Over the Top

“In the roaring world of arm wrestling, one man’s struggle for redemption can pull a family together.”

Watch the original version of Over the Top


As the sun began its descent into the horizon, illuminating the sky with hues of crimson and orange, a truck roared to life in the distance. The giant beast on wheels was weather-beaten and aged, much like its driver. His name was Lincoln Hawk, a man of sinew and will. A humble trucker, imposing in stature but soft in his solitude. Weariness was etched in the crevices of his face, the mark of long nights spent on endless highways and the residue of a life that was more complicated than it appeared.

Hawk’s grizzled exterior was a stark contrast to the rich leather of his steering wheel, the only hint of luxury in his otherwise humble existence. He was part of a world that was dusty, coarse, and loud. His life was a solitary journey, traversing from one end of America to another with a load full of freight and a heart full of regret. His only companions were the radio’s country melodies, the grumbling engine, and the haunting memories of his past.

Every trucker carries a story, and Hawk was no exception. A tale of love lost and a family broken. A wealthy, ill-tempered father-in-law who considered him a failure, and a son, unaware of his real father’s existence. His world was propelled not by the horsepower of his machine, but the weight of his past. As the wheels of his life moved forward, he was constantly driven backward, into a battle with his past and a fight for his future.

Chapter 1: The Long Haul

Hawk’s day began like any other, the morning sun peeked over the vast, open road ahead. His journey was long and tiring, the continual hum of the engine serving as a relentless reminder of his monotonous life. The din of the eighteen-wheeler was a comfort to Hawk, a familiarity in his world that was nothing more than a kaleidoscope of strange towns and unfamiliar faces.

As he spent his hours spiraling down the highways, his thoughts often spiraled into the past. He teetered between memories of his life, before the long hauls, before the broken family, and his dreams of making things right. These memories, like a stubborn gristle, didn’t leave him, chewing him from the inside, gnawing at his heart. He yearned for a second chance, a chance to rebuild his relationship with his estranged son, Michael.

Michael – a boy who was groomed to hate him, taught to forget him. Hawk’s father-in-law, Jason Cutler, a man of seemingly limitless wealth and influence, had taken Michael under his wing after his daughter’s death. Jason had always detested Hawk, his disdain for him only intensifying after his daughter chose Hawk. Now, he was raising Michael for revenge, forming a wall of hatred and lies between the boy and his father.

The journey today was no different, another long stretch through dust-ridden lanes and dreary landscapes. But as Hawk’s truck thundered down the highway, an advertisement for the World Armwrestling Championship caught his eye. The billboard gleamed under the midday sun, its bold letters promising fame and a handsome prize. For the first time in a long time, Hawk felt a spark of hope, a glimmer of possibility. He saw a chance, a perceivable path to regain his son’s love, to earn redemption.

The championship would not just be a display of physical strength but a testament to his mending spirit. The chant of the crowd, the grit of the competition, the allure of the prize money – it was an opportunity, a means to an end. It was here in the vast expanses of the open road, amidst the desolation and monotony, that Hawk found his direction. The trucker had a new destination, not marked on any map or signpost, but carved into his heart.

The long haul was not just a journey anymore; it was a mission, a test of his fortitude. He would arm-wrestle his way to victory, fight against muscular behemoths, against the bitter winds of fate, against his own haunted past. The road was rough, the future uncertain, but his resolve was unyielding. He was no longer just Lincoln Hawk, the trucker. He was Lincoln Hawk, the father on a quest. And his journey was just beginning.

Chapter 2: “Brawny Ties”

Lincoln Hawk, as tough as the rig he drove and as weathered as the open road he travelled, found himself standing outside a packed venue. He had traded in his trucker’s cap for a ticket to the World Armwrestling Championship. This wasn’t a typical jaunt for Hawk, who usually found solace in the hum of his 18-wheeler and the solitude offered by the extensive highway. Now, he was stepping into a whirlwind of burly competitors, roaring spectators, and an arena echoing with the smack of forearm against wood.

