Eight men chop their boots into the ground in unison, grab a wrist-thick rope and, on cue, yank. Hard.

Here at the Tug of War International Federation's World Outdoor Championships, where a beer-drinking, sausage-eating crowd cheers every jerk of the rope, teams from all over the globe battle in a grown-up version of a sport most Americans know only from the playground.

That's a shame.

This amped up, adrenaline-infused contest of strength claims roots all the way back to ancient Egypt and China. A part of the Olympic Games from 1900 to 1920, it's a pure competition, with no subjective scoring — the team that drags the other 4 meters first wins the match. Period.

In the United States, serious tug-of-war takes place mainly in the Midwest.

Some longtime Austin residents might remember the Tug of Honor in the late 1980s, when a rope was stretched across Town Lake and teams representing North Austin and South Austin dug in their heels in a battle that highlighted the cultural rivalry between the two sides of the city. Fun Fun Fun Fest recently resurrected the tradition at its Aqua Olympics. But that's the playground version of the sport.

In some European circles, where tug-of-war is contested at the collegiate level, the sport ranks up with soccer and rugby in popularity.

Today, pullers, as they're called, from as far away as South Africa, Canada and the Philippines have flooded this quaint farming village. Many are wearing tight-fitting shorts that show off ropey calves and bulging quad muscles.

"It's a kind of poison," says retired competitive puller Tina Goransson, 31, of Linkoping, Sweden, who has three world and five European championship medals to her name but is here as a spectator this time. She grew up in a family of tug-of-war fanatics. Her brother and sister still pull competitively, and after her dad retired from competition he became a referee.

"You need a mix of stamina and explosivity," she says. "It's eight people who must do the exact same thing at the exact same time."

It takes strong legs and a vice grip to make a good puller. Competitors don boots reinforced with thick wooden heels (or, in the case of some of the American pullers, a pair of ski boots or modified hockey skates), which they slam into the turf to brace themselves. They grab the rope, palms up, and the anchor at the end of the line locks it around his or her body. Athletes can't sit or touch the ground for more than a moment during a match.

Some duels end in seconds; others seesaw back and forth for 10 minutes or more. Teams pull, then switch sides and pull again. If they're tied, they switch once more and pull a third time.

Teams compete in designated weight groups. The best athletes train by pulling three or four times a week, and lifting weights and running on off days.

"It's a lot of pain and a lot of dieting," Goransson says. "It's like all athletes — you have a goal and you'll do anything to reach it. For me, it's the feeling on the rope."

In Appenzell, fans pack the bleachers for four days. Live polka music swirls in a tent, and fans snap up bratwurst and schnitzel brot, tip back beers and queue up for free wheel-of-cheese-shaped inflatable toys. The minty odor of Ben Gay rises from the team tents as trainers slather analgesic gel on sore muscles and scrape mud off the pullers' boots.

On the field, up to nine matches unfold simultaneously. Seasoned pullers know to focus on the pressure they feel on the rope and in their legs, so they can take advantage when the other team's tension flags. It's thrilling to watch — especially when a team seizes the advantage and marches backward in a series of quick, coordinated steps.

Aubrey McNett, 26, a plumber and puller from Monroe, Wis., competes in a league with teams from Iowa, Illinois, Minnesota and Wisconsin. Such "hobby" teams have a tough time stacking up against traditional powerhouses like Switzerland, Ireland, Netherlands, Sweden and England. So when the U.S. team pulls off a victory against Ireland, McNett whoops with glee. They go on to finish fourth in the 580 kilogram division, their highest ranking ever in international competition.

"It's an adrenaline rush," says McNett, who has been forced to sit out the match because of a foot injury. Tugging is an all-body workout, he says. "It's all about using everybody else as leverage."

Austin needs a tug-of-war league, and pronto. Not the bar or playground version of the sport, but the real deal, like what's unfolding here in Appenzell.

With some hard training we could field a team at the next world championships, held every two years and next scheduled for 2014 in Madison, Wis.

Contact Pam LeBlanc at 445-3994. Twitter: @FitCityLeblanc