Jerry Lawler vs. Terry Funk - Empty Arena Match

When I watched this match I realized that it really wasn't much of a match but more an angle. There is some brawling in it, but the bulk of the presentation on this disc is the build up, and the anticipation. Terry Funk saunters on screen with an envelope in hand.



"First of all I'd like to say that Jerry Lawler is a son of a jackass. He is a lover of chickens."

And if there were more fierce fighting words than calling someone a chicken fucker, I don't know what they are. Terry Funk is belligerent and assured that he can't get a fair shake at Jerry Lawler. Everybody's on Jerry Lawler's side because this is his town. So he hands the envelope over to Lance Russell to deliver to the King. It has a time and it has a place.

When I was about 13 years old I remember the time and the place was the Huntingburg City Park at 4:45, because it would take you about 40 minutes to get home and check in with your parents from when school was out at 3:20 PM and another 45 minutes to get across town to the park. Word had gotten down, somehow, from the High School to the Middle School that there was going to be a fight. By the time I strolled in with a couple of my friends I came upon two 17 year olds with their eyes locked flanked by about 40 kids who didn't have cable TV. They paced that circle for what seemed like another 40 minutes before a voice from somewhere in the back said the words that have started so many epic battles throughout the years. "What are you guys, pussies?" And suddenly they flew at each other in a flurry of awkwardness and testosterone. I'd say it was probably about 40 seconds before one of them laid with a busted lip and appeared to have tears welling up in his eyes. I remember the victor slowly rising up off of him, quietly. And then everyone just disappeared, like fog billowing and dissipating all inside of 30 seconds.

Years later, after achieving what could legally be called adulthood, I remember sitting at the picnic tables at that same park. It was late in the evening, and as there's really not many bars in small town Indiana, the park was often used as a meeting place for the young and the old alike. There were brick shelters in a couple of spots inside the park, punctuated by a beach volleyball net on one side and a baseball field on the other. These shelters had all the style that could be expected of small town government ventures. An assortment of rainbow-coloured picnic tables inside them, the paint chipping off and splinters for all. It never stopped people from booking them out.

I could hear a ruckus and the locust-like sound of scurrying sets of feet coming towards me. Alcohol wasn't allowed in the park, but it seemed to reside there anyway. And I saw, stumbling out of the shelter a khaki-short wearing young man, glasses on his head backwards and the scruff of his neck being held by a balding old coot with the waistline of his slacks approaching his chest. The entire way, the kid was insulting every branch of the guy's family tree. Finally, he discarded him outside of the shelter and started to wipe his hands of the whippersnapper. Then that young man said the words that have started so many epic battles throughout the years. "What are you, a pussy?"

Cue the locust swarm. This old guy instantly about-faced came back out and had his dukes up like a 1930's prize fighter. The old guy basically opened up a clock cleaning business right on the drunkard's face. I'll never forget that guy wailing afterwards, and how the fog vanished as he was left there crying about his nose and his expensive sunglasses. When the police arrived and found this bloody mess, I could hear him crying again, but this time he was telling them how he got sucker punched and he'd have taken him in a fair fight, even though he could barely defeat falling over on his rubber legs as he yelled.



We see the empty arena, where Lance Russell is talking to the camera man about what may or may not happen this evening when Terry Funk walks into the arena cussing up a storm. Jerry Lawler eventually shows up, and becomes the first man to ever show up to a street fight wearing a crown and cape.



Funk continues running Lawler down as only a crazy belligerent person can. Lawler wants to keep this a wrestling match but it quickly disintegrates into the street brawl it was meant to be. Eventually Funk hits a piledriver on the floor, and goes to the wooden steps where he breaks a piece of it off. His voice is getting higher and higher in pitch before he tries to stab Lawler IN THE EYE with it.


"You son of a bitch you tried to kill me! I'm gonna get his eye!"

It ends up backfiring as Lawler kicks Funk in the elbow and the stake goes into HIS eye. Lawler goes down to his knees and prepares to punch Funk again but holds up as Funk is screaming in agony and nearly in tears. Lawler stands up slowly and walks away. All the while Funk begs for help, which turns to him asking where Lawler went? "Where is that coward?! He's yellow. Lawler's yellow."

