Little People's Court

I've been doing a very good job of ignoring WWE's RAW program ever since The Jericho Dare concluded this past August (see the two columns below this for details). The fact is, I rarely think about RAW. Contrarily, I make a point of recording ROH on HDNet every Monday. While that show is far from perfect, at least what they're doing for an hour holds my attention. I also don't feel like a chump for watching.

It was through sheer boredom and nothing else that caused me to stumble and fall over RAW a couple of hours after ROH finished last night. It was well into the program. My stay in WWE-land wasn't destined to be long ... truthfully, it was decidedly short. (Given the topic at hand, this turns out to be a really bad pun, something I try to studiously avoid).

When I tune in, the refuse-to-leave-and-never-come-back team of Trippie H and The Windbreak Kid (Triple H/Hunter Hearst Helmsley and Shawn Michaels/The Heartbreak Kid, together known as DX/Degeneration X) is wildly over-emoting in an exuberant display of amateurish acting. They must decide whether or not to go under the ring together. Putting aside the sense of unease THAT mental image creates, it's impossible to dismiss the boys' ridiculous antics. Migawd, the facial expressions and exaggerated performances are so outrageous and beyond the pale that even fans of early slapstick comedy must be demanding that they turn it down several notches.

(Edit: after looking around online, I've since learned the explanation for their dilemma, such as it was. It seems that Hornswoggle, the leprechaun, wants to join up with DX as their mascot. The two men masquerading as teenagers reject him outright, going so far as to nail the Little Lep with Trippie's Pedigree finisher).

Stupidly, I choose to wait and see where this is all leading. After all, when it comes to the "writing" in WWE, anything is possible with no questions asked. Absolutely anything. Just ask Mae Young.

The two stooges finally resolve their hissy fit. Am I wrong, or is Trips always the guy that wants to plunge ahead and his partner is the reluctant one that needs convincing? Eh, who cares?

Anyhoo, having come to some sort of an understanding, DX quickly stoop down low and plunge forward beneath the ring. Rather than banging their fool heads on tables and ladders and stacks of chairs (which always seem to be conveniently housed beneath the ring as a weapons repository), they instead find themselves standing up to their full height in a long hallway. Ah, of course. Why didn't I see that coming?

The "exceedingly close friends" aimlessly wander towards a sign tacked up on a door that reads "Little People's Court." The over-sized and over-cooked hams enter, and I finally catch onto the reason for DX's earlier debate. (Remember, I hadn't read the background story yet).

Continuing to watch just to see where this is going, I gather that DX has incurred the wrath of the little people ... at least the little wrestling people. A jury of six midgets sit in a makeshift jury box. (Is the word midget now considered politically incorrect? I have a difficult time keeping up with such rules as laid down by those that can't wait for opportunities to jump in and smugly tsk-tsk, thus "lending proof" of their own ultra-high levels of sensitivity. It should be bloody obvious that I mean no offense to anyone of any size).

Back to the show: a whole lot of noise, as everybody seems to be talk-shouting at the same time, with the voice of that most evil of leprechauns, Hornswoggle, floating just above the rest. I'm guessing that he's supposed to represent the prosecution or maybe the judge in whatever the case is about, but I'm not sure. Nor do I care one little bit. Hell, I care more about the frog I saw earlier in the day. Squashed flat in the gutter it was, the poor little ex-hopper.

Anyway, my sense of self-preservation kicked in at this point and I don't remember much more, except the two goofballs are found guilty of something or other. They then come sliding back out from beneath the ring. Was the poor edit intentional? Criticize them all you want, but WWE is usually very polished and professional when it comes to production values.

I guess it's a good thing that DX manages to safely escape the "hidden world of little people" ... the same mysterious place we all suspect actually exists, despite our knee-jerk denials.

Seriously, just how much longer will today's wrestling fans be willing to dine at this horse trough? When will it finally be enough for WWE's loyal customers to scream as one, "STOP THE INSANITY! WE SHALL NOT PUT UP WITH THIS CONSTANT DUMP OF STEAMING HOT FERTILIZER ANY FURTHER!"

Just how far does the E need to sink before people stop tuning in and accepting their puerile fantasies as a natural part of wrestling? With the news of a possible return of the New World Order faction to TNA come January 4th, 2010, can the current pro product possibly sink any further? (Former NWO member Sean Waltman has supposed been signed for this purpose).

The sad part is that I recall asking the same question last year. It frightens me, this bargain basement stuff I just saw. (And that was but a few minutes of 2-hour-plus show, the reviews of which have been seemingly unanimous in their scornful dismissal). I'm already dreading the thought of what that head-to-head confrontation becomes on January 4th. Will the two most watched wrestling companies do their best to out-embarrass each other, only to give themselves a hotfoot? The prospects are utterly dispiriting.

And on that joyous note, I want to send out my wishes for a very Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukkah and an equally enjoyable and reflective New Year to all who visit one or both of my websites. My gratitude especially goes out to those who have purchased the book, A Fool for Old School ... Wrestling, That is. Some of you have taken the time to send along your thoughts on what you've read. It truly warms this old heart to know that you care enough to honestly and fairly offer your compliments, corrections and critiques.

To put my optimist's hat on (if only momentarily), I want to believe that someday soon, a person or a collective with the necessary background and funding gives us a promotion devoted to the concept of pro wrestling as sport, rather than a comedy/action/grade-school-level TV show. An oasis, of sorts, for the fan who is beyond sick and tired of the non-stop arrogance, the contempt, the ridicule, and the abject stupidity they receive several times a week from the two primary sources.

This mentally proposed television show eschews pyrotechnics, skits and individuals whose behavior equates the maturity level of a 12-year-old approaching puberty. The unnamed WRESTLING program will be laden with well-developed matches and sensible storylines.

