Across the Vast Echo Comes A Voice

     I stumbled across a memory this evening as I walked past Kezar Staduim to the booming voice of some gentleman excitedly announcing SOMETHING. The echo and dulling from the walls made it difficult to hear outside. With the tone of his voice and the appearance of the building, a sense of connection came over me and reminded me of my six months in the true, rural south town of Munford, Tennessee. It was a town of a little over two thousand people, and there wasn't a lot to do since Memphis was an hour away. When I started "dating" my cute next door neighbor, she asked me to accompany her (and her brother and parents) to the talent show on Friday. I agreed, as the smile of a woman can sway most things in a man's... Heart.

     We arrived at the building, only for me to find it was a church. A Christian function that screamed some part 'hoe down' and some part innocence. I was not looking forward to the events of the evening, but her hand squeezing mine in excitement gave me pause, as I had sprayed Right-Guard directly in my crotch - I needed a payoff for the burning hunk of honkey love that taught me a valuable lesson on the proper placement of alcoholic substances. As we sidled up to the door, the man at the ticket counter handed us each a raffle ticket as we paid the nominal three dollar fee for "some good ol' fashioned entertainment"! Then, the memory that jogged this all free would arrive. "Bombastic Buford" (I'm not certain hat was his name... But I'm not certain it wasn't either) would come on stage with a mixture of Baptist Preacher meets 'The Micromachine Man' (about five of you reading this understood the reference) and take control of the situation. This was one of the first ties I noticed the power of charisma. Whether it was a fifteen year old boy with a cracking voice singing Patsy Cline or the girl who could touch her tongue to her nose (that happened, but I don't think they understood why men uncomfortably nervous), he would bellow forth and assure you that this was a ride you needed to take. Also, hallelujahs. 

     At the end of the night, I felt thoroughly entertained but not sure why (like reality shows always do) - entertained by the MC more so than any act. It was just clean wholesome fun. I went a few more weeks with "Right Guard" Rita until we decided we needed time to find ourselves. 😀 Also, figured she would be a cold fish. Fourteen is too early not sow ones wild oats. I may never have gotten to her, but those moments with her obviously still resonate within me.

Legends, Icons, People

     The world lost two great personalities in a matter of weeks, and I wanted to take a moment to provide my own memorial to these fallen warriors. I am a mark, and I am proud of that fact. In a world cloaked in stories and looked down upon even in current society, these men built careers and entertained people to a level where there names became world renowned and known to those passive fans that make up a large portion of wrestling's fan base, especially in a time where Pro Wrestling was still trying to pass itself off as legitimate, and people were emotionally invested in the doings of the hero and villains that graced the ring. In the past month we have lost one of each - "American Dream" Dusty Rhodes and "Rowdy" Roddy Piper.

       From my beginnings in the 1980's, when I obtained the pro wrestling bug, I was always fascinated by the guys who cut a great "promo", the strong talkers who could speak in a way that drew the audience in with emotions and intelligence beyond the standard "I'm going to whup your booty". Dusty was the emotional center of the wrestling landscape - a man who was "the common man" who embodied the feelings and desires of every fan in the crowd. They could relate to his words, they could relate to his physique and the fans could always life vicariously through his accomplishments. "The son of a plumber" became the saint of the middle class. Oh, how he could talk - telling stories of "Hard Times" and "Dining with Kings and Queens" - made the fans at home feel that he was the guy sitting next to them at the bar. An emotional connection with the fans for a man that never turned away from being the everyman.

     Roddy Piper was more bombastic, more intelligent and he was able to utilize his intellect to stimulate the emotions that made him the most hated man in the 1980's, and one of the most beloved throughout the next decade. His technique never changed - always a mix of mischief and malice - only his choice of opponent differed. His words inspired the emotions he sought from the crowd, and his maniacal energy created a man that - face or heel - always drew the fans attention to him and his endeavors. The "Rowdy Scot" always came to fight, and ultimately to entertain.

      Both of these men gave decades to the sport they loved, each incurring a laundry list of injuries and surgeries throughout their career. Rowdy Roddy ultimately required enough surgeries on his hip that he became practically immobile later in his career. Big Dust was never an adonis of any sort, but he always had the stamina and movement to go all night, and bleed buckets. The lines that shown on his scarred forehead were telling signs of the many times he "gigged" (cut his forehead with a blade) throughout his illustrious career - a testament to the bodily sacrifice he was willing to give to the people he stood for time after time. These are the reasons wrestlers are always offended with the viability of there craft is question - the result is predetermined but the injury and dangers are very real, and worthy of the people's respect. (John Stossel - hello!)

      Many days spent on the road and hotels of America were a sacrifice they were willing to give to be the athletes they had chosen to become. When studying the hierarchy of wrestling and how these men climb the ranks, there are many instances of courage and determination when traveling the independent scene for no money and experience to finally starting to establish a name. Not only are these athletes on par with any of the organized sports leagues, they have a more devastating annual demand that doesn't allow for healing and rest.

      I digress. These men were icons of the sport of pro wrestling, and they were people who dealt with all the same trials and tribulations of us all while living on the road and giving the fans and the business their bodies and souls. Unlike their peers who get the press for dying young, they made it to a point in life where they were past their career, but the strain of that career probably still them from us too young. Theirs were personalities that, within the brotherhood of the squared circle, will be deeply missed for their courage, their history and the respect they carried. Among the masses, their loss reminds us of so many great moments where they took us an emotional voyage that ended in our 'coronation' in their success and leaves us remembering a different time for us all. So long gentlemen - thank you for a lifetime of wonder and empowerment.