The scent of perspiration and ambition was intoxicating. For the first time in a long while, Hawk could see an opportunity. It wasn’t about flexing muscles or showing off, it was about survival, about making a statement. The prize money was substantial, enough to change his life. Winning the championship wasn’t just about the wealth, it was a chance to earn respect, prove his worth and most importantly, reclaim his son.

As he navigated through the ocean of contenders, he saw himself in their relentless ambition. Their fierce gaze, knotted brows, and clenched fists reflected his own struggles. They were fighters, not just in the ring, but in life, much like him. He found comfort in this fraternity, an unspoken camaraderie that only those with hardened calluses and scarred hearts could understand.

Hawk spent the night studying his competitors. Some were built like walls, their biceps rippling with raw power, others relied on tactics, choosing guile over strength. He knew that he had a steep mountain to climb. He was a trucker, not a pro arm wrestler. But he had something that they didn’t – a reason to fight, a cause that was far bigger than the ring.

Back at the motel, far from the bustling city of Las Vegas, Hawk stood in front of the mirror. His muscles were tough, but not as defined as the others. He had the strength of a man who had wrestled with life, not gym equipment. He flexed his arm, his grip tightening around the cheap motel towel. The material groaned under the pressure, mimicking the challenges awaiting him. It was a symbol, a precursor to the arm wrestling bouts he was to encounter.

In the cold, harsh light of the motel room, he started to train with what he had. Chairs, luggage, and even the rusted motel room door became his makeshift gym. Every push, every pull, every grunt was a step towards his goal. Not a single moment was wasted as he immersed himself in his arduous routine. The room resonated with the rhythm of his training, a symphony of muscle, sweat, and determination.

Training wasn’t just physical, he reminded himself. So, he read, studying every technique, every famous arm wrestler, every grip and strategy. Books sprawled across his bed, each page a puzzle piece to the grand strategy he was building, his secret weapon. He had a quick mind, honed from years of strategic routes and load planning. Now, he was applying the same logic, calculating every chance and risk, preparing for his opponents.

In the midst of it all, the face of his son Michael kept appearing, the boy he had left behind in the iron grasp of his rich, ruthless father-in-law Jason Cutler. Each memory of Michael spurred him on, adding to his resolve. The fight wasn’t just against his competitors, it was against his past, against his failures. The championship was his moment of redemption, a chance to rebuild the bridge with his son.

Brawny ties were being formed, not just with his newfound community, but also within himself. He was transforming, steeling his mind, body and spirit for the challenge ahead. Torn between his aspirations and his responsibilities, Hawk wrestled with his emotions. There was no turning back now. He was ready to step into the ring, to arm wrestle not just for glory, but for the love of a son he yearned to hold again.

Chapter 3: “Grit and Grind”

The sun had just made its debut in the morning sky, drenching the desolate landscape in warm hues of orange and red. As usual, Lincoln Hawk was up and about; a man whose life was etched into the heart of the early dawn. His lonely trailer was perched on the edge of a desiccated landscape, blending seamlessly into the sparse surroundings. The only noise within miles was the relentless clanging of iron against iron.

Hawk was a man of few words, his eyes echoing a deep-seated determination and raw grit. His physique, sinewy and hardened by the years, bore an uncanny resemblance to the rough-hewn, intricately detailed statue of Hercules he treasured — a stark reminder of what he was striving for. His once jovial countenance was replaced by an expression, stoic and resolute, mirroring his pursuit of strength and redemption.

The makeshift gym, consisting of various beaten weights and improvised machines, was more like a sanctuary to him. Each dumbbell held not just iron, but memories of a past he needed to outmuscle. Day in and day out, he trained, his muscles straining, sweat cascading down his hardened features, pooling into the ground, sowing the seeds of his impending victory.

