Why I love pro wrestling (and why you should, too)
Sure, pro wrestling isn't a sport. It's more than a sport.
Got a problem with that?
by Dan Tobin
As a pro wrestling fan, I have to defend myself a lot. Not defend in the
sense of blocking a double-arm suplex -- more like justify my love for what a
lot of people consider a pseudosport. Sure, wrestling might not command the
respect of "real" sports like baseball or hockey or monster-truck racing. It
might not get much mainstream press coverage, and maybe evolutionists would
rather pretend it didn't exist. But professional wrestling is older than Bob
Dole, bigger than Scientology, and now -- as the World Wrestling Federation's
Wrestlemania XIV stomps into the FleetCenter this Sunday -- it's in our back
yard.
With Mike Tyson taking a turn as "rule enforcer" at Sunday's main
event, the world's interest in professional wrestling has reached a peak not
seen since Hulk Hogan teamed up with Mr. T at the original
Wrestlemania in 1985. Laugh if you want, but Wrestlemania XIV is the most
sought-after ticket in the FleetCenter's brief history: it sold out, according
to publicists, in 90 seconds. You can bet our local news outlets will cover the
event, and you can guess how: they'll mock it. They'll say Tyson's involvement
with pro wrestling is a fate worse than prison. But they'll be wrong. Pro
wrestling is not only fantastic entertainment, it's a cultural phenomenon. It
produces epic battles worthy of Homer, and the most pointed morality tales
since Hawthorne. Still not convinced wrestling will save mankind? Here are 11
reasons to love what the WWF and its rival, World Championship Wrestling (WCW),
serve up:
1. Satisfaction is guaranteed. Sports are among the few things in
life where nobody knows the outcome beforehand. That's what makes them
exciting. And, let's face it, that's also what makes them disappointing. For
every buzzer-beating three-pointer or ninth-inning grand slam, there are 50
games that end with a called third strike, or some putz holding onto the ball
while the clock ticks down. Zzzz.
Not so in pro wrestling. Every match promises a monumental, bigger-than-life
victory, courtesy of competitors who themselves are monumental and certainly
bigger than you. And the capacity crowd always goes bananas. Being a wrestling
fan is the opposite of being a Red Sox fan. Your heart is never ripped out as
your boys fail grandly at the last moment. In wrestling, good guys always beat
the bad guys in the end, even if they look like they're down for the
three-count. If Bill Buckner had been a wrestler, he'd have been a bad guy, and
everyone would have been ecstatic in Game Six when the ball went between his
legs. Even Bostonians would have been cheering.
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2. No annoying gray area. Albert Belle's a jerk, but he's also a
phenomenal ball player who says he's misunderstood. So do we root for him or
against him? Or Dennis Rodman, a great competitor who loves his daughter, and
also an egomaniac prone to kicking cameramen in the cojones -- is he
bad or just plain bad? Is Drew Bledsoe a bad guy for falling apart in
the clutch? Is Dennis Eckersley a bad guy for having a lousy haircut?
These questions don't exist in pro wrestling. Wrestlers are either 100
percent good or 100 percent bad, with none of that in-between crap. If they
cheat and threaten the good guys, they're evil. If they don't, they're saints
-- at least until they turn bad and power-slam a good guy. They might switch
back and forth every few years, but you always know who you're rooting for.
3. Wrestlers do all their own stunts. To skeptics, wrestling is like
Pamela Anderson's chest: everyone knows it's fake, but guys love watching it
anyway. But fake is the wrong word (for wrestling, at least). A better
term is . . . assisted. There are microphones beneath the mat
to make falls sound more painful, and most moves require cooperation from the
victim -- it would be almost impossible to execute a brainbuster suplex on an
unsuspecting opponent.
But those are real 250-pound guys out there, and when "the Total Package" Lex
Luger military-presses an opponent over his head, he's not getting any help.