It's fantastic to see. Everything. Conflict is a part of life. You can be a hippie or you can be a businessman and you'll still find conflict somewhere. And where you see conflict, you'll see people. When I was 13 years old, I remember thinking 'this is how kids solve their problems'. And then when I became an 'adult' I realized that adult is just a word we make up to pretend we don't fight and scrap exactly like we did when we were 13. And there are millions of ghosts shifting in and fading out around those scraps.

CHIKARA High Noon Preview

It wasn't all that long ago that wrestling companies started pumping out Internet Pay Per Views. It's much cheaper than the traditional cable pay per view and it skips past all the non-sense that comes with getting on different providers and obtaining a decent slot amidst the UFC's, WWE's and TNA's (Well, maybe not TNA's...). A lot of people were asking when CHIKARA would come on board. They've made leaps and bounds in the past year. Ever since the huge success that was King of Trios 2011, there have been more eyes on them than ever and it's fitting that their first iPPV would be the one that crowned their very first Singles Champion.

Just in case there are people a little weary of the idea of an internet PPV; I was too. I assumed the quality would be poor or perhaps there might be issues with connection speed. GoFightLive (gfl.tv) has a test stream available to gauge how your internet can handle it. In the handful of times since I've jumped on the bandwagon, I've never run into any issues with buffering video at all. For the record I just have a basic ethernet connection. Additionally, just like the grand old days of VHS, once you've purchased the feed, it's yours. You can go into your account at any time and watch the stream again. With the technicalities out of the way, let's take a look at the card.

Jigsaw vs. El Generico - Preview before the PPV

This will be the preview for the show streaming at U-Stream: http://www.ustream.tv/user/CHIKARAMedia

Jigsaw has been out with a bicep injury for a number of months and he and partner Mike Quackenbush just dropped the Campeonatos de Parejas to F.I.S.T. a short while ago. Without question, he's one of the sharpest guys on the CHIKARA roster and it's a shame he's been limited so far in his return. El Generico is one of the top 5 wrestlers in the US right now by my estimation. He's had amazing matches in PWG, ROH, CHIKARA and anywhere else he's shown up.
There's no real storyline to this match, but you can expect it to be fantastic and really a great way to entice people showing the fun spirit of CHIKARA and some fantastic wrestling.

Amasis Speaks

Not long after their great showing at KoT '11 the Osirian Portal very suddenly lost its Funkiest Member. Amasis was pushed out of action 'indefinitely' in June 2011 due to injuries sustained outside of wrestling. This was a huge blow in a lot of ways because I've found if there's one guy who I can nudge my non-wrestling friends into watching some wrestling with, it's Amasis. He's super charismatic, and let's face it, everyone loved Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo, and Amasis is that movie incarnate. This is actually one of the things I'm most interested in on the PPV. It would be wonderful to see him in the ring again, but I just hope he's doing well and that he sticks around CHIKARA in the years to come.

Colt Cabana vs. Archibald Peck

The undisputed Leader of the Band, Archibald Peck has found a new mascot: former CHIKARA competitor and Tag Team specialist Colt Cabunny. Cabunny was in a tag team with CP Munk many years ago. He had been in retirement, assumedly in a whole, outwitting Dutch Mantell and WWF mainstay Skinner before Peck enlisted his services. His namesake, Colt Cabana, however, isn't convinced that the partnership is amicable.



Indeed, it seems that Cabunny somehow was coerced into becoming Peck's mascot, and since joining has been tormented by Marchie Archie as evidenced in this blog post (http://www.chikarapro.com/blog/11-2-2011.php). In their first meeting, Peck used some underhanded methods (including time travel) to best Cabana. With Cabunny doing his bidding now, it certainly looks like Archibald has the advantage. You can bet Colt has a gameplan though, and if he can get through to his old friend, it could certainly prove interesting!

Green Ant vs. Tursas

One thing CHIKARA does better than any other company is re-create that feeling of being a kid that loves wrestling. The Green Ant/Tursas feud is my favourite example of this. They took what might have been a very average feud between two young guys and injected some CHIKARA serum into it. That serum consists of great long-term storytelling, a little bit of nostalgia and some common sense. That last one is much more of a commodity nowadays.

