The Pay Winda' is Closed

In Professional Wrestling, it is pretty hard to stand out. There are tens of thousands of guys with big muscles. There are lots of tall guys. Guys weighing as much as a small car?  Yup. Even being insane will only get you so far, they have that covered too. What decides, often, how popular you are or are not is what people see in you, and how they see themselves.

If you think about some of the biggest names in Wrestling, you often find a lot of idealism. Hulk Hogan, the 6'6", muscle-bound bleached blonde guy. Ric Flair, the man who lives a life of luxury. We could even throw in Bruno Sammartino; he had a simplicity about him, but he had the body (and still does) chiseled out of stone. This is something wrestling has always done well, it presents these figures that were, perhaps, out of reach for most, and gives them values to make them either detestable or inspirational. Pretty simple. The good guys, they do what they do out of righteousness, and we cheer, but rarely could you feel a kinship.

Then, there was Dusty Rhodes. The Son of a Plumber. Perhaps, most of all, the American Dream. Idealism took a holiday. Here came a man who, in time, settled in with his protruding gut, his scraggily, short blonde hair, and his prominent lisp. What did this man have to offer? Confidence. The confidence of a working man. He did not have the genetics, he did not have the heritage, he only had a belief in himself. I don't want to sell short his ability to speak because he has cut some of the best promos in the history of wrestling. The reason why he was so effective was because, somehow, the atoms of the universe came together to create this human being primarily consisting of shortcomings and mass, and granted him the confidence of an adonis.

He took a lot from the promos of Thunderbolt Patterson, but he made it his own. The people looked at this guy, and he could easily be the dad who lived next door, or the mechanic down at the shop. Instead, he was a professional ass kicker. He was a cowboy. Dusty toed the line between stylish and steeled. Fans could see themselves as him; an idol that isn't ideal. His speech impediment became endearing, his promos would tout his flaws, but never suggest he was anything less than the best.

Dusty was rarely, if ever, a heel. The people loved him too much. He did battle, most notably, with the Four Horsemen and the Russians. And when they would cross him, or put him down, the fans knew he'd be back. They knew because Dusty knew. When the Horseman tied him up in a parking lot and readied a bat to break his arm, he told them "Make it good!". He knew that if they didn't put him down for good, he'd have his revenge. John Cena 'never gives up' in this more kid-friendly atmosphere of wrestling (which I approve of whole-heartedly), but when Dusty took his beatings, his comeback was about retribution not morals.

Dusty Rhodes represented a caste of people who were never represented at that level before. The working man, the average human being with some belief in themselves. It wasn't just a moniker. Dusty Rhodes looked like a man who had over-achieved. That was the American Dream. To do better with life than the place in it you were given. He was an outlet for the folks who got home from work, kissed their kids on the forehead and sat down on the couch to relax. He believed in them, and they believed in Dusty Rhodes. It's a sad day for the working class.

The Heart of the Ox

Ox Baker killed a man in the ring.  Ox Baker killed TWO men in the ring.  Ox Baker had a technique:  The Heart Punch.  The move was known before, but no man had used it so viciously.  No man had had the punching power to not just strike the ivory shield we humans have guarding our chests but to compress and break and dig into the center of our circulatory being and hurt places that aren't meant to be hurt.

This is a professional wrestling blog, so of course, you should take anything and everything with a grain of salt.  There's no denying this fact, though:  Two men died shortly after matches with Baker.  The cause of death, as attributed by carnival-bred promoters and ticket takers everywhere, was the vicious Heart Punch of Ox Baker.  And if you saw him, you'd believe it. 

There may not have been a man who looked more evil than Ox Baker.  He's big, he's ugly, his eyebrows arch like devils horns while his trademark mustache descended to his chest.  He's the perfect bad guy, and before anyone could tell one truth from the other, the public only knew of a man capable of killing someone with his punch; a detestable man was born. 