Wrestlers really punch each other, really toss each other around like rag
dolls, and really leap from the top rope to drop the elbow pretty darned
close to an opponent's neck. In the more psycho leagues, such as the
burgeoning Extreme Championship Wrestling, they even slash their own foreheads
with concealed razor blades to pretend they've been cut. (How this is better
than "really" getting cut is clear only when you consider that some ECW matches
also involve a lot of barbed wire.)
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Brawling in Beantown
This Sunday's Wrestlemania isn't the first time major wrestling has come to
Boston. In 1993, the Garden played host to the WWF's Survivor Series, where
Bret "the Hitman" Hart defended his world title against "the Heartbreak Kid"
Shawn Michaels. And out in the 413 area, the Springfield Civic Center hosted
the WWF's DeGeneration X last December, when Taka Michinoku became the first
WWF lightweight champion.
But otherwise, we're not exactly living in a wrestling mecca. Of the more than
650 wrestlers listed in The 1998 Wrestling Almanac and Book of Facts
(which is the source for the above information; I'm not that big a
loser), none claims Boston as home. None even hails from Massachusetts, unless
"parts unknown" refers to Chelsea. The only wrestler from Boston I can recall
is Kevin Sullivan, a squat, thuggish little man with a Southie accent who was
renowned for excessive violence and cruelty. He was a bad guy. Really bad.
This town's greatest gift to wrestling, of course, is the dreaded submission
hold known as the Boston Crab. The only wrestler I know who uses it is Rick
Martel, a Canadian. To execute: lay your opponent flat on his back. Grasp both
legs, one in each armpit. Roll your adversary onto his stomach so you're facing
away from him. Lean back to apply pressure until he submits.
This weekend, Tyson et al. are putting Boston back on the map. Unfortunately,
the really good ancillary stuff -- a fan reception and the "Slammy" awards that
usually accompany Wrestlemania -- aren't scheduled this year, and the event
itself sold out long ago. But there's always pay-per-view, and the really
desperate can hang out by the FleetCenter in the hopes of capturing some
celebrity sweat.
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Wrestling may be a silicone sport, but it still requires serious skills.
Jackie Chan is considered the world's greatest action star in part because he
does all his own stunts. So why can't wrestling be the greatest action sport
for the same reason? No big deal if these guys wouldn't last 15 seconds against
Mike Tyson -- he probably couldn't execute a flying elbow-smash. As for a
flying ear-chomp . . .
4. We live in the golden age. Back in the '80s, the WWF had a
near-monopoly on national wrestling, and its broadcast matches were little more
than hype for pay-per-view events. Superstars would fight nobodies on
Saturday-morning TV. A typical match would see the Ultimate Warrior face Barry
Horowitz. Based on names alone, you know one guy could be beaten with a rake
for 15 minutes and still lift a Volkswagen over his head, and the other guy is
someone to settle things for you fairly, properly, when you've been injured on
the job or in your home . . .
Then, in 1993, WWF owner Vince McMahon was indicted for intent to distribute
anabolic steroids. (My analysis: well, duh.) In the wake of the scandal, WWF
superstars began defecting en masse to the WCW, a rival league owned by Ted
Turner. These days, the real battle isn't being fought in the ring. It's being
fought during the 9 to 11 p.m. slot on Monday-night television. The USA
Network now programs WWF's Raw head-to-head with TNT's WCW Monday
Nitro -- and in the battle royale for ratings, big matches happen weekly.
Hulk Hogan, who never wrestled on TV in the '80s, now fights almost every
Monday. Barry Horowitz, apparently, is out of a job.
Then again, one of the most intimidating wrestlers in WCW is named Bill
Goldberg. Seriously.
5. It's no worse than soap operas. Despite an abundance of babes, soap
operas have never appealed to males. Professional wrestling fills the void and
then some. It trades on the same need to follow tawdry relationships, complex
plot lines, and a cast of characters who betray each other and feud endlessly.
Of course, there's better acting in wrestling. And more punching and kicking.
And steel chairs.