Yes, this WRESTLING company will make sense, dadgum it, relegating ref bumps and outside interference to genuinely surprising rarities. Logic will reign supreme! As a general rule of thumb, clean finishes will become the calling card, while contrived bullshit, nonsensical swerves and meaningless switches back-and-forth from baby-to-heel and vice versa will become naught but a distasteful memory.

I'm really not kidding, folks. In the past, I once took a certain amount of pride admitting to having worked in the business. Now, unless I'm exchanging views with fans and people who have or had been involved in wrestling, my connection remains unspoken. It becomes just too much work trying to explain the differences between what the territorial system of the past was selling (and I include both the good and the not-so-good circuits), as opposed to the pointless and pale imitation dubbed sports entertainment.

For further analysis, consider ordering my book. For now ... I think I'm gonna go egg nog myself into oblivion. And I HATE egg nog!

TAPE TWO

In my previous column, (Back in the Saddle Again, August 20th, 2008), I explained how I’d taken a hiatus from my two websites due to a personal situation. One of the lessons I re-learned during that trying period was this: it helped me see things more clearly by taking an occasional time out and stepping away from the problems. As crazy as it may seem to some, I accomplished this by looking at pro wrestling tapes that I hadn’t watched in years.

The end result was that my approach to the more serious matters at hand were affected in a positive way. Not spending much more than an hour or so in one sitting, the precious images from the past caused a surprisingly significant improvement in my outlook. Ultimately, I recognized that this method of short-term escape (which is not the same thing as avoidance) allowed me to inspect the more serious set of circumstances from different angles. The act revitalized my vigor. It really was as simple as that and, at least for me, it worked. Winding up the time machine (AKA a VCR) and indulging in a short trip was all I needed to do.

Anyway, I started the journey with some classic OLD old school matches from the 1950s and ‘60s. From there, I ventured into the future, which is to say the 1980s and ‘90s. All of the bouts were promoted by the National Wrestling Alliance (NWA) and World Championship Wrestling (WCW). As most fans know, the two were the same organization with a name change. Watching, I was quickly reminded of how captivating pro wrestling had been when there was a limited number of absurd characters and outlandish storylines. When presented as a pseudo-sport, the primary focus was to draw the fans in through the building of a credible match.

The tape I watched over a four day period was the first “WCW All-Nighter” from 1994. This “overnight pajama party” was hosted by a slightly annoying Tony Schiavone (allegedly in the basement of his home), Bobby Heenan (at this time in his career, he was a damned fine comic with an excellent sense of timing) and Gene Okerlund (in full shill mode). Eric Bischoff was also there. Most of the between-bout skits ranged from hilarious to embarrassing. (Truth to tell, I must admit that some of the shenanigans made me laugh out loud at the sheer chutzpah on display.

Bobby Heenan stood out as genuinely gifted with his constant quips and childlike behavior. Other members of the broadcasting team dropped by for brief interactions. Chris Cruise (who wore a suit the whole time and refused to talk to anyone in a very creepy fashion) stayed in the background. Gordon Solie, who clearly wanted very little to do with the whole thing, arrived and departed in haste. But make no mistake; Bobby Heenan was the standout star, playing the role of selfish inconsiderate boob to a tee. His choice of pajamas was inspired, the sort of humor that dates back to a Max Sennett two-reeler.

The bouts were among the best taken from periodic NWA/WCW specials, known as Clash of the Champions. Clashes were live Pay-Per-View quality cards meant to entice fans to pony up the bucks for just such an upcoming event. As well, the free Clashes were intended to draw viewers away from a WWE PPV, which often occurred at the same time. (This was a practice originated by Vince McMahon, one that had financially hurt his southern-based competition).

Thus, the matches on this first of two WCW All-Nighters came from any one of a number of Clashes, originally telecast live on WTBS between 1988 and ’93. I found most of the selected matches to be fun and exciting. Who won and who lost a contest was paramount. So, at long last, here is the full card I took in along with the results. Comments from yours truly are found in-between the brackets.

1. Sting (challenger) vs. Ric Flair (champion) for the NWA Heavyweight Championship. March 27, 1988.

James J. Dillon, manager of the infamous Four Horsemen (of which Flair was the penultimate member) had stipulated himself into a small wooden cage that hung high, just off to the side of the ring. The 45-minute time limit in this outstanding encounter runs out without a winner being declared, so Flair retains the title. But thanks to the great ring psychology both combatants display from start to finish, Sting becomes a made man in the world of professional wrestling.

[This was a great match. What a way to start the show! Numerous people have dubbed the event as “the official arrival of Sting as a main eventer,” and I heartily agree. Ric Flair does a superb job selling the youngster to the fans in a way that would assure the Stinger a successful future. I have to admit that as Sting’s career unfolded, I respected him but never became overly enthusiastic. Still, there’s no questioning the fact that at this stage he was inspired and very, very good.

Here, he holds his own with modern wrestling’s Grand Master. Generously, Ric gives Sting plenty of opportunities to beat the hell out of him over and over again. This drove home the point that the young man’s time had arrived. Sting’s work is also to be commended when he’s on the receiving end. One of the best Sting matches ever, in my opinion.]

2. Dustin Rhodes & Ricky “The Dragon” Steamboat (challengers) vs. Arn Anderson & Larry Zbyszko (champions) for the WCW Tag Team Championship. November 19, 1991.

This match had been built up as Dustin Rhodes and Barry Windham finally achieving a long-sought-after title shot. However, Windham shows up with his arm in a sling and unable to wrestle that night. (I couldn't tell if the injury was worked or not). Therefore, Ricky Steamboat agrees to take his place, which drives Anderson and Zbyszko insane at the news of his participation. (That’s kind of an insult to Windham, isn’t it?) Anyway, in about 12 minutes, the makeshift team takes possession of the belts.

