team is elsewhere with the scale being in the middle so everyone can see. The usual routine is to start with the 103 lbs weight class and work your way up through the heavyweight. It goes something like this... "Okay 103 for Cinnaminson, Sal Simmonetti" and Sal would drop his drawers and get on the scale, make weight, and proceed to eat the first food he has had probably all day. The official or coach would then say "Okay, 103 for Delran, Jim Favorite" and the opponent would go through the same thing. You always take a good look at your opponent because its not hard to tell who is a scrub and who is going to be a challenge. All the while the entire room stinks like dirty dudes, tobacco spit, and ass, and now that I think about it, is probably the weirdest situation I have ever been in.
We at Cinnaminson hate Delran, our arch rivals. Delran is just like Cinnaminson, think Springfield to Shellbyville, and there are many, many stories of why we disliked each other to such an extent. Our match was at Delran that night, which smells even worse than any bad smell you can imagine, like super ass. Dirty Bears.
Jim Duba was our 135 lbs wrestler. Just as described above, the Delran coach goes "135 for Cinnaminson...Jim Duba" and Duba makes a deliberate move for the scale, only to be beat to it by some pudgy white kid. Duba is like "HUH?", cause you never screw around in weigh ins and he knows our coach would freakin kill him for any unusual activity, even if it wasn't his fault. So now this other kid is standing on the scale and the Delran coach looks at the lineup on the paper he is holding and goes "No, I said Jim Duba, not Jim Duda" and we loose it. This freakin kid, at the same exact weight class, has the same name but for one "D"! Duba's eyes light up, he was waiting for that day all his life.
As it turned out, they both have the same middle name also, making it James Andrew Duba vs. James Andrew Duda. While this was a surprise to the rest of us, who couldn't stop laughing (even our hard ass coach was cracking up), Duba knew of Duda. Duba proceeds to tells us that everytime he goes to the doctor's office, they always pull Duda's file and that even at birth they got their birth certificates mixed up. Yup, they were born only days apart! Duba had never met this kid, but had despised him all his life, and now they had to wrestle.
Another wrestling tradition is to have the teams line up on the edge of the mat and be introduced, run out to center, and shake their opponent's hand. The announcer goes, in an excited amateur announcer voice "AND FOR CINNAMINSON, AT 135, JIM DUBA... AND FOR DELRAN...wait, is this right, they have the same name?" all out loud and the crowd starts laughing. Ahh, it was classic.
So Duba and Duda wrestle, and Duba kicked his ass. I forget the score, you would have to find Larry Rooney for that, but I know he whipped him good, got him back for a life time of saying, "No No No, I'm Jim Duba, not Jim Duda.