The feud started at King of Trios, when Tursas' interference in the Colony vs. BDK match backfired and Green Ant, a rather tall, skinny ant hoisted him up ala Lex Luger on the USS Intrepid and slammed him down. He then finished up with a Rebel Rack on Jakob Hammermeier for the win. Leading up to Chikarasaurus Rex, Green Ant hopped aboard the Flex Express harkening back to the Lex Express that Luger took around America. Their match at Chikarasaurus Rex was an excellent match. The thing that works with Tursas is he really works like a big man and doesn't just bump all around and it makes it that much more impactful when someone does get him off his feet. In the end, Jakob interfered costing Green Ant the match.

This looks to be the final showdown between the two and Green Ant has gotten some advice from both Eddie Kingston and Ultramantis Black, the only two men to beat Tursas. He's got a tall order ahead of him to say the least!

Gregory Iron vs. Icarus

I don't think that Icarus has ever been cheered in CHIKARA. Which is quite the accomplishment givien the light-hearted nature of the company. Between his membership in F.I.S.T. and his horrific back tattoo he is a perennial bad guy through and through.

Gregory Irons, on the other hand, is a miraculous story. In spite of having Cerebral Palsy, he's managed to become a Pro Wrestler, and a pretty good one at that. He really makes no qualms about his disability, his nickname being the "Handicapped Hero" and his entrance music is Bobby Brown's "On Our Own" from Ghostbusters 2.

If you haven't had a chance to see Iron work, this should be a good showcase.

The Colony (Fire Ant and Soldier Ant) vs. the Young Bucks

Two teams with two points towards tag team gold meet up. A third point in CHIKARA would earn one of these teams a shot at the Campeonatos de Parejas. The Colony (with Green Ant) are the current Kings of Trios, and have been on a roll since acquiring their awesome golden ant capes.



The Young Bucks left TNA earlier this year and have been mainstays in CHIKARA the last few months with great results including wins over the Batiri and the BDK on their way to High Noon.

Whoever wins will get the F.I.S.T. team of Gargano and Taylor for the titles.

The Spectral Envoy vs. Ares and Tim Donst - No Disqualification

Ultra Mantis Black and Hallowicked are putting their masks on the line, Donst is putting up his hair and Ares is putting up the Eye of Tyr in this match. The Eye of Tyr, of course, has been the catalyst for many big events in CHIKARA, most notably the forming of the BDK and the brainwashing of former Spectral Envoy stablemate/friend Delirious.

This match likely is the BDK's last stand as if they lose the Eye of Tyr (and to a lesser extend Donst's luscious locks) their destruction is imminent. Ares has put off a showdown with Ultramantis on countless occasions, to the point where the devious Black made a point of attacking BDK members to draw his attention and show his intentions. Just as the theme to the PPV states, "It's High Noon, for the BDK". Will they make it to 12:01?

12 Large Summit Final: Eddie Kingston vs. Mike Quackenbush

This is probably the most fitting final to a Tournament named after the late, great Larry Sweeney. Quackenbush and Kingston, by all accounts, were two of his closest friends and if you watched the Opening night of King of Trios, you could see the outpouring of emotion from both men in their matches. This is both a fitting tribute to a fallen friend, but also an important mark in CHIKARA history as it will decide the first Singles Champion in a company that's been going for 10 years.
Quackenbush is the founder of the company and he's been wrestling for many years. I often recall reading results during the genesis of the Internet featuring him alongside Reckless Youth. Mike's had some monumental matches in that time. Just in CHIKARA, the tag team match last December where he and Jigsaw won the Campeonatos de Parejas was molten hot and a terrific match, as well as his 12 Large Summit match with Hallowicked documented earlier in this blog. There is going to be the pressure to 'live up' to the main event of CHIKARA's first pay per view, and Mike Quackenbush always delivers.

On the other side will be Eddie Kingston. A CHIKARA original as well, and also one of the scariest men on the roster. The great thing about Kingston is that he can, for instance, do the hilarious play-by-play he did on Dragon Dragon's debut (YouTube it!) but then just shut the smile off and narrow his eyes and he suddenly becomes a very frightening and intense guy. For example, his promo for this very match.



This is a very important match. It's important to both men for what it means to their fallen friend, to CHIKARA going forward, and to how they'll be perceived after this point.