Today, like every day, was a battle. Every burpee, every bicep curl was a deliberate act of defiance against the world that had so much wronged him. His training regimen was punishing — a Herculean effort of pushing his body to the extremes. But in every painful grunt, every bead of hard-earned sweat, Hawk found a piece of himself that he had long-since believed to be lost.

Hawk’s training was not just about proving his physical prowess; it was about sculpting his mindset into an unyielding fortress. As he pressed against the weights, he also pushed against his self-doubts, his fears, and every degrading word his father-in-law had ever spoken. Each drop of sweat shed was a piece of his old self, worn and defeated—dripping away, leaving space for the fortified man he was morphing into.

In the midst of his rigorous training, Hawk often found himself in the throes of vivid recollections. He remembered the sound of his son’s laughter, the light in his eyes, the touch of his small hand in his. They were all distant memories now, blurred around the edges but nonetheless, exceedingly precious. The memory of his son became his driving force, pushing him to overcome every grueling workout, each more demanding than the last.

He was a solitary figure in this barren landscape, his physical training sessions echoing a monotonous rhythm into the eerie stillness. But Hawk never felt alone. He had his memories to keep him company, his determination to fuel his spirit, and a dream — a dream to win the World Armwrestling Championship, to be the man his son could be proud of, to reclaim the love he once lost. The sound of his harsh, ragged breathing punctuated the silence as he continued his relentless pursuit.

While he exercised, Hawk often pushed his old rig on long, exhausting drives. Driving not only helped him strategize his tactics for the championship but also mirrored life’s journey. The long, winding roads, the uphill climbs, and the downhill courses were a metaphor for the tumultuous path he had traversed. The rig, like Hawk, bore the scars of the past, yet effortlessly shouldered the weight of his dreams.

Towards the end of each day, as darkness fell and the world succumbed to a silent slumber, Hawk would sit at the edge of his trailer, an almost serene expression on his face, despite the bruising workouts and the psychological warfare. For him, each day’s end was a small victory, a step closer to the championship, a step closer to his son.

It was in these moments of solitude, under the vast, star-studded sky, Hawk truly allowed himself to dream. A dream that didn’t involve the roar of his truck’s engine or the grind of daily survival but one of an embrace — warm, loving, and long-awaited. It was not the glaring lights of Las Vegas or the appealing prize money that he sought; it was the flame of hope, the promise of tomorrow, the love of a son he had left behind. The narrative of his life was turning a new leaf, and Hawk was hell-bent on writing this chapter in bold, irrevocable strokes. His grit and grind were gradually turning into the building blocks of his impending triumph.

Chapter 4: “Tug of War”

Underneath the blare of truck horns and the hustle of busy highway stops, Lincoln Hawk found his world revolving. It wasn’t the dizzying swirl of the road or the relentless training for the World Armwrestling Championship that kept him off-kilter; it was the thought of his son, Michael. The boy he hadn’t seen in years, the boy he had abandoned to the overbearing care of his wealthy, spiteful father-in-law. The aim of reuniting with Michael was the throbbing undercurrent that drove Hawk forward with an unwavering determination.

Hawk was a tower of muscle and gristle, hardened by years on the road and the physical requirements of his profession. Amongst sweat and engine grease, his existence hummed with the routine alignment of gears and miles logged. But breaking through the monotony was the growing urgency to reclaim his son, to rebuild their shattered relationship.

To do so, Hawk knew he must reach out, make the first move. Knowing Michael was at school, he ceased his weights mid-lift, wiped his sweat-streaked face with a towel, and headed for his truck. He dialed the school’s number; his calloused fingers felt odd pressing the tiny buttons. The silence was deafening before the receptionist picked up. He asked to speak to his son, his voice gruff but brimming with anticipation.

