Paul T. Bradley

Jessica Hanna's Moment of Triumph

"Everybody threw-fucking-down tonight," says an exhausted Jessica Hanna to her entourage.

Hanna ought to be exhausted -- she is, after all a champion. Just minutes before, she had bested a handful of other ladies in an over-the-top spectacle feat of strength -- and ok, some finesse -- in what was billed as L.A.'s first ever competitive ladies arm wrestling championship.

In the final, Hanna crushed Ladystache, who wore the shame of defeat on her fake facial hair while her conqueror raised an arm with Rosie the Riveter-level pride.

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Courtesy of Tom Daniels/Black Army 1850

Black Army 1850 members raise their mega trapo.

There are two groups of soccer "types" everyone is familiar with. There's the "soccer mom," scooting across town in her minivan with her 2.5 children, and the "hooligan," a soccer fan whose sole purpose in life is to beat the living shit out of anyone who doesn't support his favorite team. There is also a third type, the "ultra," and Los Angeles now has its fair share of them.

Ultras, also known as supporter groups, are bands of diehard soccer fans who root for a particular team. They've existed in the U.S. since Major League Soccer had its first kickoff in 1996, taking inspiration from their European counterparts. They're the fans you'll find in the same section in every game chanting, singing, cheering and jeering along to the action on the field while drumming, tossing streamers and, on occasion, setting off a flare or two. A growing number of them in Europe have deep political affiliations, but so far that hasn't been the case in the U.S.

L.A. is currently the only city in the country hosting two MLS teams -- the L.A. Galaxy and Chivas USA, who share the Home Depot Center stadium in Carson and play each other this Saturday. The former was established in 1995 and is one of the league's first teams, while the latter was founded in 2004 and is the sister team to Mexico's Club Deportivo Guadalajara, aka Chivas de Guadalajara.

Each team recognizes three groups per team as official supporters: the Galaxians, Angel City Brigade and the L.A. Riot Squad on the Galaxy side; and Legion 1908, Union Ultras and Black Army 1850 for Chivas USA.

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220 Fitness

If there's anything we are not lacking in Los Angeles, it's places to work out. But finding the perfect gym to tone, slim down or -- dare we even say it -- find a date is a highly subjective decision.

Then there's that old real estate rule of location, location, location; You want a gym close to you so you'll actually go to it, but also one that has the amenities that make you want to go to it. Big box chains will have more gyms in different areas, but they also can be more crowded than a cattle call casting session. Most neighborhoods will have more intimate, boutique gyms -- workout studios that can be more expensive and also render themselves useless by one job change or apartment rental.

Taking all of this into consideration, we scoured the city for 10 of the best gyms in Los Angeles.

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Brendan A. Murray

An American tradition since 1875, the annual Kentucky Derby is a high-profile horse-racing event in Louisville, Ky., and the first installment of the U.S. Triple Crown -- the equine equivalent of the Super Bowl, World Series and NBA Finals. But here in Los Angeles, more than 2,000 miles from the Churchill Downs racetrack, it's an excuse to drink mint juleps and wear crazy hats.

To celebrate the 100-plus years of horse-racing history, the Los Angeles Athletic Club hosted its second annual Kentucky Derby Viewing Party, featuring Southern-inspired cuisine, side bets and specialty whiskey-based cocktails by Marcos Tello.

Multiple monitors screened the Kentucky Derby live, but it's not like anyone was really watching the so-called "most important two minutes in sports history," because people were too busy checking out the hats -- like these fancy numbers from the Pooka Queen pop-up hat shop.

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Photo by Nanette Gonzales

The Drive-By City Rollers in their inaugural bout.

He got into it because of his girlfriend: "I saw the movie, then a few months later I was introduced to her and roller derby at the same time. She invited me to come along to watch her, and I was immediately enthralled -- girls hitting each other."

Another guy came over from England last year and signed up as soon as he heard about it. That guy's nephew was involved, and he wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Was it like that movie? Will there be fighting?

If you wanted to play, and you could prove your skills to L.A.'s newest team, you checked a special website for the availability of your desired moniker: "Raven Busther," maybe, or "Julius Pleasar," "Apex Twin," "Shaft," "Rink Crash," "Billy Motion" or, yes, "Flamin' Frenzy." Once named, the chosen few showed up in North Hollywood Park at the appointed hour -- 2 p.m. on a Saturday -- for the historic moment: the very first "bout" for the Drive-By City Rollers, and the first men's roller derby flat-track meet in Los Angeles since 1978.

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Courtesy E.J. Scott

Scott completing his second marathon of the year in Austin, Texas.

There is rain in the forecast this weekend, and that makes E.J. Scott nervous. He is supposed to run the 26.2-mile Los Angeles Marathon, a task that usually takes him five and a half hours. Exposure to the elements for that long is enough to make anyone a little anxious, but Scott is more worried the rain could waterlog his curtain.