[Not bad, though I found it too short with a somewhat abrupt finish. It also seemed disjointed, too much so to be truly memorable. I was surprised to find the champions appear in the role of semi-incompetents. I suppose the message was that the unexpected entrance of Steamboat threw them for a loop. Still, the titleholders were fine wrestlers, so this aspect just didn’t add up for me. Despite these faults, the fans got what they wanted and were happy. It also looked like the dethroned champs were heading towards a feud, with each one blaming the other for the loss.

3. Ric Flair (challenger) vs. Lex Luger (champion) for the NWA U.S. championship. September 13, 1990.

This took place at a time when Lex Luger was watchable, at least in this encounter. Then again, this was also at a time when it was said Ric Flair could have a match with a broomstick and make it interesting. It ends in a no contest ruling.

[A pretty good match with Luger doing his best to keep up and Flair guiding him along. It all comes to a sudden conclusion when they take it outside of the ring and brawl on the floor. Inexplicably, Stan Hansen decides to join the festivities, as he impolitely takes Luger apart piece by piece. The match is thrown out at around the 20 minute mark. I liked it well enough, but would have preferred a clean finish rather than the outside interference routine.]

4. The Hollywood Blondes (Brian Pillman & Steve Austin) (challengers) vs. Ricky Steamboat & Shane Douglas (champions) for the Unified Tag Titles. January 13, 1993.

The babyface champions hold the Unified Tag Titles. (Yes, Shane Douglas worked as a clean cut baby in his formative years and was pretty good in the role). I have no idea what the Unified Tag Title is supposed to be, but it’s clearly not given the same regard as the WCW Tag Team belts. Anyway, this was an enjoyable match to watch. Well, until the end, anyway. That’s when Austin uses one of the belts conveniently close at hand to smack Douglas in the face, earning the Blondes a DQ.

[These four worked well together for the most part. Seeing this convinced me that the WCW bosses didn’t have the smarts to leave the Blondes together and allow them to grow. There was absolutely no reason that I’m aware of to suddenly disband the team; the meddling by the higher-ups mucked up a good thing in the making. As a twosome, Pillman and Austin blended their skills smoothly, and what could have been one of the better remembered pairings of the era faded away before they were able to really hit their stride.

I also have the sneaking suspicion that whoever booked the match lost interest somewhere along the way. Instead of devising a hot conclusion, they took the lazy way out. The decision to have the Blondes resort to everyday standard heel tactics did not enhance the match or the duo. What they’d accomplished during the bout was largely negated when Steve and Brian wound up looking like every other run-of-the-mill bad guy collective. Ugh. Still, this is a match well worth watching most of the way through.]

5. Ricky Steamboat (challenger) vs. Ric Flair (champion) for the NWA Heavyweight Title. 2 out of 3 falls. April 2, 1989.

Plain and simple, this is a match that ranks among the very best ever. Flair takes the first fall, Steamboat the second and … Steamboat wins the third to become the new NWA heavyweight champion! Well, not quite. It turns out that Ric had his feet under the ropes as referee Tommy Young made the three count. The title was therefore held up and the next encounter in this classic series took place at the Wrestlewar PPV.

[If I was to describe this match with all of its nuances, it would take a book. Since I’m already working on one, I’ll refrain. But, let it be said that the nearly perfect melding of genuine athleticism and ring psychology between two of the best in the business created a match for the ages. (Make that a series for the ages). The mutual respect Flair and Steamboat had for one another is apparent. Anybody tries telling you that sports entertainment is the same thing as wrestling (at least at this level) simply doesn’t grasp the difference. A must see.]

6. Steve Austin (with manager Colonel Robert Parker) vs. Brian Pillman, Grudge Match. November 10, 1993.

Those paying attention knew this would be a brawl. And it is. Some good high risk attempts from both men, but the match is afflicted with yet another crappy finish. Pillman, now a babyface, has the crowd solidly behind him. Nice exchanges between the two former Hollywood Blondes, each man giving the other the opportunity to show what he can do. The bout goes close to 10 minutes and … what’s this? Another controversial conclusion?

Yep. I guess the bosses didn’t believe in the old maxim of giving one man a clean victory then allowing the vanquished a strong return to get his own moment in the sun. Back-and-forth with winners and losers turns up the heat and tells the fans that either man is capable of coming out on top. It creates the best story, because the final result is always in doubt. That means people will buy tickets to see how it all develops. Instead of anything like that, Colonel Robert Parker rudely trips up Pillman as he’s about to fly off the top turnbuckle, resulting in a tainted victory for Austin. Another ugh finish.

[I have to go back to the same comments I made about Match 4. Why oh why did WCW think they were smart by breaking up and feuding The Hollywood Blondes? The duo had charisma a-plenty with loads of talent to spare. Handled properly as a team, they could have been a cornerstone of the company for a long time to come. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize the decision was a major blunder almost as soon as it was made. Idiots.]

7. Cactus Jack vs. Van Hammer, Falls Count Anywhere. January 9, 1992.

Before extreme wrestling entered the wrestling public’s consciousness, Cactus Jack was already a veteran of the style and preparing to show the way. Mick Foley had spent quite some time in Japan, sacrificing his body to barbed wire, tacks, exploding cages and the like. Compared to the extreme stylings about to develop in North America, this match is mild.

Van Hammer, who wasn’t as awful as some would have it, was basically a middle-tier performer. Anyway, these two whack away at one another, with Cactus Foley taking some sick bumps along the way. It all led to a conclusion outside of the arena (I’ll bet the fans inside weren’t too pleased). Luckily for all concerned, a cattle show and rodeo was to take place just beyond the arena's entrance. Cactus and Van Hammer fought all over, including the insides of cow pens, causing the nervous animals to eye them warily. The duo also take it to the top of bales of hay and directly in front of Missy Hyatt, who shows up as an on-the-scene reporter.