It may be hard for some people to imagine that a legend could go this far, or that anyone would believe a wrestler would really hurt someone he's in the ring with.  I am here to tell you that people feared Ox Baker, but even more than they feared him, they HATED him.  They hated him because they believed he was a killer.  Whole-heartedly.  With no irony.  They believe he had killed and that it had been licensed because it was 'sport'.  So, what happens when he comes to your town?  And he not only uses the dreaded heart punch, but uses it repeatedly?  The people of Cleveland in 1974 wouldn't stand for it.

When I tell you all of this, I'm telling you about the beauty of Professional Wrestling and why I always write about it with such wonder.  Because all of this betrayed the gentle heart of the real Ox.  The real Ox was a sweet man who took care of dogs.  He was soft spoken, and a game show contestant.  You can easily tell the true intentions of a man by how he interacts with Bob Barker.

He was a character, through and through.  And that he was able to make so many people hate him, and that he would not wither from that attention is amazing to me.  I think if people thought Anthony Hopkins really was Hannibal Lecter and showed up to his theatre performances with switchblades, he probably would take out full paper ads and commercial time to stress the point that he has never eaten anyone's liver with fava beans and a nice Chianti. 

Ox died, ironically, from a heart attack.  As he grew older, he still had the mustache and still had the eyebrows.  And still had the iron-on home-made shirts telling people to hate him.  Because wrestling is the kind of stage play you don't get to step down from easily.  You're only sweet when you're gone.

Believe Whatever You Like

Wrestling is unique.  I guess that might be putting it kind of lightly.  It definitely creates some unique characters.  You could argue that, in recent years, the average wrestler is a lot more civil and lacking the ‘larger than life’ personality of former years.  Daniel Bryan, the champion of current WWE, has based his entire campaign around being just like every person in the audience. 

The 80’s are known for excess, and nothing was more excessive than the WWF of those days.  Enormous men, extravagant celebrity-filled events, and ranting and raving so insane that it could perhaps have doubled around into genius; scholars are still deciphering.  It all seemed so other-worldly that, to a lot of children, it was nearly untouchable.  Which is why everyone wanted to touch it.

Growing up, I was always a Hogan kid.  Hogan was a man on the precipice of sanity.  He would widen his eyes and tell you faerie tales about slamming giants so hard that earthquakes destroy everyone except the Hulkamaniacs.  If Hogan was on that precipice, the Ultimate Warrior was driving a rocket ship right off of it.

The argument could be made that no human being could possibly know what Warrior was talking about except for Warrior.  Certainly, no children were sitting on their living room floor, nodding along to his points.  The mystery and the intensity were the appeal; the man’s clear insanity was amazing and confusing and enticing.  It was cool. 

We are no longer in the 80’s though.  The year 2000 has come and gone, heck even 2010 is gone!  The thing about acting insane now is that people can really tell if you’re insane or not.  Characters cannot strictly be characters, they are extensions of a regular human being.  Hulk Hogan is no longer the immortal Hulk Hogan, riding motorcycles and playing guitar, and headbutting the Russian flag.  He’s Hulk Hogan the dad, the actor, the jerk(?).  These are not my feelings on him, he’s been called many things by many people.  Heck, his whole 'life' was on display in a reality show.  His life, like all of our heroes has been opened up by this new age.  The Ultimate Warrior was also victim to this for many fans.

The fact that WWE put out an entire DVD mocking him should tell you a bit about either A) who he was or B) who he worked for or with.  For me, a lot of his post-wrestling antics were difficult to come to terms with.  There’s his famous ‘queerin’ don’t make the world go ‘round’ quote, for example.  I knew the man’s politics!  It wasn’t even on purpose, it’s just that everything is reported.  He also changed his name TO Warrior.  My prognosis?  The guy was just nuts.

When I heard he was being inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame, I and many other people thought “Here we go!  Crazy guy with a microphone!”.  I watched his speech and I was saddened a bit, not because he was quite sane and reasonable, which he was.  I was sad because a lot of his speech was arguing “Hey, I wasn’t really a bad guy!”.  And when he was talking, he didn’t seem like a bad guy. 

