This entire blog was started on a very Macho whim. After years of having wrestling on in the background while doing other stuff, I thought "Why in the world do I still follow this?". And it was a pretty fair question, because I certainly seemed to steam at a lot of what I saw. I don't believe myself to be a masochist, so why did I keep watching this show that only makes me sigh and roll my eyes? And so, as many people do, I turned to YouTube to remind myself what I liked about wrestling.
Again and again, one guy kept popping up and that was the Macho Man Randy Savage. Whether it was the confetti-throwing hippie in his territorial days, or the neon robes and insanity of WWF, or even the seen-it-all veteran in WCW, he entertained me. I went out and bought the WWE's Randy Savage collection release and upon watching was flooded with memories of growing up and I found myself caring about this frowned upon and oft-abandoned form of storytelling.
It's pretty tough to admit you like wrestling. It's kind of like getting dressed for a big job interview, shined shoes and all, and then starting off by telling them you believe in Santa Claus. It's kind of viewed as this 'kid thing'. A lot of people have stories of watching wrestling with their mom or dad and then somewhere the little switch flips and they say "oh, this fake stuff" and toss it off with a knowing laugh. Stupid wrestling, right? But somehow the myth keeps perpetuating itself.
Savage was one of those figures that everyone knew. He was the face of one of wrestling's largest booming periods. And most of all, he was a character. As children, seeing this guy in glittering robes, tie-dye, spouting out these lucid catchphrases and absurd concepts, it was enthralling. It brought out the inner-showboat. It was awesome. Whether he was giving Ricky Steamboat his 'Cup of coffee in the big time' or informing Mean Gene of his crooked moustache, the man had a way with words.
And of course, he had the iconic Flying Elbow Drop that probably was responsible for more children's hospital visits in the 80's than any other ailment. He was a tremendous athlete and without a doubt brought the high flying style to the largest audience and in doing so inspired legions of those who are now wrestling today.
Savage was recently making his way back in to the mainstream wrestling fold. It seemed that the hatchet was buried between Vince McMahon and himself and his name was finally popping up in the WWE on a regular basis once again. He was even a character in the most recent video game release, WWE All Stars. Undoubtedly, this was leading to a Hall of Fame induction in a year or two, and I am deeply saddened that now it will be a posthumous honour. I know he would have had one hell of a speech to give.
To bridge that gap from child to adult, we have to grasp these silly things; playing Barbie's with your mom, fishing with your dad. And we hit our rebellious years and it's "Pshh, Barbie" or "Ugh, FISHING!". And it's funny that, just like your parents did for you, you find yourself relating with children through those same scorned methods.
Wrestling was one of those things that I could relate with with my parents. I'm sure my Mom could care less about Bam Bam Bigelow vs. Adam Bomb, but she drove me to Evansville and she sure acted like she did. My dad would always tell me stories about Ric Flair, the Hangman and yes, Randy Savage.
A lot of people today were reminded of the fun they had and maybe the elbows they dropped growing up. Maybe they love wrestling every bit as much as when they were a kid, or maybe they haven't seen it in years, but it's good to know that people remember Randy Savage, and he'll be that bridge that someone needs.
History Beckons the Macho Man. Dig it.
Friday, May 20, 2011
A Match Made in Heaven
Note: This is a post I wrote many months ago. Re-posted because I think we can all learn a few things from the Macho Man.
At the tender age of 7, I had probably taken over 200 ill advised dives from the back cushion of the couch in my family room to a couple of thin pillows on a shag carpeted-concrete floor. I was never able to put my finger on why exactly one side of my rib cage protrudes ever so slightly, but I think that would be a good a place to start as any. I'd raise two index fingers to the air and then drop the big flying elbow on Ted Dibiase, Hulk Hogan, the Ultimate Warrior or whoever I happened to dislike that week. It was notable that there was no Miss Elizabeth cheering me outside the ring.
I never understood that woman. All I wanted was to see Macho Man drop the elbow. I knew that she was always outside the ring for Savage and I knew she never had much to say. Even though my main priority was nailing the chest cavity with a thunderous fury, if one were to mention the Macho Man I would doubtlessly picture him with the Lovely Elizabeth.
Somewhere along the way I smartened up to women. As much as a teenager can smarten up to women. I was mostly marred by innocence growing up. With dashes of Penthouse forums and satellite TV. But when I saw the aftermath of the Macho Man retirement match with the Ultimate Warrior, I finally understood a little bit about the perseverance of love. In spite of what it was I thought of them as a couple, I followed them all this way. There are some things that just belong together.
Randy could blow out his knee, quit wrestling altogether. He could start a small newspaper stand in Fargo, North Dakota. He could fall in love a thousand times with the many women of Fargo. He could walk with them in the winter snow and hold them close for warmth and try and forget about anything associated with wrestling. He could forget about Pomp and Circumstance, he could never attend another graduation. Every night when he would lay down he'd still think about Elizabeth.
I started watching the build up to the wedding and recently, I think it hit a note with me that it never did before. It was completely ridiculous. My roommate wandered out and watched the proposal with me. He thought it was hilarious. Even now he mockingly says "Elizabeth, I Love You" in his John Wayne-eats-a-gravel-road Savage imitation. I couldn't laugh at it though. I couldn't laugh at the neon cowboy hat Randy wore during his proposal, or the tassled jacket. It was completely ridiculous but it was so completely Macho Man that it made me feel at peace.