The one thing I can say about CHIKARA, and I can't say this about much wrestling anymore, you will have fun watching it. Fifteen dollars is a small stipend for the great wrestling you will undoubtedly see and the laughs you will have. If it sounds like I'm shilling, I absolutely am, but only because CHIKARA brought me back into wrestling and has given me the ability to enjoy it and share it with other people.
If you thought about watching wrestling again, if you were a fan and you've ever wondered what it's like nowadays, check out High Noon. You won't be disappointed.

Prose Wrestling

Professional Wrestling has always told stories. It's its own brand of fiction. Fighting fiction. In this way, it can be kind of limited because eventually somebody has to pin another guy. I think that's part of what I love about wrestling. It gives you this set of parameters and says "What will you do with this?". I've always needed a little direction, myself, and so I love seeing the creativity that flows out of these tight spots.

So, when I see someone do something REALLY crazy and unique, I have to share it.

Big Japan Wrestling is a Death Match Organization. I can't begin to tell you the crazy matches they've had. The tame stuff would probably be Bed of Spikes Death Matches or Barbed Wire Light Tube Death Matches. In a lot of ways I think this would be akin to say a Horror genre within movies. That is, something that has art to it, but is looked down upon. It houses some of the ugliest men you'll ever see destroying one another and bleeding all over the place.

With that in mind, they have been putting on these specialty shows for the past few years. What's more special than a Barbed Wire Spider Web Scaffold Match, you may ask?

SHAKESPEARE.



The shows are equal parts acting, and wrestling. The wrestlers will have a monologue or a scene pre-match and a prologue after the match.

The matches themselves are themed as well. Such as Romeo (Jun) Kasai vs. Juliet (Jaki) Numazawa in a Poison Death Match...Well watch for yourself.





Up next? Macbeth.

DDT!!

I was reading up on some DDT news and apparently they just held their biggest show yet. On it was a match between Bob Sapp, who is a pretty notorious MMA fighter in Japan and all around giant black man, and Danshoku Dino, a gay pro wrestler who's moves include the "Cock Bottom" (a Rock Bottom where he puts his opponents hand down his pants first) and the Shining Dick (a take off on Keiji Mutoh's Shining Wizard wherein he runs at a kneeling opponent, steps off his knee and thrusts his crotch at the opponent's face).

Anyway, I thought I would paste the rules for the match.

----------------------------------

DDT has announced the stipulations for Danshoku Dino Vs Bob Sapp on this Sunday’s Sumo Hall show. There was a dispute over what the rules for the match would be come the day of the show but a solution was created and both parties have agreed to it.

The match will consist of 30 rounds, all lasting three minutes each. There will be a minute long break seperating every round. The entire fight will alternate between “Bob Rules” and “Gay Rules”. Every odd numbered round will use “Bob Rules” and every even numbered round uses “Gay Rules”. Here are the descriptions for the two rule sets.

“Bob Rules”

The match can end in the following ways:

a. Pinfall.
b. Knockout via 10 second count.
c. When a fighter gives up or his corner throws in the towel.
d. If the referee has determined that a fighter can no longer compete or has lost the will to fight.
e. If a fighter suffers a terrible injury. However the referee or fight doctor has the right to determine whether or not the fighter can continue.

Instep kicks are prohibited. However, knee strikes are allowed on a crouching opponent. Strikes behind the neck, strikes aimed at the kidney, open hand chops and other striking attacks normally found in modern pro wresting are banned. Fighters will be given a warning for using illegal attacks. Fighters can be disqualified after one or two warnings.

Finally, any moves that create sexual excitement for the fighter on offense are banned. Such moves include, but are not limited to, touching your opponent’s crotch, rubbing against your opponent, caressing your own crotch and dry humping.

“Gay Rules”

Exactly the same as pro wrestling but attacks aimed towards the groin region are now legal.
--------------------------



Danshoku won with the Gaydo Clutch.

Metaphors

4/17/93 Circleville, OH (Big Time Wrestling/Bobby Fulton promoter - 200): Loser has to ride a donkey: Bobby Fulton b Grim Reaper

Sometimes I wonder about dying, and it's good to know that not only do other people, but they face their fears and make them ride farm animals.