[The finish is even weirder than what preceded it. Suddenly, Abdullah the Butcher in a cowboy hat and shirt (!?) appears out of nowhere. From his efforts to get Cactus Jack, we’re led to believe he’s in the Hammer-man’s corner. ‘Ceptin’ his aim with a shovel ain’t too good. He mistakenly smacks Van Hammer hard across the back. Cactus Jack pins the metal-head, but he’s not through yet.

Cowboy Abdullah is waiting for him, and the duo continues the brawl all around the stockyard. Missy Hyatt, whose contributions include squealing and feigning distress at the scene, creates much merriment among the viewers when she is dunked in a water trough, which just happens to be filled to the brim. (Hah!) The whole thing is so weirdly good and bad that it’s highly entertaining. Unfortunately, this type of gimmick match that should have remained as a one-off, pretty much set the tempo for what wrestling would soon become.]

8. The Samoan SWAT Team (with Paul E. Dangerously) vs. The Road Warriors (with Precious Paul Ellering). September 12, 1989.

Decent for what it was, this match ended in a little over six minutes. That’s when Hawk and Animal combine to hit the team’s finisher, The Doomsday Device, with Hawk pinning the SWATted victim.

[The two power teams run through their strongman repertoire in the first few minutes of the match, so this wound up just before it became a yawner. Well, maybe that’s a little harsh. Both squads earn points by displaying quite a lot of agility along with their usual exhibitions of strength. So that made it better than the usual. Yeah, this was pretty decent.

The finish comes when the SWAT Team’s manager, Paul E. Dangerously, tosses his cell phone to one of his boys, who generously passes it along to the Roadies. Demonstrating their ability to think quickly, one of the SWAT boys is rendered helpless while the other one is conked over the head with the phone. He is then hoisted up on Animal's shoulders and Hawk heads for the top turnbuckle.

After squarely nailing him with the Warrior's patented Doomsday Device maneuver, it's a simple matter of pinning the man for the fall. Paul E. Dangerously scrambles inside the ring to protest, only to be socked in the jaw for his efforts. Precious Paul Ellering completes the SWATting by stomping Dangerously’s phone into tiny bits.]

9. The Great Muta & Terry Funk vs. Sting & Ric Flair. Halloween Havoc PPV match, in the Thunderdome cage. October 28, 1989.

A very exciting match involving four top notch wrestlers. In a special cage, no less. And this entry came from a Pay-Per-View, not a free Clash. A hot back-and-forth confrontation that sees the duo of Flair and Sting triumph, although it’s certainly not easy for them. Funk and Muta as a team are just as good, and this match is well paced from start to finish. There should have been more encounters in the series.

[When they were together in the ring (and on the floor), Terry Funk and Ric Flair resorted to in-your-face brutality of the highest order. But in several other sequences, they introduced a fair amount of psychology and subtlety, the likes of which make the best matches so good. This entire bout should be included in chapter one of the “How to Construct a Pro Wrestling Match” manual. I mean no disrespect to Muta or Sting, because they too were outstanding. But it’s the two veterans that make this match so beautiful to watch. I thoroughly enjoyed it.]

10. The Midnight Express (with Jim Cornette) vs. Ric Flair and Barry Windham with (James J. Dillon). December 6, 1988.

Another fantastic match. The Midnight Express, arguably one of the greatest tag teams ever, is obviously in their element. Ric Flair and Barry Windham, two excellent singles wrestlers, don’t have much experience as an alliance. That said, we all know they are more than capable of pulling off an upset. And they do just that, with Flair pinning Bobby Eaton. A wonderful experience for the wrestling fan, although I have the same complaint as before … the lack of a clean finish. Still, this one’s just too good to let that ruin it.

[I’ve always held The Midnight Express in high regard. Bobby Eaton and Stan Lane developed and expanded the concept of working as a fully functioning unit. The result was a seamless definition of what tag team wrestling should be. Another factor contributing to their appeal comes from the always entertaining work of manager Jim Cornette. Forever walking the tightrope between infuriating the fans with his devious tactics and cracking them up with his verbosity, Cornette was truly one of the all-time greats when fronting for his boys.

Cornette’s amazing gift of gab, coupled with the wide array of underhanded tactics he frequently used was unparalleled in this, his ideal role. With Jim (and his ever-present tennis racket) guiding the fortunes of Bobby Eaton and, during this period, Stan Lane, Midnight Express matches proved to be exceptional expressions of creativity. The trio was really that good. Watching Cornette go berserk during key moments in this match are highlights unto themselves. On the other hand, James J. Dillon’s relatively cool demeanor is in sharp contrast to the histrionics of his counterpart.]

11. Ric Flair vs. Terry Funk (with Gary Hart), I Quit Match. November 15, 1989.

And finally the coup de grace. This is the greatest match in the history of our sport! Okay, maybe not the greatest ever, but right up there with Flair vs. Steamboat. The rapidly developing psychology shown by both Flair and Funk needs to be taught to any prospective wrestler before he is allowed to lace up his boots. Ric wins in about 15 minutes after applying the Figure Four Leglock. Funk is forced to scream, “YES! I QUIT!” and the crowd’s reaction is off the charts.

The next sequence sees Terry insisting that he had agreed to shake Flair’s hand, should he lose, and that’s what he's prepared to do. Funk’s manager, Gary Hart, adamantly refuses to permit such an act of contrition to take place. You can palpably feel the genuine respect between the two wrestlers. Seeing this made me proud to be a fan. The eventual beat-down of the two former combatants, courtesy of Hart’s gang, turns Funk into an instant babyface. Just a fantastic way to end the All-Nighter.