6. It rewards the study of history. Harvard philosopher George
Santayana said, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat
it." Likewise, they're condemned to never truly appreciate the
relationship between Hulk Hogan and "the Macho Man" Randy Savage, whose rivalry
is reaching the length and complexity of a Tolstoy novel.
Back in the '80s, Hulk Hogan was the blond hero supreme of the WWF, and Randy
Savage was still an up-and-coming wild man. After capturing the heavyweight
belt at Wrestlemania IV, Savage teamed up with Hogan -- until the Macho Man
suddenly attacked his teammate during a tag-team bout. He soon lost his
heavyweight belt to Hogan, then enjoyed a brilliant career as a bad guy,
dumping long-time companion Miss Elizabeth and providing a popular foil for
crowd-pleasers like the Hulkster.
Now, having defected to WCW, Hogan paints on a five-o'clock shadow and
wrestles as the leader of the New World Order, a cabal of bad guys. Savage
turned on Hulk and became a hero again, although his current status is
questionable because he's also part of the NWO. Two weeks ago, on a
pay-per-view event called Uncensored, the two fought in a steel cage.
While this high drama and furious action are ridiculously entertaining even to
the uneducated (okay, especially to the uneducated), only the
well-schooled historian can appreciate the intricacies. Are Hogan and Savage
destined to battle forever? Will their offspring blindly hate each other like
modern-day Montagues and Capulets? Will Hulk go completely bald? Only time will
tell.
(The really astute scholar will recall that this weekend's celebrity
official, Mike Tyson, was scheduled to referee a WWF match on NBC back in 1990.
Only thing is, he lost his boxing title 12 days before the meet and was
replaced by the new champ, Buster Douglas. The match he refereed? Hulk Hogan
versus Randy Savage. Those who do not remember the past . . .)
7. It's guilt-free violence. In ancient Rome, gladiators battled against
lions, a spectacle that by all accounts was extremely diverting. Morally,
though, it was a little suspect -- plus, it wasted a lot of gladiators. Today
we've got boxing, which fulfills a similar voyeuristic need for violence.
Again, it's morally suspect, and Don King wastes a lot of styling products.
Professional wrestling, by contrast, is guilt-free. Nobody's really getting
hurt -- they're just pretending to suffer from that flying drop kick.
When an aging "Nature Boy" Ric Flair was carried out of the ring on a stretcher
a few months ago, he was back on TV the next week, talking trash, preparing for
battle. It's just like when Wile E. Coyote gets smooshed by an anvil, falls off
a cliff, then picks up the chase exactly where he left off. He bounces back,
ready to buy more Acme products, ready to put the Roadrunner in a figure-four
leg lock.
Hulk Hogan built an entire career out of bouncing back. His schtick was to
suffer a monstrous beating -- including his opponent's signature, lethal
finishing maneuver -- then suddenly spring up and win the match. I grew to
hate the Hulkster for this, but the average wrestling fan didn't seem to mind
(or notice) that every match ended exactly the same way. And they loved that
Hogan could take a lickin' and resume ass-kickin'.
8. It's, uh, homoerotic. Mention this to the wrong fan, and you could
find yourself on the receiving end of an inverse atomic drop. Remember: WCW, at
least, is rooted in a part of the country where gun racks are as common in cars
as tree-shaped air fresheners. But let's call a spade a spade: wrestling's a
bunch of beefy, pumped-up men rolling around together in bikini briefs,
touching each other in naughty places. Executing a body slam requires scooping
up your opponent by his crotch. Winning a match means sweating, straining
against other men, and lots of flexing. The predominantly male audience
cheers wildly.
Since the average wrestling fan isn't too comfortable with what this might
mean, wrestling creates lightning-rod characters like "Ravishing" Rick
Rude, who in the late '80s wore a Freddy Mercury mustache, made strutting
entrances to stripper's music, and swiveled his hips seductively. Things got
way more mean-spirited with Goldust, currently one of the most hated bad guys
in the WWF. He dresses in leather and spandex, lasciviously praises his
opponents' physiques, then fondles them during matches. Fans hiss vigorously,
call him a faggot, then go home to leaf through their Muscle &
Fitness magazines and argue about whose pecs are bigger.