Catching Up

As noted, I've been on hiatus while writing a story for a future anthology (with any luck) and so wrestling writing has taken a backseat ever so briefly. However, I thought it would be worth sharing that ROH is pretty awesome. Currently, the Embassy, a heel stable in the organization filed a lawsuit (pro wrestling style) against the wrestler Homicide for attacking one of it's figureheads R.D. Evans with a chair. Noting in the lawsuit that he was struck by said chair at a speed clocked at 88 MPH.



I still love Professional Wrestling. More to come soon.

A Small Piece of History

I've been on hiatus as I've been trying to pump out some fiction and I deal a lot better with reality, at least when it comes to writing. Nevertheless, an additional problem has been a lack of things to write about. Can't write something you're not feeling, and I've given my hand to trying to review this or that, but I guess I'm not a so-and-so did a move and then this guy hit another movie type of writer.

So I've been watching some great wrestling, and maybe I'll do a couple of posts of recommendations in a bit, but I was watching TNA Impact this evening and I caught Samoa Joe vs. Rob Van Dam. It was interesting to see Joe back him into the corner and throw these heavy punches that I can't imagine them not hurting. Then RVD turns him around and it looks like he's trying to shoo a fly off of Joe's face. The match was pretty good when he was just jumping and flipping, but man...what a lost chance Joe was.

In a little organization, which is still around today, called Ring of Honor, Joe was the MAN. Big Samoan guy, big offense, had charisma and presence and he could talk too. He looked like he could kill you. And while I'm not a big fan of the American crowd chants, the "Joe is gonna kill you" chant was always a pretty good one, and it actually kind of added something to his character.

At his peak, Joe was champion for nearly two years and had some of the best matches in America. In fact, he was in one of my favorite matches period. It was a match that was almost transcendental, at least in a wrestling sense. Wherein, it wasn't just a good wrestling match, it was an EVENT. It was a FIGHT. There wasn't really a big build up to this match, no angles shot, or interviews given where they run each other down. It was ROH's best guy, Samoa Joe vs., at the time, likely the best wrestler in the world, Kenta Kobashi. And I would probably add the most physical, as well. The Japanese style lends itself more to the athletic side of things, it treats itself more like a sport. With that in mind, the matches are often more hard hitting and just plain old painful. I'm sure Mitsuharu Misawa's elbow strikes hurt, and I'm sure Toshiaki Kawada's kicks hurt, but for sheer thud and smack and ye-ow! factor, I would nominate Kenta Kobashi's chops as some of the worst.

So, there it was. The best guy from Japan, the best guy from the USA. They got into the ring, shook hands and had a wrestling match. The ROH crowd is a knowledgeable crowd (read: geeks) and of course they know Kobashi. They know all his moves, they've seen his matches, and this is one of, if not the, first match he had on US soil. So every single person in the place is excited to see this stout, chop-throwing monster who enthralled them through the 80's and into the 00's.

They made the choice not to have announcers call this match, and I think it's a good one. It lends itself to the atmosphere and makes the event feel even bigger than it is. Anyway, enough hyperbole, I just watched this match and it made me want to write about it. So I've said my piece and I'll allow the match to say the rest.

Samoa Joe vs. Kenta Kobashi

History Beckons the Macho Man

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.

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.

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.

Fuck it, I love it

I really wanted to post about Larry Sweeney, but I thought something as simple as "RIP Larry Sweeney" would be insincere in a facebook post. The truth is, he was part of the reason I fell back in love with wrestling.

When I heard that, during our second trip to Anime North, both Jyushin Thunder Lyger and Ultimo Dragon were going to be wrestling the next town over, I basically grabbed the wheel of the ship and veered our nerdfest right over to the converted church in Mississauga for UWA Hardcore Wrestling. There was no way I wasn't going to see these guys wrestle. I have several boxes worth of VHS tapes littered with their matches which were all watched in Mountain Dew fueled (little known fact, Canadians, it's actually fuel in the US) Puroresu sessions. So whether they liked it or not, they were going to learn to love them, because it was where we were going that day.

I had a cursory knowledge of the independent wrestling scene so I saw some guys that I knew, such as Claudio Castagnoli. But for the most part I was pretty out of my element. There were some good matches, there were some ok matches. They had a little Japanese salsa dancer come out and I thought "Ok, this guy looks pretty entertaining". And then "More, More, More" by the Andrea True Connection started playing and out walked this bleached-blonde guy with pink and purple boas and I knew this was going to be entertaining.