[What distinguished this match, which I believe sets a standard (along with a very few others), is among the greatest of the great. It encompasses everything a contest between two rivals should. First, it kicks off with a logical build-up to explain why feelings ran so high between the two. (However, it cannot be ignored that the angle chosen, which saw Funk try to smother Flair by putting a plastic bag over his head, was ill-conceived and potentially dangerous. Children watched this stuff). But the end result was that it worked, which still doesn't justify that approach. The fact that the angle was never again shown after the original telecast indicates that they received enough complaints to ditch it. Still, by bringing the violent showdown to a head in an I Quit match made fans salivate at the prospects.

And these two veterans, having begun their respective journey in the late 1960s, deliver at a level above what anyone had a right to expect. The give-and-take transitions were flawless and believable. The brutality with which Flair and Funk mauled each other may well have convinced some skeptics that at least a few matches were indeed on the level. It was barbaric and it was poetry.

It was a case of two top professionals at their peak, plying their trade with remarkable panache. In this match, they showed the world that those who think the business is all about glitz and gimmicks don’t have a clue when it comes to presenting a pseudo-sport as reality. This show-stopper was an act of brilliance from all involved, including Gary Hart and his gang of cutthroats. Truly among the very best, bar none.]

There are no more matches to describe. I only wish I had something more to add, but even if you’re not sick of my blathering, I am.

I'll take my leave and invite you to visit this website periodically. I hope to have a surprise or two before long.

DVD REVIEW: WRESTLING GOLD (SPECIAL EDITION)

Are your TV wrestling nights cold and empty? Are you so unhappy with what passes for pro wrestling nowadays that you’ve considered taking a couple of hungry cats, dressing them up in gaudy outfits, placing a bowl of tuna between them in a small, makeshift ring and then calling the action yourself? Be honest have you gone so far as to give some thought to surprising the two furry combatants with a third cat run-in?

Well, if you are missing your pro wrestling fix to that extent, then save yourself and the fightin felines the aggravation. For fans of old school regional rasslin', "Wrestling Gold (Special Edition)" is a must-have collection of matches from Kit Parker Films and VCI Entertainment. Bouts from many different territories are included throughout, with well known participants to be found in each of them. For those that weren't following the sport prior to the WWF/WWE takeover, these matches will come as an eye-opening revelation.

To discuss everything in depth that the viewer will encounter would take several columns. After all, the collection includes five discs, each of which runs for just over two hours. All told, there's a good 10 hours and 30 minutes of old school wrestling to enjoy, with one delightful remembrance after another along the way. It's a journey that fans who watched in the 70s and 80s will recall with increasing enthusiasm. It's heavy in joyful nostalgia with a small tinge of sadness, for this kind of performance art has given way to another type that is indeed a very different animal.

Disc 1, which concentrates to a large extent on action from San Antonio's Southwest Championship Wrestling of San Antonio, is labeled "Busted Open" for no apparent reason other than the title was direct and dramatic. (There doesn't appear to be any more bloodshed here than on the other four discs). But what it does have is some great memories. Right off the bat, we see Sherri Martel in her first professional match, taking on veteran Judy Martin. That's followed up by a very (make that VERY) young Shawn Michaels. At this early stage in his career, he couldn't have been in the business for more than a few months. Here, he is facing Ken Johnson. For fans of The Heartbreak Kid, this match will be something of a revelation. While his style is steeped in the traditions of a young babyface, Michaels already gives us more than a few hints at the heights he would attain after further seasoning.

There are other remarkable bouts to be found as "Busted Open" continues. For those that never had the chance to experience the charisma of Gino Hernandez, there are several samples included herein. In fact, he and Tully Blanchard were tremendously watchable as teammates and as opponents. (Two matches in particular put their considerable talent on display in both settings). If wild brawling is your preference, Bruiser Brody vs. Abdullah the Butcher is in the spotlight, along with "Dirty" Dick Slater against The Mongolian Stomper. A title match between challenger Bruiser Brody and Nick Bockwinkel closes out the first disc, and it's a honey. (Bockwinkel is managed by the always entertaining Bobby "The Brain" Heenan; no less than Lou Thesz handles the referee chores).

Disc 2 is "The Maim Event," and it floors us with an opening match that shook the wrestling world when it occurred. From Memphis, Tennessee, The Rock 'n' Roll Express (Ricky Morton & Robert Gibson) take on the Poffo Brothers (Randy Savage and Lanny Poffo), with their father Angelo in their corner. It's off the charts, and the fans never stop screaming for their teenybopper heroes. But what makes this match historic is a spot that takes place at the conclusion. On the concrete floor outside of the ring, Randy Savage attempts to set Gibson up for the dreaded Piledriver. Morton makes the save but is waylaid by Angelo, who unceremoniously tosses the mulleted grappler onto the announcer's table.

Savage then accomplishes something that was considered unthinkable at the time. He jumps up on the table and hoists Ricky into the Piledriver position. After a moment's hesitation (you can almost hear the crowd holding its breath), the twosome come crashing down through the table, Morton going head first. The resultant furor has to be seen to be believed, and old school fans denote this occurrence as a landmark in hardcore violence.

Other bouts on Disc 2 also originate in Memphis, along with San Antonio, Indianapolis, Detroit and Toronto, featuring names such as The Sheik, The Crusher, Jerry Lawler, Bruno Sammartino, Dick the Bruiser, Ernie Ladd, Ted DiBiase, Baron von Raschke, Rick Rude and on and on. Without exaggeration, it's a wrestling Who's Who of the day.