Hawk’s eyes swept the vast expanse of Nevada’s arid landscape as he began to speak to Michael. He revealed his dreams and fears, spoke of his mistakes and regrets. Through the phone, he stretched out in search of the young boy taken from him, threading their lives together with shaky words and heartfelt revelations. “I haven’t been much of a father to you,” he admitted, his voice a low rumble, as brittle as the connection. The colorful skyline held his gaze, his reflection mirrored in the truck’s gleaming windows as he poured his heart out to his son.

The story of his life, once lived on highways, isolated truck stops, and under the blinding floodlights of arm wrestling tournaments, was now laid bare. It was a haunting symphony of unsaid goodbyes, missed milestones, stray tears, and a desperate longing for redemption. In the brief silence that followed his confession, he heard Michael’s soft breath, a poignant reminder of the boy he left behind.

Shattering the silence was a bitter confrontation. His father-in-law, Jason Cutler, the manipulative patriarch, learnt of his communication with Michael. Jason was a man accustomed to power, his hands swathed in a world of privilege. He saw Hawk as an unwelcome disruption, a threat to the orderly life he had built for his grandson. The ensuing battle echoed far beyond the strained phone lines, ripping through their already tenuous family dynamics.

The father-in-law’s voice rang out, bellowing disapproval, hurling threats aimed to wound. Leave Michael out of this, Cutler lashed out. He’s better without you. Hawk held the phone, his knuckles white, a steady flame of defiance burning in his eyes. He knew the journey wouldn’t be easy, but as he stood enveloped in the cold desert twilight, Hawk realized something crucial – nothing about his pursuit was easy; yet, it was the hard that made it worth it.

The chapter ended on an electrifying note, pulling the readers into the swirling vortex of drama and emotions. Hawk’s tug of war was not just with his opponents in the arm wrestling championship but also with Cutler and his past. Every line whispered of a man’s fight against the overwhelming odds, his courage, and the heart-wrenching dilemma of a father desperate to reclaim his son’s love. As the author masterfully weaves the intricate plot, the audience is left waiting with bated breath for what lies ahead for Hawk. Will he succeed in his quest, or will the pressure of his past, the complexity of his relationships, and the harsh realities of his present leave him in defeat? Only the following chapters will reveal.

Chapter 5: “The Showdown”

In the heart of Las Vegas, under the neon lights and buzzing energy, it was time for the World Armwrestling Championship. The crowd was an eclectic mix of wild spectators, high rollers, and determined contestants. Somewhere among this motley crew, Lincoln Hawk stood, the weight of his journey bearing heavily on his shoulders.

His eyes scanned across the bustling room, sounds of anticipation filled the air. The gruff voices of the announcers over the loudspeakers echoed, “Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s time! The biggest event of the year, the World Arm Wrestling Championship!”

Hawk’s nerves tingled as he walked towards the arm wrestling table. The presence of the crowd, once a blurry noise, suddenly seemed magnified. Each breath he took was a stark reminder of what was at stake; his dreams, his son, his redemption.

His first opponent was a brute named Rocco, notorious in the arm wrestling world for his sheer power. As they locked hands, Rocco’s colossal grip made Hawk feel like he was holding onto a freight train. Yet, Hawk was undeterred. He remembered his grueling workouts, the sweat-soaked nights, the ache in his muscles begging him to quit, but he pushed onward.

The referee signaled the beginning of the duel. The room fell deafeningly silent as they awaited the clash of titans. With a swift motion, Hawk maneuvered his hand, counteracting Rocco’s thrust. The crowd erupted in a chorus of cheers. Despite Rocco’s stature, Hawk was able to match his strength. The duel continued, the power dynamic teetering between the two, generating an electric atmosphere.

Meanwhile, news of Hawk’s surprising performance reached his father-in-law. Not willing to let his pride be tarnished by what he considered a lowly trucker, he watched with a simmering fury, his resentment for Hawk beginning to boil over.