After some textbook back and forth grappling, that pastel coloured man took the mic and demanded that this match be settled by a STRUT OFF.


MACHINE GUNNED HIM DOWN.

This guy's charisma was incredible. This guy was Larry Sweeney. Later, he was out by the merchandise table selling everyone his shirts. I had no idea what "12 Large, Brother!" meant, but that was his catchphrase at the time. I wanted to relate this story as Mike Quackenbush, his trainer and friend, told as to the origin of that phrase.

Apparently on an indy show, Sweeney was out there hawking his wares with former WWF Superstar The Patriot. Go ahead and Wikipedia, it won't take long. Anyway, after the night was over and they were back in the locker room, Larry asked him how much he made.

"I'm up Twelve Large, brother!" He said with a smile. He had made 12 bucks off of merchandise.

Sweeney made a lot more than that in that church hall. He was cutting promos on everyone who went by and most left with a lighter wallet. He had a knack for this business that, if it were 30 years ago, he'd be a top flight manager. He was that good, and if you ask around, everybody knew it. But there are no managers today. Sadly, there is no Larry Sweeney brightening up the scene either.

He was also bi-polar. It's amazing to think that a guy who, anytime you put a camera on him, or a crowd in front of him would light up, could also have a side to him that would eventually have him take his own life. His energy and his hijinx were the reason I kept popping in on YouTube and reacquainting myself with wrestling. Not the glossy, overcrowded arena rock WWE, but the roots of wrestling. The fun side, the interactive side. I remember thinking just a few weeks ago, how great it would be to see Sweeney on my next trip up to Toronto.

In a better wrestling world, Larry Sweeney would've been making good money with the WWE, getting a bunch of those big oafs with no mic skills over as monsters. I don't think the WWE is bad, but it's not as good as it could've been with Larry Sweeney.

I'm going to leave some clips here, and I think they say a lot more than I could about how great he was.

Bill Dundee vs. Wayne Ferris and Tojo Yammamoto

I think this is the first match I wanted to post about because it reminded me of something I saw in current wrestling that I never really understood. That is basically the SUPER MEGA STAR who destroys anywhere from 2 to 5 guys in a handicapped match.

What I love about Memphis Wrestling is that, for all it's inherent goofiness (The tag team of Frankenstein and Leatherface...) it always made sense.

Bill Dundee was one half of the Southern Heavyweight Tag Champs with Wildfire Tommy Rich. As Lance Russell explains, Tommy couldn't be there because he's 'stuck in Nebraska due to contract issues' so Dundee is left to fend for himself as Jimmy Hart isn't going to let this opportunity slip away.

Dundee is a tiny Australian guy with a short temper and so he's not going to turn down a fight. I'm pretty sure Tojo's heyday was the 60's and 70's, or at the very least he moves like it was. Wayne Ferris shows all the early signs that he would be the Honky Tonk Man - namely not being particularly good at anything wrestling related.

The story of the match is that Dundee doesn't have to beat them, he just has to survive the 30 minutes to keep his tag belts. A lot of the beginning is Wayne Ferris not really improvising well with Dundee's carny drop toe holds and wrist locks. The moment Tojo comes in and strikes his karate pose the ref is quick to tell him that there will be NO Martial Arts in this match.



This was, of course, the 80's when martial arts were capable of killing people in short order. It'll just be plain old closed fist punches in this match, thank you very much.

At about the 8 minute mark, Dundee starts to recognize that fighting 2 men takes it out of you and he starts biding his time, including working the count to 9, quickly sliding under the bottom rope and back out again. It's a tribute to the connection guys like Dundee had with the fans that he had the fans ecstatic at these lulls in action, which included him taking a seat with the studio crowd.



Dundee seems to have things in hand before the future Honky Tonk Man busts him open with a chain. As noted, Australians have ridiculously fragile tempers and he goes nuts swinging away at both men. In the ruckus, Tojo tosses some salt in his eyes, rolls him up and we've got new Southern Tag Team Champions.