We move on to Disc 3, entitled "We Like to Hurt People." Again, there's more tremendous action to be seen, with many of the featured stars from the first two discs as well as some we've not yet encountered. Again, we're witness to crazy antics from Tennessee, and if you ever wanted to see an angry and embarrassed Rick Rude wearing a dress, this is where you'll find it. A definite high point is the "unscheduled" bout between Terry Funk and Mark Lewin that takes place in a Detroit television studio. It's a great confrontation, for it gives the small gathering of fans and the viewers at home a display of wrestling holds, counter-holds and beautifully orchestrated ring psychology, all within the framework of a personal grudge between the two men. After seeing this match, you may find yourself wondering how those living in the area that didn’t run out and purchase tickets for the Cobo Arena blow-off could rightly call themselves true wrestling fans.

Disc 4 is "No More Mr. Nice Guy" and it picks up where Disc 3 leaves off. Again, there are more top flight bouts from the various territories. Perhaps the most interesting from a wrestling standpoint is the title match from Memphis between challenger Jerry Lawler and champion Nick Bockwinkel. These are two pros that understand how to build a match in such a way that the fans can't help but become emotionally involved.

Some may find two of the gimmick matches included here to be of equal appeal. Stand back, PETA members, because Terrible Ted, the Wrestling Bear, can be seen overpowering his trainer (Gene DuBois), a referee and a preliminary boy or two that foolishly don't move out of the way quickly enough. The heyday of bears being used in the business was coming to an end, and this may be the last known bit of evidence, in the context of a full and complete match, that such an attraction ever existed.

Somewhat safer, although probably not by much, is a match from Detroit between Chief Jay Strongbow and Bulldog Don Kent. What makes it unusual is that their battle is held in the middle of the ring … inside of a shark cage. It’s akin to wrestling inside of a phone booth made of wire and steel. About as good as can be expected, given the confines of the cage and the participant's lack of mobility, but it's hard to understand just what the point was. Still, as a one-off, it's different and kind of fun, leading to an interesting conclusion.

The last disc in the collection is "Beat Me If You Can." Like the ones that preceded it, the matches are engrossing. Among the 12 bouts listed, this grouping gives us an intense fight from San Antonio between Chief Wahoo McDaniel and Tully Blanchard, a Toronto mud match between long-time rivals Tiger Jeet Singh and The Sheik, and a Memphis encounter between two legends, veteran Jerry Lawler and a young, brash Eddie Gilbert. This last one is of particular significance, as Jim Cornette informs us that it was the realization of a life-long dream for the up-and-coming grappler. As a child (and the son of wrestler Tommy Gilbert), he'd idolized Lawler. To face "The King" was, to him, confirmation that he had a place in the business. It meant everything to young Eddie, who went on to a stellar career both inside the ring and as a creative force outside of it.

And yes ... you read it right. Jim Cornette is indeed a welcome addition to the set. As if the matches with the original commentary aren't enough, there's an alternate soundtrack that features words of wisdom and humor from the encyclopedic mind and mouth of the former manager, currently a TNA employee. Complimenting Cornette with his own thoughts is none other than The Wrestling Observer's equally knowledgeable Dave Meltzer. Both do an outstanding job of providing insight by describing how matches were once constructed, as well as offering inside information and biographies on the wrestlers and the territories.

When one takes into consideration the age of the source material, the audio/video quality is surprisingly superb. As a collection, this is an absolute must for any serious old school pro wrestling fan. I simply cannot recommend "Wrestling Gold (Special Edition)" highly enough.

Richard Berger is a freelance writer and editor with an extensive background in professional wrestling. His career includes media production for Stampede Wrestling, ring announcing, regular columns for WOW Magazine and IGN.com, and special feature work for other publications. Between June, 2007 and June, 2008, he wrote a weekly column for The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. To discuss Richard’s articles or just about anything else, contact him at: WriterGuy1A@hotmail.com.

The small sampling of his work found here was originally published at The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. The majority will appear in a soon-to-be-released book along with new material. Stay tuned for information as it becomes available!

BOOK REVIEW: THE WRESTLECRAP BOOK OF LISTS!

For any pro wrestling fan not yet familiar with the highly popular Wrestlecrap website (Wrestlecrap: The Very Worst of Pro Wrestling), a visit is long overdue. Be sure to bring along your sense of humor and a desire to wallow in some of the most enjoyably inane and mind-bendingly hilarious gimmicks and angles ever spawned under the pretense of sport.

Wrestlecrap.com, created several years ago by R.D. Reynolds and Blade Braxton (which really should have been names used in a tag team somewhere in time), is devoted to the frequently funny, sometimes bizarre and all-too-often stupid concepts found in both good and bad wrestling promotions. More power to the two writers. It’s a risky business to spend countless hours constructing such a book without questioning one’s own sanity. From all reports, both Reynolds and Braxton are still reasonably sound of mind and not to be feared any more than usual.

Published by ECW Press, The Wrestlecrap Book of Lists! is a fun-filled read. Similar in design to R.D.’s previous work, Wrestlecrap: The Very Worst in Professional Wrestling, the Book of Lists! is just as engrossing. Someone not accustomed to the vagaries of the sport may have a difficult time believing that a promoter, a man allegedly in business to make money, would give his approval to proceed with the nonsense illustrated in these pages. Those that follow pro wrestling, especially in the sports entertainment era, will recognize the vast majority of examples cited. Depending on an individual’s tolerance for the illogical and the absurd, one may find himself either laughing raucously or shaking his head in disbelief. Either way, the journey is a lively and rewarding one from front-to-back.

The book begins with a short introductory chapter that sets up what is to follow. Pro Wrestling is Dumb, claim the authors, and they make a good case for such a declaration. Proving that they are hopelessly dedicated fans (as are most wrestling historians, analysts and journalists), it is this very admission that gives them their sharp perspective on what qualifies as Wrestlecrap. In describing the insoluble and inexplicable that is found between the pages, they write, “You see, this stupidity opens the door for not only obsessed fans, but more importantly, for some downright bizarre folks in front of the fans and behind the scenes. It leads not only to insanity in the ring, but backstage as well. With so many weirdos competing for such a small spotlight, comedy ensues.”

