Randy Savage vs. Jerry Lawler - Steel Cage Match 12/12/83

I've never been much of a car guy, but a lot of people use car metaphors to describe men or women of stature. The Cadillac of Men, or something along those lines. I'm sure there's more in-depth ones than that, comparing the radiator on a Chevy to the guts of Charles Bronson or something. That's not me, I know cows, not cars. But Jerry Lawler was that car that always got there. It might sputter and spit as it goes over hills, but it always gets to where it's going. It defies its inner-workings and makes mechanics scratch their heads. It's not as pretty as a lot of cars and it's not as fast, but on sheer will it gets the job done.

I tell you all that to tell you this. Randy Savage is a space ship. People wander in to wrestling and see these line-ups of fine automobiles, they take in the craftsmanship and structure, and then they come to the end of this line up of vehicles and there's a big ass shuttle making everyone's eyes widen and say "What the fuck!?". Someone can try to explain to you the intricacies of space travel, the dynamics of leaving an atmosphere and the pageantry of lift-off and no matter how much time you spend trying to understand it is completely beyond your comprehension how it works*.

Lawler and Savage were long-time rivals in the mid-south states. There was a lot of bad blood between the two of them for many years as Lawler was at the forefront of the various Memphis incantations while Savage was running the rival ICW. This was, essentially, an invasion angle. Everybody knew both these guys from the local scene, and both were at the top of their games. To have Savage show up unexpectedly in the small Memphis studio was crazy. With it being Savage, crazy is putting it a little mildly.



The match was set. Savage vs. Lawler inside a steel cage for the Southern Heavyweight Title. Lawler in trunks, Savage in a tiger-striped cape. Savage's warm up is taking jabs at members of the audience through the cage and shouting that "EVERYBODY DIES WHEN I'M DONE, YOU KNOW THAT!". The cage I mentioned is some planks of wood tied together with fencing in between, as sturdy as a reality television show relationship.



Lawler has the upper hand in the beginning of the match, backing Savage into the corner repeatedly and delivering huge body shots followed by a big right to the jaw. Savage exploits Lawler's angle by spitting on him, then getting the upper-hand with a punch out of a headlock. He wears him down with a headlock until the first use of the cage occurs, with Lawler pushing Savage off into the wobbly beams in the middle. Savage, ducks out and starts digging in his tights for something. Savage wrenches in an armbar and takes this moment of rest to inform the crowd, once again "EVERYBODY DIES!". The commentator, Lance Russell says "Savage is just the kind of wild-looking son of a gun you might expect somethin' like that out of".

Savage controls the next little bit, using a foreign object from his tights while in the corner. When the fight goes outside, we get an early top rope axe handle to the floor from Savage. They've improved leaps and bounds since '83, as one would expect of space travel.



Savage manages, somehow, to climb the rickety cage and leap off for his elbow drop. Disaster follows as the first crash of Savage 83 occurs.



Lawler has no pity for him and tries to hit the dreaded (and very much illegal at the time) Piledriver, but the ref absolutely won't allow it, holding Savage's body to prevent him from being lifted, which once again gives Savage the advantage and leads to yet more atmospheric travel as Savage puts about 20 rotations into an airplance spin on Lawler.




As both stumble aimlessly after all those twists, Lawler lands a falling right uppercut that puts both of them on their back. Lawler tries to climb the top of the cage too, but flying cars are still decades away, so he sticks to the ropes.





Savage brutalizes Lawler on the outside, face to cage until finally, the strap comes down.



As Lawler begins to get the best of Savage, the giant French-Canadian Jos LeDuc climbs the cage to beat down Lawler and that's grounds for the disqualification. I know, a disqualification in a cage match sounds unsatisfying, but it was a really fun brawl.

In terms of modern technology, the best, most dependable guy in wrestling was Jerry Lawler and he helped ground all the crazy of Savage and keep it a fun Memphis brawl. Lawler was the working man, Savage was the astronaut. Spaceships were meant to fly.

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.

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.