It begs the question, is it that we have to perceive our heroes as being supermen now? Is that why Triple H beats up regular tag teams with relative ease? Dundee couldn't be any more popular here, and it's not because he picked up people over his head, or fought off 10 guys, it's because he was human. That's a fairly simple concept. There aren't a lot of stories that go "He was the greatest guy ever and he never lost, the end."

Anyway, I loved the story of this match and I love that Martial Arts are deadly.

The Times They Are a Changin'

Bruno Sammartino vs. Randy Savage

Bruno of course is "The Living Legend". I've heard a few interviews and he seems like about the nicest guy you could ever meet and definitely the nicest old guy who could probably still beat you up. I have nothing but respect for Bruno. With that noted, Bruno is one hairy Italian man. At this point in his career, Bruno was probably in his late forties early fifties. He didn't look decrepit and orange as many pro wrestlers tend to settle into as they stay in the business too long. His age only showed in the abundant hair growth in areas not near his scalp. Truly, he looked like the proverbial (I believe it's Proverbs 2:23) brick shithouse. The crowd was crazy for this hairy old Italian guy and I remembered "Ahh, this is the Pro Wrestling I love." Savage was the lithe, flippy young heel with the Lovely Miss Elizabeth as his curvy riot shield against the still-chivalrous faces.

The match was surprisingly good, though I was mostly swayed by the fans really buying in to Bruno taking it to the young guy with his offense of stomps and punches. In reality, the match was ok to good, with Savage picking up a count out win after dropping the dreaded ax handle from the top rope to the floor on Bruno. Savage was cheating throughout the match of course and he ended up pushing Bruno a step to far. The best part of this match was the post match. Bruno, this feral mountainous bear, just mauls Savage. As the WWF moved to the WWE via the World Wildlife Fund's protest, perhaps no better metaphor could be made than this ravenous manbeast throwing Savage into the ropes and wrapping his arms around him in a Bearhug. Savage screams and grimaces and fights for all he's worth as the life is squeezed out of him. A squad of referees try to pry the monster's arms apart to no avail. They fall to the ground still in this deathly embrace. The locker room clears out as the faces try to pull the old man's calloused hands apart. After 3 minutes which seemed like a lifetime, nature's fury had made it's point and it yields to the oxygen sucking and seeping back into Savage's lungs. Man is no match for the animal kingdom. A million stars.

Love in the Key of Macho

Randy Savage vs. Honky Tonk Man
from Saturday Night's Main Event

This match took place in the midst of Randy Savage's face turn. The lovely Elizabeth, up to this point was always the objectified girlfriend. Sometimes riot shield, as noted before, sometimes rope holder for the Macho Man's entrance. Always the pretty girl being held back by the prick who's just using her. A victim of her own self esteem. Maybe she thought she could tame this Savage and his wicked Harley that is the Intercontinental title, but in the end she is stripped of her self-worth and serves only as an example to women that can view from outside of the fury and excitement.

The Honky Tonk Man is the Honky Tonk Man. Cool, Cocky, Bad. He's accompanied to the ring by his girlfriend Peggy Sue and manager Jimmy Hart. They are your douchebag greasers for the evening. He and his cohorts show up to the malt shop just as Randy was about to make Elizabeth pay for the bill.

Despite being his girlfriend, Peggy Sue seems to have little interest in stopping Honky's pelvic gyrations directed at Elizabeth. Savage had enough of this guy the minute he walked in the door , however, and commences with the bionic elbows and jabs.

Honky is a lover and not a fighter and is not above letting his tiny wingman Hart grab Randy's leg and cause all kinds of mischief so he can waylay Rand. Each blow giving more valuable time for Mr. Man to thrust his hips while making Elvis song puns masked as conversation.

Peggy Sue is the confused young girl who herself is in a one-sided relationship and thinks by helping Honky into a PG Threesome she can cement a promise ring and his eternal love.

The melee spills outside and no clear winner is really determined. Still, from the catcalls and hoots of the onlookers it seems Honky was the one who was all shook up after. His pride damaged and his potential Cinemax-rated kiss parade on hold indefinitely he grabs his great equalizer. Guitar in hand he stalks Savage.

Fueled by lust and anger Savage argues the case of civility. His case is an accusatory finger to Honky's face. He's indignant that he might be done in by an object and not a man. He makes his cases with his fists. He persecutes with the flesh, but it's the lack of persecuted Flesh that drives the Tonk's honourless attack.