It surely does. Within each of the nine chapters of the book, there are categories of every size and shape. While they will vary in appeal depending upon the reader, all are presented with a strain of humor that the originators of the gimmick, angle or storyline only wished they’d possessed. For instance, in the chapter Tell Us a Story, Uncle Vince, one discovers the category “The 6 Crimes For Which We’d Hope Kane and Undertaker Would be Arrested if They Lived in Our Hometown.” Number 4 on the list is a cautionary tale that many wrestling fans will recall:

Concreticide: You probably just looked at that word and thought, “Waitaminute … concreticide isn’t in the dictionary!” Heck, even Microsoft Word would agree with that assessment. But you know what? Maybe you can’t use it in Scrabble, but there’s really no other way to describe Undertaker’s actions on June 27, 2004, at the Scope in Norfolk, Virginia. Undertaker’s manager, Paul Bearer, was locked up in a glass case as per a pre-match stipulation. Idling next to said case is a cement truck. The stipulation is that unless Undertaker agrees to take a dive, Bearer will be encased in concrete. Apparently, this type of wagering is legal in the state of Virginia. Although his mentor of over a decade will perish should he prevail, Undertaker fights valiantly and wins the match. He then proceeds to personally pull the lever to bury his pal. Some career advice to aspiring pro wrestling managers: never agree to manage Undertaker.

Moving along to the chapter Those Poor, Poor Promoters, we find the hilarious category entitled “The 3 Worst Tony Schiavone Comments Ever.” Anyone that bore witness to the final few years of the floundering behemoth, AKA World Championship Wrestling, will recall the ridiculous excesses of that company’s lead announcer. Number 1 on the list, and deservedly so, is…

This is the Greatest Night in the History of Our Sport: This is the wrestling equivalent of the riddle of the sphinx; how could one man think that every single Nitro, Thunder or pay-per-view was the greatest one he’d ever seen? We can only assume Tony must’ve been suffering from an undiagnosed case of Anterograde amnesia, a disorder that renders a person unable to remember anything that occurs after his attention is shifted for more than a few seconds. Well, if you’re going to be diseased, we suppose it could be worse. After all, every girl you make out with would feel like the first time. And that Stevie Ray vs. Bunkhouse Buck match on WCW Saturday night? Greatest thing since sliced bread – or at least since WWF Ice Cream Bars. On second thought, diseases are never funny, nor was hearing about how great every single Nitro was … especially when they weren’t.

One more example: in the chapter Wrestling … You Know, Actual Wrestling, the category is “The 8 Most Needlessly Complex – or Just Downright Stupid – Matches in Wrestling History. And Number 2 on the list is …

The Dog Poo Match: We’ve kind of veered off the path of intricate matches to talk about just plain stupid ones. And no list of idiotic bouts could leave out this bout, in which the Rock and Davey Boy Smith attempted to throw each other into dog feces. Do you really need more description than that? We didn’t think so.

The only reservation I have in recommending this book is that occasionally the authors’ own humor descends into unnecessary vulgarity. Hitting the mark far more often than missing, there are at least a few instances of the writers’ attempts at low humor that may cause the more sensitive reader to wince and perhaps even feel slightly embarrassed for them. In those instances, it would have been better to simply let the subject’s crude behavior speak for itself.

Small quibbles aside, I applaud The Wrestlecrap Book of Lists! for the reminder of what did and mostly what didn’t work in pro wrestling. There are hundreds of delightfully ludicrous memories to be relived here, covering most of the major promotions that registered on the grappling landscape, from old school to sports entertainment. Simply stated, the book is entertaining and the source of numerous belly-laughs.

Richard Berger is a freelance writer and editor with an extensive background in professional wrestling. His career includes media production for Stampede Wrestling, ring announcing, regular columns for WOW Magazine and IGN.com, and special feature work for other publications. Between June, 2007 and June, 2008, he wrote a weekly column for The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. To discuss Richard’s articles or just about anything else, contact him at: WriterGuy1A@hotmail.com.

The small sampling of his work found here was originally published at The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. The majority will appear in a soon-to-be-released book along with new material. Stay tuned for information as it becomes available!

DYNAMITE!

Last week’s column received a very positive response, and I want to thank you for taking the time to write with your comments, thoughts and personal stories. To answer the question that many brought up … yes, timekeeper Tim Wilson and referee Kevin Jefferies are alive and doing quite well. And both are glad to be far, far away from the clutches of “Strangler” Steve DiSalvo! For those that have yet to read this particular column, you may do so by clicking here: http://www.thefightnetwork.com/news_detail.php?nid=6009

For now, I’d like to relate an incident that remains just as memorable to me. Again, this occurred while I was employed by Stu Hart’s Stampede Wrestling in the mid-1980s. Having been an unabashed pro wrestling enthusiast since 1958, to come to work in the industry was about as thrilling as anything I’d ever hoped for. Along with a few other perks, I was afforded the opportunity to meet and get to know some of the most famous professional wrestlers of their day.

For instance, Mike Shaw, AKA Makhan Singh, was an interesting individual. “Mercurial” is how I’d describe him. Away from the ring, the large man with a face full of beard had a pretty fair sense of humor and was usually friendly; an all-around good guy. But on occasion and without much warning, he could be nasty, sarcastic and a little bit of a bully. Fortunately, that was not the case too often. But sometimes, he was hard to figure.

Gama Singh was an excellent wrestler and the leader of the heel faction known as “Karachi Vice.” He was also a gentleman in every way. I liked and respected Gama, who was and remains an intelligent man. His son, Gama Singh, Jr., is a standout performer in the current incarnation of Stampede Wrestling, and I understand dear old dad is bursting with pride over his boy’s accomplishments.