Do I think it’s a bit weird that his daughter was named Dakota North Warrior?  A bit, yeah.  I realize that, a lot of that crazy isn’t crazy as much as it is a very ADAMANT commitment to self-confidence.  He believed in himself.  A lot.  Some people find that to be egotistical, some people find it inspiring.  It was Warrior, though.  It’s what he is, and nowadays, you can judge a person (and moreso a celebrity) with a level of completeness you never could before.  Maybe this means you’ll hate more people, maybe it means you’ll be more accepting of their faults. 

Regardless of the ‘dirt’, I was happy to see a man who was thankful.  He seemed genuinely hurt by what had been said of him.  It was good to see him talking with the current generation and making amends with those people who tore him down.  He is a lucky man.  Many men like himself have died before their time and without any pomp.  His last minutes were in front of a crowd screaming for him, and he was screaming back.

Kodo Fuyuki Tribute - Shinya Hashimoto vs. Kintaro Kanemura - May 5th, 2003

Shinya Hashimoto at Fuyuki's tribute show

Grieving the dead is a part of life.  And it's not even something our souped-up monkey brains wrenched out of the floating nether; regular monkey brains did it.   Elephants will go so far as to cover their fallen allies and return to the bones years after the fact.  It is within the essence of being, to grieve.   And unless somebody can figure out how to stop cell division, we're all gonna get there soon enough. 

The molecular level of grief isn't so much what I'm worried about, since this isn't a science blog (though it's the next best thing).  We're human beings with benefits from evolution that elephants haven't gotten.  Complex feelings, opposable thumbs and ovens to cook our food in.  We communicate and we share moments and we hoard trinkets from friends and loved ones to remember moments in time.  We watch baseball games together, we go shopping together and  we build bridges to bring ourselves to each of these people that we share with.  You might say 'Of course we would grieve, because it just makes sense'. 

We have all this sophisticated architecture getting us around, from person to person; and when it burns to the ground, we grieve just like a monkey, just like an elephant. 

I needed to preface this because I think it might be silly out of context.  And you know, it very well may be.  I think wrestling should always be viewed with a nudge and a smile, because it's just a show.  I also feel that it can give you powerful joy, sorrow or mirth just like any kind of fine art can.  All this brings me to Kodo Fuyuki.

Fuyuki (right) with Kintaro Kanemura

Fuyuki began wrestling in 1980.  His first big break was in All Japan Pro Wrestling, one of the two most reputable Japanese companies, as a tag team wrestler.  With his partner Toshiaki Kawada, he formed the team of Footloose (and yes, they came out to Footloose) where they were 3 times tag team champions.  When he left All Japan, he eventually started in what would be called a 'hardcore' wrestling organization.  Wrestling in barbed wire matches, glass matches think of some weird, sharp stuff to hit yourself with and that's what they'd hit each other with.  People have varying views on this style, among fans and among the other organizations in Japan, but it's what he did and since he did it, we can only assume it was what he loved. 

He opened up his own organization in 2002, after 5 years of the aforementioned hardcore wrestling.  Shortly after that he announced he had cancer.  Despite this, he had planned one big match.  His opponent would be Shinya Hashimoto.  Hashimoto was the ace for New Japan Pro Wrestling during one of its largest boom periods.  Before that match could ever happen, Fuyuki died of cancer.

Hashimoto kept his booking.  Instead of wrestling Fuyuki in one last match, he faced Kintaro Kanemura, a long time friend and stable-mate of Fuyuki in "Team NO RESPECT".  The match was a No Rope Barbed Wire Explosion match.  Something very out of character for Shinya Hashimoto to do, which speaks volumes of what he must have thought of Fuyuki. 

When you care about someone truly, it is a very primitive thing.  Like grief.  When someone that close to you dies, you try to honour them the best way you know how.  Hashimoto brings the ashes of Kodo Fuyuki into the ring, holds them up before the crowd and throws himself into the exploding barbed wire.

I bet Fuyuki got a kick out of that.  The match itself is brief and brutal.  It's a powerful eulogy. 