As he lay in the corner subdued and delirious, it's Elizabeth who puts herself between Honky and her man. Honky winds up to put the finishing touches on this epic cockblock but is surprised to see his woman protecting him. His moment of contemplation is cut short as Randy blocks the guitar and runs all three greasers back to the fairgrounds from which they came.

Finally, Randy realized that maybe he was on the wrong track. Perhaps an honest living and a girl to call his own were all he needed in life. And who was this woman who would sacrifice herself for him. This was not the subservient wench he walked in here with. It was then he remembered all the aisles that she cleared, the dinners that she bought and the ropes that she had opened. She once again prepped herself to open those same ropes as she always had.

"No. Today it's my turn."

In private, there have been countless chivalrous acts that have been selflessly played out at Dennys', KFC's, and on special occasions, Applebee's. In this instance, they were all validated by the most uproarious reaction to holding a door for a lady that has ever occurred. I should be so lucky as to wipe away tears as my date walks into the Truck Stop through the door blocked by my calloused, loving hand and I hoist her onto my shoulders.

The Buffer

So as to satiate the fan base and give myself some breathing room until I own a decent keyboard again, I'm releasing bonus footage from when I had a blog and didn't tell anybody! So note that the next few posts are a limited time offer.

The Project

Upon meeting people on my current jaunt through Canada I usually am forced to reveal that I'm from the United States. And no not New York or California or any of those bustling metropolises, but rather quaint, corn-fed Indiana. Invariably, I hear "Wow. Well you don't have an accent at all!". I have no explanation for this. If I could convert 'ain't' to some kind of currency while coming of age I would now be retired and have one of those novelty Johnny Paycheck hats that say "Take this job and shove it!". I spent a good portion of my youth in towns where the livestock outnumbered the people by a 3 to 1 margin. It is not for a lack of evidence that I have no southern drawl . There are things I couldn't escape, however.

In Huntingburg there were precious few activities. But at least once a month, be it in the Huntingburg Gymnasium or the Jasper National Guard Armoury, there was live wrestling to be had. Of course, the big company when I was young was WWF. Hulk Hogan, Andre the Giant, Randy Savage were alternately worshipped and laughed at at school. It was a delicate line lending out the information that you liked wrestling. For the most part, I just kept it to myself.

It was rare that rural Indiana, or even urban Indiana for that matter, saw the WWF in town. There was an organization that made the rounds from Tennessee to Kentucky and all the way up to Indiana (and on occasion even to the ominous, inebriated halls of Dubois County) though. At about 11 PM every Saturday night, just after Highway to Heaven re-runs, USWA Wrestling came on out of Memphis, Tennessee. This wasn't really the ideal time slot to reel in 10 year olds, but I taped it every week and watched it every Sunday morning.

Every few weeks Lance Russell would come on the screen in a dimly lit room. "Hey all you fans down in Evansville, I hope you got your tickets ready. Jerry "The King" Lawler is comin' to town and hoo boy is it gonna be something when he and Jeff Jarrett get their hands on those Moondogs. Don't ya dare miss it!" And I rarely did.

In fact, I sat front row when they came to Huntingburg to face those very Moondogs. I remember being scared to death as they brawled all over the place, up and down the cement stairs. The Memphis style, in simplistic terms, is mayhem. You didn't see a lot of top rope dropkicks or somersaults, but if you ever got the chance to see Memphis Wrestling, it was worth catching again.

I left a lot of Indiana behind, but wrestling has stuck with me. It's been my invisible wingman through life, teaching me lessons and pointing out the flaws in society. Most of all, it's just a lot of fun.

Now that I'm older and technology has advanced, I will soon be in possession of a lot of wrestling from the 80's. A good chunk of that wrestling is Memphis Wrestling. My memories mostly reside in the 90's when Jeff Jarrett was beginning his run towards the top and, yes, Jerry Lawler was still the eternal Unified Champion.

So, this new blog is going to be my education on an era that I know of, but am not familiar with. As a pugilistic archaeologist, I'm going to look back at a decade of Memphis Wrestling. Should you care to venture down this rabbit hole with me, expect some stories about redneck relatives, concessions stand brawls and the transcendental nature of punching someone in the face.