9. It's a window onto the Zeitgeist. As Goldust demonstrates, wrestling
villainy is an excellent indicator of what makes average Americans nervous.
During the Cold War, Russians were the worst bad guys, and a tag team called
the Bolsheviks would sing the National Hymn of the Soviet Union before matches.
The Iron Sheik was similarly hated for his Iranian patriotism. Then the Berlin
Wall came down and the Iron Sheik turned 50. So the WWF sought new bad guys.
Its search for a villain has produced the following:
Accountants: Out of the depths of the 1991 recession crawled Irwin R.
Schyster (a/k/a IRS), who announced before his matches how many months were
left until taxes were due. He lasted well into the Republican revolution.
Fat people/the Japanese: In the early '90s, Yokozuna weighed in at 589
pounds and defeated Hulk Hogan by distracting him with Eastern fireworks. He
was managed by Mr. Fuji, who spoke broken English and threw salt in the eyes of
opponents.
Gays: In the past few years, Goldust's look has evolved from two-bit
drag to a more sophisticated S&M getup. But the message is still the same:
Smear the queer.
The self-involved: "Buff" Bagwell turns to the camera and announces,
"Do not adjust your television -- I am this good-looking!"
Dentists: Dr. Isaac Yankem embodied everyone's fear of drills,
Novocain, and gingivitis. Or something like that.
Canadians: The Mountie, who looked like Dudley Do-Right, was a
notorious cheater. And Calgary native Bret "the Hitman" Hart taunted Americans
for being bad hockey players. Ouch, Bret. Hit us where it hurts.
10. Andy Kaufman loved it. Kaufman, never the most predictable of
comedians, once announced he was going to sue NBC, then buy the network and
turn it into a 24-hour wrestling station. The deadpan Kaufman was a devoted
wrestling fan; he became famous for wrestling women, and his self-declared
title as World Intergender Wrestling Champion led to a notorious battle against
Jerry Lawler, who's now a commentator on Raw. Courtesy of a pair of
Lawler pile drivers, Kaufman seriously injured his cervical vertebrae and had
to wear a neck brace for months. Was the match was a big joke, or was he
serious about the feud? He never let on. This is the great pro wrestling
dilemma, and Kaufman's perpetually straight face made it all the more
confusing.
11. There's no escape. Jesse "the Body" Ventura has had roles in several
movies, including Predator and Batman and Robin. In 1991 he was
elected mayor of Brooklyn Park, Minnesota. Now he's running for governor on
Perot's Reform Party platform, against Ted Mondale and Hubert Humphrey III.
That's right -- two sons of vice presidents and a guy who used do commentary
alongside Gorilla Monsoon.
Randy Savage received a Real Man of the Year Award from the Harvard
Lampoon, thanks in large part to his brilliant, if incoherent, work in Slim
Jim commercials. The Hulkster recorded an album, did some cameos on
Baywatch, and starred in classic films like Piledriver and No
Holds Barred. Andre the Giant was unforgettable in The Princess
Bride, and George "the Animal" Steele scored a major role in Tim Burton's
Oscar-winning Ed Wood.
Wrestling is indeed everywhere. And if you think you're safe, just turn on WBZ
-- nightly news anchor Sean Mooney cut his journalistic teeth as Events Center
host for the WWF. Wrestling cannot be stopped. It cannot be contained. It's a
fixture of American life, it's here to stay, and it's going to the top rope!
It's dropping the elbow! It's going for the pin! What an amazing display of
athleticism and bravery! This capacity crowd is going nuts!
Sorry.
Weighing in at 180 pounds, hailing from parts unknown, Hacksaw Dan Tobin
can be reached at dtobin[a]phx.com.
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