Back at the tournament, Hawk was pushing through opponent after opponent. Every match put not only his strength to the test but his willpower as well. The physical toll was evident, but the emotional exhaustion was far more challenging. With each round, the memory of his son became brighter, the need to prove himself became stronger.

After the successive grueling matches, Hawk was spent. He leaned against the locker room wall, catching his breath, trying to muster the energy for the next round. He felt warmth on his face, not from exhaustion, but from the hope that for the first time in years, he might have a real shot at turning his life around.

Hawk rose, looking at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were tired, but his spirit was unbroken. He thought of his son, of the legacy he yearned to build for him. He was not just a trucker anymore, he was a fighter, a contender, a man on the precipice of reclaiming his life.

As he walked back into the boisterous arena, the crowd erupted into a fervent whirlwind of anticipation. His final adversary of the night was Bull Hurley, an arm-wrestling behemoth whose reputation was enough to intimidate even the strongest contenders. Yet, nothing would deter Hawk; this was not just another match, it was a fight for his life.

The final battle commenced, the crowd watched, their breaths held in suspense. Despite Hurley’s intimidating power, Hawk held his ground. With every passing second, Hawk’s determination grew stronger, his grit deeper. He could feel the weight of his son’s hopes and the pressure of his father-in-law’s disdain.

In the nerve-wracking climax, Hawk, driven by an unfathomable determination, overcame Bull’s ferocious resistance. The crowd erupted into deafening applause, and Hawk felt a profound relief wash over him. He had made it through the first day, but there was still a long road ahead. He needed to win the championship, not just for the prize money, but for his relationship with his son. For years, Hawk had been driving down a lonely highway, but now he had a chance to swerve into a path he had been longing for.

As the chapter concluded, Hawk was left standing amidst the crowd’s uproarious applause, his eyes welled up, looking into the distance, determined. The championship was just a milestone; his real battle was far from over. One thing was sure though; Lincoln Hawk was no longer just an underdog. He had proven he was a force to be reckoned with, a man worthy of his son’s love and respect.

Chapter 6: “Against the Odds”

There was a thrumming energy in the Las Vegas air as Lincoln Hawk journeyed his way through the bustling streets leading to the World Armwrestling Championship. Today was the day he would wrestle against some of the toughest competitors in the contest. Yet, the physical battles he was about to face were mere child’s play compared to the emotional turmoil he was undergoing.

As Hawk strode towards the brightly illuminated, neon-drenched venue, he was greeted by the raucous cheers of the crowd. The event was in full swing, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. He could see the raw determination etched on the faces of fellow competitors, their muscles straining, minds focused and hands locked in an intimate war of strength and will. Each battle on the stage mirrored his own private conflicts – against his past, his father-in-law, and himself.

Hawk’s showdown commenced. His first opponent was a burly man with a predatory grin. The man’s arms, corded with muscles, looked formidable. They locked their hands and the referee signaled the start. Hawk was prepared, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to unfurl. He drew on his strength and flipped his opponent’s hand back, promptly claiming his victory. Relief washed over him and the crowd erupted.

However, each subsequent match was harder than the last and Hawk increasingly had to dig deeper into his reservoir of wits and strength. He wrestled with sheer determination, his brawny arms engaging in a power-packed struggle with each rival. Sweaty brows, grimacing faces, and tense muscles were evidence of the epic battles that occurred on the wrestling stage. Yet, through each bout, Hawk portrayed an unwavering resolve that sped him on a winning streak towards the finals.

Parallel to his battles at the championship, in a luxurious suite overlooking the Las Vegas strip, Hawk was summoned by his father-in-law. His ruthless, rich, and intimidating figure was silhouetted against the panoramic window. His words were as piercing as icicles, aimed to undermine Hawk’s confidence. He threatened to retain custody of Hawk’s son. This confrontation proved as grueling as the arm wrestling matches. He defended his right to his son, his voice echoing through the suite, ringing with conviction.