When I grew up, I took a few dozen ill-advised leaps with my heart. It's been every bit as battered as my ribs ever were. But you have to take your bumps in love. You have to put gel in your hair and listen to music you don't like. You have to stomach food and drink you hate. You have to get dragged to outings and smile and make small talk. And then you have to sit there and take it when they tell you it's not working out. There is no sanity in love. It's a senseless, selfless punch in your face. No amount of preparation or devotion is going to keep you from getting knocked down. Love is just that desire to keep getting back up.
You put in your time getting knocked around so that you can realize it's going to happen no matter how many fancy blazers you wear or slacks you have pressed. If you can find a woman who would support your wearing plumage at the wedding then goddammit, maybe you found something worth fighting for. And I can't laugh at anyone for being passionate about something in this life.
At the tender age of 7, I had probably taken over 200 ill advised dives from the back cushion of the couch in my family room to a couple of thin pillows on a shag carpeted-concrete floor. I was never able to put my finger on why exactly one side of my rib cage protrudes ever so slightly, but I think that would be a good a place to start as any. I'd raise two index fingers to the air and then drop the big flying elbow on Ted Dibiase, Hulk Hogan, the Ultimate Warrior or whoever I happened to dislike that week. It was notable that there was no Miss Elizabeth cheering me outside the ring.
I never understood that woman. All I wanted was to see Macho Man drop the elbow. I knew that she was always outside the ring for Savage and I knew she never had much to say. Even though my main priority was nailing the chest cavity with a thunderous fury, if one were to mention the Macho Man I would doubtlessly picture him with the Lovely Elizabeth.
Somewhere along the way I smartened up to women. As much as a teenager can smarten up to women. I was mostly marred by innocence growing up. With dashes of Penthouse forums and satellite TV. But when I saw the aftermath of the Macho Man retirement match with the Ultimate Warrior, I finally understood a little bit about the perseverance of love. In spite of what it was I thought of them as a couple, I followed them all this way. There are some things that just belong together.
Randy could blow out his knee, quit wrestling altogether. He could start a small newspaper stand in Fargo, North Dakota. He could fall in love a thousand times with the many women of Fargo. He could walk with them in the winter snow and hold them close for warmth and try and forget about anything associated with wrestling. He could forget about Pomp and Circumstance, he could never attend another graduation. Every night when he would lay down he'd still think about Elizabeth.
I started watching the build up to the wedding and recently, I think it hit a note with me that it never did before. It was completely ridiculous. My roommate wandered out and watched the proposal with me. He thought it was hilarious. Even now he mockingly says "Elizabeth, I Love You" in his John Wayne-eats-a-gravel-road Savage imitation. I couldn't laugh at it though. I couldn't laugh at the neon cowboy hat Randy wore during his proposal, or the tassled jacket. It was completely ridiculous but it was so completely Macho Man that it made me feel at peace.
When I grew up, I took a few dozen ill-advised leaps with my heart. It's been every bit as battered as my ribs ever were. But you have to take your bumps in love. You have to put gel in your hair and listen to music you don't like. You have to stomach food and drink you hate. You have to get dragged to outings and smile and make small talk. And then you have to sit there and take it when they tell you it's not working out. There is no sanity in love. It's a senseless, selfless punch in your face. No amount of preparation or devotion is going to keep you from getting knocked down. Love is just that desire to keep getting back up.
You put in your time getting knocked around so that you can realize it's going to happen no matter how many fancy blazers you wear or slacks you have pressed. If you can find a woman who would support your wearing plumage at the wedding then goddammit, maybe you found something worth fighting for. And I can't laugh at anyone for being passionate about something in this life.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
A psuedo update, long overdue
So yes, I have been absent. I have a few things in the works, some of them not wrestling others, yes, wrestling. My intentions are good, and frankly if I just restart this thing with 18 posts every other month, it would still be an improvement. So please keep this blog in mind!
And while you're keeping this blog in mind, I'd like to post about a pretty cool project going on in Mongolia. You may ask, how does this tie into wrestling? Well, it was started by none other than THE AMERICAN BALLOON.
I'll let you figure out why he's called the American Balloon.
Anyway, the point is, he gave up wrestling and started a project in Mongolia to help with underprivileged children there (and if you didn't know, there's quite a few of those). Most kids don't bother with school and just work from a young age, kind of a rich stay rich, poor stay dumb thing. It's a self-made project and he's put a lot of money and effort in and I dig that he's dropped his life to go all the way over there. So, please check out http://www.cocoonproject.org/ and help out if you can. Did I mention he's teaching them Pro Wrestling? Someone needs to be the next Blue Wolf.
And while you're keeping this blog in mind, I'd like to post about a pretty cool project going on in Mongolia. You may ask, how does this tie into wrestling? Well, it was started by none other than THE AMERICAN BALLOON.
I'll let you figure out why he's called the American Balloon.
Anyway, the point is, he gave up wrestling and started a project in Mongolia to help with underprivileged children there (and if you didn't know, there's quite a few of those). Most kids don't bother with school and just work from a young age, kind of a rich stay rich, poor stay dumb thing. It's a self-made project and he's put a lot of money and effort in and I dig that he's dropped his life to go all the way over there. So, please check out http://www.cocoonproject.org/ and help out if you can. Did I mention he's teaching them Pro Wrestling? Someone needs to be the next Blue Wolf.
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