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.

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.