I know this was a serious piece of writing, and I smile typing this line because I know it, but stuff like this is why I love pro wrestling.  At its best, it can make you feel those emotions.  Like an elephant visiting the bones of its father, or a man grieving a friend.

Fuck you, I'm grieving!

Ottawa's Wrestling Community Picks up the Cancer Fight

It may sound a little odd, but on Friday, August 17^th, Tudor Hall will have a bevy of professional wrestlers and scores of raucous fans all fighting in the name of one ‘homeless guy’.  Phrank Morin, known to wrestling fans as Stinky the Homeless Guy, was beloved by fans and his friends in the wrestling world.  He would walk to the ring in torn up t-shirts with a taped up shoe and his trademark hat all to the tune of ‘Maybe Tomorrow’, the theme of the Littlest Hobo.  Over several years, his often-touted smile and unique humour was a fixture in Ottawa and Quebec as well as the Northeast United States, where he fought in Lego Weapons Matches and became a champion after finding a title belt while digging in the trash. 

It was with little warning that Phrank’s career was cut short when in December of 2010 it was discovered he had cancer.  The next month during his first cycle of chemotherapy it was found that the cancer was terminal.  He was told he had one year to live.

One of his good friends in the wrestling business was Ottawa C*4 Promoter Mark Pollesel, who after hearing the news, wrote the Canadian Cancer Society about putting on an event for Phrank.   Over the next several months, Mark and his crew held countless fundraisers at his own shows.  They sold cupcakes and t-shirts, they shaved heads; whatever they could do to put the show together, they did it. 

“Basically everybody who had known Phrank from promoters to wrestlers to fans all stepped up and helped us raise the money.  It's our little community, indy pro wrestling, coming together and trying to make a difference.”

As they continued to raise money for the big event, Phrank’s sickness was growing as well.  Soon, one year became only three months.  On April 1^st, 2011, Phrank passed away.  It was a huge blow to all those who had been hoping to put the event together and have Phrank attend.  The decision was made to go ahead with the show, and put it on in his memory instead.  

The very first Fighting Back saw nearly 400 people come to Tudor Hall, among them Phrank’s mother, sister and girlfriend.  It was a night filled with great emotion and tremendous success as well.  The ‘little community’ raised over 10,000 dollars for the Canadian Cancer Society.  At the end of the night, everyone left with a smile on their face and quite a few wiping away tears.

This year, Mark is hoping for even more success.  Former Wrestlemania headliner Bobby Lashley will appear, Harry Smith, a member of Canada’s own famous Hart Family, and Jay Lethal of TNA Wrestling.

“If you’re a wrestling fan, you'll be in for a treat.  You'll see guys who you've seen on TV like Lashley and Smith, working without the limitations of commercial breaks and TV time.  If you're not a wrestling fan, you can show up, donate $20 straight to the Canadian Cancer Society with a General Admission Ticket purchase, lower your inhibitions, and just have fun for a couple of hours.”

Emotions will undoubtedly be running high as his fellow wrestlers take to the ring on August 17^th to put on a show for their fallen friend.  The event isn’t about someone who died though, but about celebrating the person this community loved and his unwavering spirit.

“Much like Phrank and his attitude all the way through his sickness, this is going to be a positive night.”

Fighting Back 2:  Wrestling With Cancer will be held at Tudor Hall (3750 North Bowesville Road in Ottawa).  Tickets can be purchased at VERTIGO Records (193 Rideau St. in Ottawa).  All money from ticket sales will be donated to the Canadian Cancer Society in memory of Phrank Morin.

Bill Dundee, Jeff Jarrett & Jimmy Valiant vs. Robert Fuller, Jimmy Golden & Tommy Rich - AWA - September 17th, 1988

 I was having myself a shave and thinking about all the regular life crap that I have to do tomorrow, going to work as a simple example, and I was having a hard time being very confident about any of it.  You know, you have yourself, which is the active you; the person who goes and talks to people and is the physical embodiment of your being but then there's also your perception, which is what shapes you.  I think anyone that can actually write the last couple of sentences I've written probably is starting out with a disadvantage. 