Yet it was the emotional tug-of-war with his son that proved most challenging. The boy, torn between the grandfather who raised him and the biological father who now wanted to claim him back, was a living, breathing battlefield of emotions. Hawk was determined in his quest for his son’s acceptance. He sought forgiveness for his past, pleading for the opportunity to start anew. His son was torn, caught in the web of familial conflicts.

Amidst the chaotic whirl of arm wrestling and family turmoil, Hawk found his resolve. He found strength in adversity, wits against manipulation, and courage against fear. The journey was hard, with every victory hard-fought and every reconciliation hard-won.

The night grew deeper, the neon lights illuminated the arena, and the crowd’s roars echoed in Hawk’s ears as he prepared for his final contest of the day. He took deep breaths, calming his racing heart. His grip was firm, his brows furrowed, a reflection of concentration etched on his face. His opponent mirrored his expression. The referee gave the signal and they clashed, a battle of power and will erupting under the glaring lights.

In the heart of Las Vegas, under myriad sparkling lights, Hawk tackled his rivals on the arm wrestling stage, and off it. His life was a series of battles – some physical, some emotional, but all of equal importance. Each victory brought him closer to the coveted prize money and the acceptance of his son. The chapter closes on an exhilarating high, keeping readers on the edge of their seats for the rip-roaring finale.

Chapter 7: “Over the Top”

Under the glaring neon lights of Las Vegas, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. The World Armwrestling Championship had reached its climactic finale, the air heavy with expectation. An army of spectators watched with bated breath as Lincoln Hawk, our tireless trucker-turned-gladiator, prepared for the final showdown that would determine not just his fate but that of his son.

He stood at the center of the wrestling ring, a beacon of determination. Muscles taut as steel cables, knuckles white as he gripped the chalk-dusted handle of the arm wrestling table. Hawk’s opponent, a brawny behemoth with biceps like boulders, glared at him from across the table. The odds were overwhelmingly against him, the crowd’s chants echoing the name of his adversary. But Hawk’s resolve remained unshaken, his strength not just physical but born from the flames of a father’s love.

The referee’s voice pierced through the deafening chorus of the audience, “Ready, set — ” and then they were off. Hawk’s arm strained with the force of a rampaging bull, palm locked with his opponent. The crowd roared, a sea of voices carried on the tide of the high-stakes match.

Every sinew in Hawk’s body was screaming out in pain, but he held firm, feeling the willpower that had brought him this far surge through his veins. He thought of his son, a beacon of hope in his life of hardship, and the enormous, wealth-encrusted wall of his father-in-law that stood between them.

Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, muscles bulging under the strain. Every passing second felt like an hour, every breath he drew was a minor victory. But Hawk wasn’t fighting for the trophy anymore; he was fighting for something far more than the gleaming first-place prize money.

The audience watched as the combat intensified. Hawk’s arm, shaking from the sheer force of his opponent, started to falter. His father-in-law, watching from the elite stalls, broke into a cruel smile, assuming the vindictive victory was his.

But Hawk had never been one to go down without a fight.

Drawing strength from the very depths of his soul, he pulled against his opponent’s arm. It was a fierce struggle, a grueling tug-of-war, a battle of wills. For a moment, the world around them seemed to still, narrowed down to that single, fateful clash of strength.

And then, just when it seemed Hawk was reaching his limit, a determined voice rang out through the crowd, “You can do it, Dad!”

It was his son, standing against the sea of spectators, his voice a tiny beacon of hope. Hawk’s heart swelled. The voice of his son was like a rallying cry, a stirring anthem that swept through him, reigniting his dwindling power.

With a renewed burst of energy, Hawk roared, his grip tightens, and his arm moved. It was a millimeter, then a centimeter, then a full-fledged push. The crowd gasped, their chants ebbed into a bewildered silence.

Against all odds, the Hawk was soaring.