"It's really long; I wrap it around my head a couple times so it's nice and thick, but when it gets wet, it gets really heavy and it might fall down," says Scott, whose face (when not covered in curtain) is recognizable from his work in the L.A. improv scene.

Scott has Choroideremia, a rare eye disease that has left him with just a fraction of the vision an average person has. "Most people can see about 90 degrees out of each eye and I'm at less than 20," he says.

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David Silpa/UPI/Newscom

Jerry West

Reading West by West: My Charmed, Tormented Life is like overhearing a celebrity patient talking to his therapist: It's unsettling and uncomfortable -- yet you can't stop listening.

Jerry West was a college All-American at West Virginia and an instant All-Star after he joined the L.A. Lakers in 1960, and every year thereafter, until his 1974 retirement. As the Lakers general manager, he built the "Showtime" championship teams in the 1980s and the Shaq/Kobe three-peat teams more than a decade later. But West now says that success brought him little happiness.

The book reveals the restless, quirky, often depressed man behind the flattering nicknames -- Mr. Clutch, Gentleman Jerry. Losing the 1959 NCAA Championship game by one point, followed by eight losses in the NBA Finals and just one championship, was a tremendous burden for such a hypercompetitive person.

But it was two boyhood events that cast a dark shadow over his life: the death of West's beloved older brother, David, in the Korean War, and a series of brutal beatings at the hands of his father, Howard, which only ended after West, at the age of 12, threatened to kill him. He admits that many people advised him not to write the book -- an instant New York Times best-seller -- and a review in the L.A. Times predicted he would regret it.

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The Costacos Brothers

Big Game James Worthy

Do we still have the old jock and nerd stereotypes of yore? Swishy art nerds would never be caught on the jock side of the tracks, or vice versa, would they?

Well, with Country Club and the Mondrian's joint exhibition of the Costacos Brothers' fantastical sports lithographs from the 1980s, the jocks have invaded the art gallery.

Former Laker "Big Game James" Worthy stands Perry Mason-esque, suited up, ready to take on the courtroom; Dodger-era Kirk Gibson, decked out like a cross between "Crocodile" Dundee and Jesse Ventura, prepares to hunt pitchers like game animals; and Michael Jordan dunks the fucking moon, obviously.

For the nerdier thirty-something art folks like us, these are definitely the posters that stood watch over the kids who beat us up in middle school as they slept comfortably. But, now, nearly 30 years later, there's an undeniable sense of artistic wonderment in these seemingly unlikely objets d'art.

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Courtesy of the artist and Blum & Poe

Banks Violette's sculpture of Dale Earnhardt Jr.'s team number

"I'm pretty sure my fans will wear this award as a badge of honor," racer Dale Earnhardt Jr. said when he accepted the 2011 Most Popular NASCAR Driver Award in December. "And so they should, because the award is theirs."

This was the ninth consecutive time Earnhardt Jr., whose grandfather was a racer and whose father died driving in a 2001 race Earnhardt Jr. nearly won, has been given the honor. It's either his scarred family legacy or his rough-edged Southern accent that keeps his fans on his side. Certainly, it's not his record, since he hasn't actually had a win in 1,318 days (and counting), according to Over88ted.com, a website that exists solely to keep track of Earnhardt's chokes and losses, and is named for his team, No. 88.

Because New York-based artist Banks Violette is interested in what's overrated -- especially when there's a strangely obsessive, sometimes violent subculture attached -- he crafted two steel, 6-foot-tall number 8's for his current exhibition at Blum & Poe gallery in Culver City. The numbers are hollow with burnt and corroded edges. One room over is another 88 written on aluminum with black tape in the same slanted font Earnhardt Jr. uses on his cars and jerseys.

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George Grigorian

Anjel Dust, a dancer for more than a decade, also is an organizer of the California Pole Dance Championships.

With her Lucite heels, cheeky schoolgirl pigtails and silky, hot pink disco shorts exposing admirable curves, the petite dancer is a textbook picture of urban eroticism.

Nimble, feminine and impressively toned, she grips the towering pole, launching her taut, muscular frame with astounding athleticism. She follows with midair splits, more twirls and acrobatics, spinning in a complete arc not once, twice, but three times with exacting finesse. Her routine, set to the haunting tones of The Dresden Dolls' "Missed Me," ends with a barrage of catcalls and the crowd in rapture -- yet not even a single crumpled dollar bill litters the stage.

No, it's not another recession-weary night at Spearmint Rhino. And Nadia Sharif is not your typical stripper, dancing to finance future tattoos or a recreational drug habit. In fact, Sharif isn't a stripper at all. She's an electrical engineer, specializing in robotics at the petroleum behemoth BP.

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