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.