His opponent’s eyes widened, his smug confidence replaced by a flicker of fear. But Hawk wasn’t done. With another mighty heave, he pushed. His arm wrestled against the mass of muscle before him, his indomitable spirit fuelling every fiber of his being.

And then, with a final, thunderous slam, it was over.

Hawk’s hand pushed his opponent’s to the table, the triumphant thud resonating through the stunned auditorium. The crowd erupted into deafening applause, the echo of their surprise mixed with admiration. Hawk had done it. He had risen over the top.

As the cheering filled his ears, Hawk turned around, his eyes welling up with triumph and relief. His gaze met his son’s. There was pride in the boy’s eyes, a spark of newfound admiration. At that moment, Hawk knew he’d won more than just a competition. He had won his son’s heart.

The victory wasn’t just about the money or the title; it was about hope, perseverance, and love. More than an arm wrestling champion, Lincoln Hawk was a beacon for every hard-luck dreamer daring to rise above the odds, reminding them that sometimes, going over the top can indeed bring about the most remarkable victories.

Some scenes from the movie Over the Top written by A.I.

Scene 1



Cramped inside the noisy cab of a big rig, we find our protagonist, LINCOLN HAWK (late 40s, ruggedly handsome with a weathered face). He clings to the wheel, eyes set firmly on the road, brimming with determination.

A photo of A YOUNG BOY is taped to the dashboard. He glances at it from the corner of his eye.



The truck races against the wind, the city lights illuminating the night.


Hawk’s EYES stare into the rear-view mirror, reflecting the past. He turns on the RADIO. A COUNTRY SONG fills the air, its boisterous lyrics mirroring Hawk’s fiery spirit.



Hawk enters a bustling diner filled with TRUCKERS. He sits at the counter, orders BLACK COFFEE. On TV, an AD plays about the World Armwrestling Championship. Hawk’s EYES flicker with interest.



Hawk dials a number. He hesitates, then speaks.


(into phone)

It’s me, Hawk… I’ve got a plan for Michael. I need to see him…



The scene encapsulates Hawk’s initial introduction, setting the tone for his journey. It captures his determination and desperation to reconnect with his son. The World Armwrestling Championship’s ad hints at the upcoming battles and his pathway towards redemption and acceptance.

Scene 2



LINCOLN HAWK, a rugged truck driver in his forties, looks worn and tired. He’s driving on a busy highway, the rumbling truck in sync with his troubled thoughts.

Suddenly, a radio announcement captures his attention.



…and remember, folks, the World Armwrestling Championship is right around the corner…

Lincoln’s eyes FLASH with determination.



A CROWD gathers around a makeshift arm wrestling table. Lincoln stands across a BURLY BIKER, his eyes locked on the man’s hand, just as gnarled and calloused as his own.



You ready to lose?

The Burly Biker merely GRUNTS, the tension simmering.

The crowd WHISTLES and CHEERS, the anticipation growing like wildfire. The match begins, both men straining against each other. The entire bar watches with bated breath.



Later, Lincoln sits in his rig, massaging his exhausted arm, the glare of passing headlights flashing across his face. He gazes at a PHOTOGRAPH of a young boy – his son.


(to himself)

I’m doing this for you, kid.

With that, Lincoln starts his truck, driving off into the night – the journey towards the championship, and towards his son, begins.


Scene 3


A close up on Lincoln HAWK, drenched in sweat, his hands tight on the wheel — he’s not just steering the rig, he’s wrestling his past.


Hawk steps out from his truck. He heads towards the ‘WORLD ARMWRESTLING TRAINING CENTRE’ with a rugged duffle bag slung over his muscular shoulder.


At the sight of the raw, intense atmosphere, Hawk takes a deep breath and moves towards the weights. He starts lifting, veins popping, muscles straining.

GYM COACH, a grizzled older man, notices Hawk. He walks over, squints critical eyes.


Ever arm-wrestled professionally, son?


First time for everything.

