FACE down in the gutter, agonising pain shoots up my spine as a muscular Texan wrenches me into a bone-jarring wrestling hold called the "STF".
To the uninitiated that's the Stepover Toehold Facelock. To the uninitiated, it hurts.
I'm in larger-than-life Dallas, Texas, trying to understand the popularity of the £300million-a-year global phenomenon World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE).
And things aren't quite going to plan.
WWE nut Frank Javier insists on demonstrating ring legend John Cena's signature move on me.
The furniture deliveryman, 32, twists my left leg around his hefty thigh, pushes his knee into my back and with a sweaty hand over my face, wrenches my head back.
"Ok, Frank, I submit," I yell. "You're hurting me Frank... "
Laughing manically, the dad-of-five finally lets go, saying: "When I watch the wrestling I feel the vibrations, dude. I get so emotional I'm in tears sometimes."
The mammoth WWE tour rolls into Britain on November 4 and 70,000 fans will scream themselves hoarse at the series of live shows, with millions more glued to their TVs in 145 nations.
WWE has been plagued by steroid abuse scandals and the tragedy of wrestler Robin Ethics murdering his family. It has also suffered jibes that the whole thing is a massive fix.
Yet WWE is more popular than ever - with Britain its second biggest market.
I joined the WWE touring juggernaut winding its way through its US heartlands to discover the allure of this bizarre mix of pantomime and apparent violence.
The weird and wonderful fans in Rey Mysterio masks and Cena belts at Dallas's American Airlines Center for the WWE Hell In A Cell event seemed a good place to start.
My last visit to a wrestling match was to see British legend Big Daddy at a sparsely attended Wantage Civic Hall in the early Eighties. Things have moved on quite a bit.
As the house lights go down, heavy metal music throbs and pyrotechnics illuminate thousands of placard-waving fans.
Emerging through the flames are current WWE champ Randy Orton, 30, all tattoos and baby oil, and Irishman Sheamus.
The punches look real and the leaps off the ropes look worthy of Hollywood stuntmen.
Behind me a large bloke with a beard and baseball cap yells again and again: "Use a chair on him."
The storylines - including who wins - are carefully scripted by a team of writers, but the plots make Emmerdale look like King Lear.
Every fight has a hero and a villain to be cheered or hissed.
There's also a "Diva" contest between cuties with heaving bosoms and tight Lycra - explaining why so many dads have bought along their kids, leaving mom at home.
Current WWE golden boy John Cena, 33 - with an amazingly muscled physique - runs on stage to wild applause. Dressed in cut-off jeans, T-shirt and baseball cap, he takes on Brit Wade Barrett, 30, from baddies collective The Nexus. The script writers deem Cena will lose and he must join The Nexus.
When he is duly dispatched - he is attacked by crowd members who are friends of the baddies - the audience sits hushed and stunned.
Many have tears rolling down their cheek, and hulking McDonald's maintenance man Tyrone Davis, sitting next to me, is inconsolable.
I tell Tyrone not to worry, that it's all a fix any way, but the 36-year-old sobs: "But John lost." The climax is a bout between WWE luminary The Undertaker, 45, known as 'Taker, and 7ft monster Kane, 43.
Sitting behind me bellowing at 'Taker is Shaun Cowan, 26, there with his son Timmy, four.
Shaun wears a red fright mask, black wig and Lycra jump suit, his tummy rolling over his black belt. He made the outfit himself to mimic one once worn by his hero Kane.
"I wear it around the house," admits Shaun. "My wife doesn't mind, she's a big WWE fan too."
As fireworks explode, Timmy puts his fingers in his ears as Dad screams for Kane.
It's American razzmatazz at its most gaudy and is undoubtedly an impressive show.
The stage and set are taken down every night ready for the next show.
The stars make their own way there and as I board the plane next morning for Wichita, Kansas, Mark Henry, 39 - a former Olympic weightlifter whose WWE tag is World's Strongest Man - has crammed his vast bulk into a club seat.
A clutch of dolled-up divas are at the back of the plane being ogled by star-struck Midwesterners. Soon we are in the bowels of Wichita's Intrust Bank Arena preparing for that day's Raw bout. Around 100 stage hands unload 12 huge trucks on this continuous tour.
Sean Sellman, 46, in charge of logistics, reveals: "We are like a rock show with a TV show rolled into it. But backstage it's dry - we're not the Rolling Stones."
Earlier I was granted an interview with the Celtic Warrior Sheamus - real name Stephen Farrelly - one of WWE's rising stars.
Articulate Sheamus, 32, a former Dublin IT worker, gives his take on why WWE is so wildly popular, saying: "It's a story, a soap opera. People know that, but get lost in it."
Red-haired and pasty-skinned Sheamus adds: "It might sound corny but it's real-life superheroes - you've got your good guys and your bad guys. Kids love it because these larger than life people perform amazing feats in the ring."
The Benoit murders in 2007 drove a coach and horses through WWE's attempts to craft a family image. Benoit, 40, murdered wife Nancy and strangled his seven-year-old son Daniel before hanging himself. Steroids were later discovered in his Atlanta home, followed by reports that a slew of other WWE stars were taking the drugs.
An autopsy showed signs of significant brain damage, which his family attributes to repeated blows to the head during wrestling.
WWE say that under their Talent Wellness Program stars now undergo compulsory brain tests including memory and reaction time.
Any wrestler suffering concussion has to pass medical tests before entering the ring again.
There is also a tougher drug testing procedure, WWE insist.
Sheamus tells me: "I've never taken a performance enhancer, steroid or any narcotic in my life. WWE come down hard on that stuff. We promote a healthy lifestyle."
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WWE is now labelled as "sports entertainment" and they have toned down the language, got rid of fake blood - and happily admit it's fixed.
Dominic Hayes, television and digital managing director for WWE, revealed: "WWE is and always has been scripted entertainment."
Show time is approaching and I've decided to join in the escapism.
So I don the full Cena "product" line of purple T-shirt, sweatbands, baseball cap and medallion to mingle with the screaming hordes.
As the heavy metal reverberates, I raise my giant foam hand and scream: "Go go Cena! Go go Cena!"
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