Not Pictured:  His normally enormous beard.

So there I was thinking to myself how am I going to get through this next day and kind of feeling as though I wasn't all that great of a person.  It's safe now to ask, what does this have to do with wrestling?  On the surface this seems maybe a bit more suited for some personal introspection or maybe a therapist or something, but I find when I feel down I turn to the Boogie Woogie Man.

This past Monday was Jimmy Valiant's birthday and I thought that it would only be fitting if I worked him in to my mini-project here.  There are some guys who just are exactly what they are.  In Buddhism, it would essentially be zen.  A state of being without thought to being.  Just doing what you do.  That's truly mastering yourself as a person.  And if you get "Come to Papa" tattooed across your stomach, I would guess you don't give a fuck about the perceptions of others. 

 On one side of the ring you have the Stud Stable consisting of Robert Fuller, Jimmy Golden and Tommy Rich along with Downtown Bruno and Miss Silvia.  If you were in a psych class or something, you might think of them as society.  Vain and judgemental.  On the other side is the Superstar Bill Dundee, a short Australian, Jeff Jarrett, with his bleached hair and of course, Jimmy Valiant.  Jarrett may seem sort of the odd man out, but under the tutelage of a Jimmy Valiant you're bound to hear a few jail stories and maybe some of it might get through to Jeff and he can give him a prison tattoo using some magnets and a guitar string.

Big Mama's Flowers

 Valiant is wearing his "Big Mamma's Flowers" shirt and clapping and stomping even though there is no music to be heard, but he knows there's music somewhere and maybe he can get something started.  Unfortunately, the match starts instead.  Jarrett is in there going move for move with Fuller until Golden comes in to break up a post-suplex pin.  Jarrett outsmarts them both and then cleans house with some dropkicks.  Boogie Woogie comes in for some celebratory butt bumps with his team.

Bring 'em back!

Fuller gets Dundee into the corner after the tag and throws some really cool looking punches before making the tag to Tommy Rich.  Dundee is in control with a lot of hip tosses and bodyslams before Rich cheats and pulls him by his hair to the other corner.  Dundee's too crafty to get caught up and scurries between Rich's legs for the hot tag to Valiant.  Valiant's version of a hot tag is a bit different than your average wrestler.  He picks up the ref and throws him down, proceeds to the other corner and hip thrusts at the two men on the outside, hip thrusts for an additional 30 seconds at the man who was already in the ring (and assumedly waiting to be punched in the face still) before finally blocking three punches and starting his big offensive push.  Jimmy gets whipped into the ropes, stomps the fingers of Downtown Bruno trying to cheat and then slides outside to make out with Miss Silvia.  THAT is how you make a comeback.

Valiant has long found a loophole in the law that after 15 sexual assaults you can no longer be charged.  MERCY!

 Verne Gagne on commentary speculates that if he were a beautiful lady he may not like to be kissed by Valiant.  If we were a more diverse community, this might have launched a thousand fanfics.  Valiant puts in all the offense he knows, the noggin knocker and punches before bringing Jarrett back in.  Tommy Rich hits a low blow and Jarrett's in trouble.  Golden comes in and gets suplexed.  Everybody comes in Jarrett gets a sleeper hold on Golden, Dundee puts the figure four on Fuller and in the corner Valiant is applying his submission finisher, a 3 minute eye rake on Rich.  The rest of the Stud Stable come in and it's a DQ win for Valiant and company.  Brickhouse Brown comes out to help and it's a party, just like Valiant loves.  Of course, after a party you have to clean house, and out goes the Stud Stable. 

I don't think too many wrestling enthusiasts would praise Valiant for his wrestling skill, but the man was what he was.  Even if you hated him, you couldn't ask for a more entertaining guy to stand on the outside for a tag match.  When you think too much about life, you start wondering why you're in it.  When you thrust your crotch at anyone and everyone, you remove all doubt.  Life's questions will answer themselves when you never stop hearing the music.  And Boogie Woogie Jimmy Valiant will just keep dancing until a party starts.

Thrust until you're finally free.