They laugh. A true bond forms.


A SERIES OF SHOTS – Hawk wrestling with TRAINING PARTNERS, lifting increasingly heavier weights, studying arm wrestling techniques, straining, falling, getting back up.

Interspersed scenes of him calling his son, MICHAEL, smiling as he hears his son’s voice over the line.


Hawk, alone, practices his grip on the wrestling table. He slams his arm down, a triumphant echo reverberates. His eyes are fierce, determined.


Scene 4



Lincoln HAWK, a rugged man with rough hands from years of work, is behind the wheel. Hawk’s son, MIKE, an innocent 12-year-old boy with wide eyes, sits nervously in the passenger seat.



I ain’t been the best father, Mike… but I am here now, and I want to share something with ya.



What is it, Dad?

Hawk pulls over at a truck stop, opens the glove box, and removes an old PHOTOGRAPH. It shows a younger Hawk, a strong arm wrestling opponent, a gleaming trophy between them.



I was a champ once, Mike. In arm wrestling. I am training again for the World Championship.

Mike looks at Hawk, then down at the picture, then back at Hawk – a faint glimmer of admiration in his eyes.



Really, Dad?

Hawk nods, smiling at Mike’s reaction.


Yeah, son. And I want you to be there with me when I win…



They’ve made it to Hawk’s makeshift GYM. Hawk starts training while Mike watches. The session is intense, sweat drips from Hawk’s brow and his muscles strain with effort.


(low voice)

Can… Can I try, Dad?

Hawk, surprised but proud, sets up a mini practice session for Mike. Their bond strengthens through grit, sweat, and determination.




A phone rings in a vast, luxurious room. Hawk’s RICH FATHER-IN-LAW picks up, and his face clouds with surprise and anger as he hears the news.


Scene 5


The crowd ROARS, the arena vibrates with anticipation. Spotlights swing around the huge space, finally settling on the arm wrestling table in the center.

ANNOUNCER (60s, energetic)

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the World Armwrestling Championship!


Lincoln Hawk, all grit and gristle, flexes his hand. His eyes are focused, determined.


Hawk steps out into the light, the crowd CHEERS.


And here’s the dark horse contender, Lincoln Hawk!


Hawk makes his way to the table, locking eyes with JOHNNY ‘THE BULL’ GRIZZLE (40s, powerhouse).


(knuckles crack)

Ready when you are, Bull.



I’m gonna crush you, Hawk.

They lock hands, muscles straining. The crowd is a frenzy.



Their arms waver, a deadlock. The Bull grins maliciously, but Hawk’s eyes never waver.

Suddenly, Hawk’s grit overtakes. He slams Bull’s hand down.


Hawk! Hawk! Hawk!

The crowd ERUPTS. Hawk rises, triumphant. But his victory is not complete. He looks towards the VIP section, locking eyes with his son, MICHAEL, and his father-in-law, JASON CUTLER, whose displeasure is evident. Hawk’s battle is far from over.

Scene 6


The crowd ROARS. SPOTLIGHTS glaring down towards the wrestling table. Lincoln Hawk, rock-solid, sweat trickling down his temples, faces off against TANK, the reigning champion. The tension is palpable.


Hawk’s son, MICHAEL, watches nervously, clutching a lucky charm – Hawk’s trucker hat. At his side, the imposing figure of his Grandfather, Cutler, softly shaking his head.



Hawk teaching Michael to drive for the first time – a genuine bonding moment.



The REFEREE places Hawk and Tank’s muscular arms together. The audience goes silent; the tension is unbearable.


On my mark. Ready… Set…

Suddenly, Cutler stands up, his voice booming over the silence.


Hawk, you don’t belong here!

Hawk looks towards Cutler, then at Michael. Michael nods, encouragingly. Hawk turns back, his jaw set. He locks eyes with Tank.



The crowd ERUPTS. The match has begun.


Author: AI