There were others, too many to mention at this time. However, to get down to this week’s harrowing tale of Stampede wackiness, I’d like to relate an incident that took place at Vancouver’s International airport. It involved one of the world’s greatest wrestlers, The Dynamite Kid, and it’s a story that will stay with me forever.

No one could have predicted the rather bizarre outcome when I accepted the call from the Calgary office late in 1985. I’d been doing the advance work and advertising for upcoming wrestling events in southern British Columbia for a few months by then, and everything for the show that night was in good order. So, when I received the request to pick up The Dynamite Kid at the airport prior to that evening’s proceedings, I was only too happy to do so. Excited, even.

Just about anybody that is a wrestling fan is aware of the Kid’s place in the history of the business. Simply put, the Englishman was a unique and amazing athlete. Although small by pro wrestling standards, he captivated the fans by utilizing the dangerous high-flying acrobatic style he had developed and perfected. In his prime, long before he put on too much muscle mass for his (undeniably) successful WWF run, Dynamite was among the most breathtaking wrestlers to ever lace up a pair of boots. It can be said of only a very rare few that they were true innovators. The Dynamite Kid was one of them, and for several years in western Canada the Kid thrilled fans with his impossible aerial energy and original style.

One of the elements that made his performances so outstanding was that he never lost sight of the credibility factor. (His snap suplex, for instance, was executed with such clinical precision that it made both Dynamite and his opponent look like a million bucks). Through the course of his matches, he’d save his one-of-a-kind maneuvers for just the right moment, ensuring that they would have the greatest impact and mean something.

And oh, how The Dynamite Kid could sell! Taking crazy bumps (again, making his adversary look fantastic) was an equally important part of his repertoire. Those fortunate enough to possess pre-1984 Stampede Wrestling tapes will verify just how phenomenal the still-somewhat-skinny Dynamite Kid was in his youth. His series of bouts against Tiger Mask in early 80s Japan provides further proof of his superior wrestling skills and acumen.

Thus, when I got the call requesting that I go to the airport to pick him up some 90 minutes prior to bell-time, what could I do but comply? Absolutely! With pleasure! The very idea of having this wrestling pioneer in my car for 30 minutes as we made the journey from airport to arena appealed to me greatly. To be able to pick his brain would only further my own education in fully understanding the intricacies and nuances of the business.

Heading out to the Vancouver airport that evening, I became embroiled in the usual rush hour traffic, arriving at my destination a little later than intended. After parking, I rushed inside the busy terminal and confirmed that, sure enough, the Kid’s flight had landed right on schedule. It also seemed as if every plane was coming in from every city in the world, and they all had conspired to choose this same hour to land. The result was a massive crush of people in the terminal, hundreds of them bustling about to and fro. Trying to find The Dynamite Kid wasn’t going to be easy.

Having no luck initially, I stood on top of a bench, scouted around and … by God, there he was! I could see the man across the terminal, a good 60 feet or more from where I stood. Even worse, he was walking away from where I was positioned.

I’d like to interrupt the narrative at this point to offer a brief word of advice. Should you ever find yourself in a crowded and congested public venue, wherever it may be, do yourself a large favor and suppress the urge to yell. It will only get you into trouble. Trust me on this one.

Keeping in mind that this whole thing took place some 16 years prior to the horrors of 9/11, there was still no excuse for acting as I did. Fearing that he’d walk further away from where I was standing, I began shouting loudly.

“Dynamite! Hey, Dynaaaamite! DY – NA – MIIIIIIITE!”

This gets back to what I was just saying. To move at a rapid pace while bellowing about explosives in an airport never was and never will be a good idea. Frankly, it’s dumb. The five security guards/policemen that rushed towards me with seriously stern expressions on their faces and guns in their hands made it abundantly clear that they weren’t amused. The outright stupidity of what I was doing suddenly dawned on me, and I brightly decided to shut up right then and there. It was too late, though.

In the name of accuracy, I should correct myself. Only two of the cops had actually drawn their weapons; the other three had their hands on their holsters, for whatever difference it makes. As soon as they got close enough to encircle me, I began babbling that hey, I’m sorry, there’s no problem, really, very sorry, I’m just picking up the guy down at that end of the airport and I don’t know his real name … really and truly, I’m not here to cause any trouble, honest-go-God I’m okay, and by the way I’m REALLY REALLY SORRY!

I couldn’t blame the police for being sore. Nor for frisking me roughly and verifying my identification and asking lots and lots of questions. Meanwhile, a large segment of the airport crowd was watching as the scene played out. They all parted to let us through when I somehow managed to convince the officers that the guy I’d come to pick up would certify that I was in reality just an innocent fool who only had good intentions.

As a small group, they walked me over to Dynamite, who had stopped his wandering ways after becoming aware of the disturbance. Because I didn’t know his legitimate name (which had been the source of the problem to begin with), all I could give the policemen was the appellation by which he was best known: The Dynamite Kid. I silently wished that any one of the officers would out himself as a Stampede Wrestling fan, someone who would instantly recognize the star’s name and want nothing more than the esteemed grappler’s autograph before sending us on our way. Of course, it didn’t work out like that.

When we caught up to the wrestler, the airport officials asked him for his name. The Kid replied, “Tom Billington.” They inquired if he had any other. Inwardly, I found myself fervently praying that he’d play it straight. Although I’d not met “Tom Billington” prior to that moment, I’d heard all the stories about his love for the swerve. This was hardly the time or place to get playful and creative, and I desperately wanted him to play it straight.

He did. He told them that in some circles he was known as Dynamite. When asked, the Kid mentioned that he was a pro wrestler, confirming what I’d already said. They believed us, the cops did, and two of them must have been so impressed with our funny little misadventure that they walked the both of us all the way out to my car. At that time, I received a stern warning not to “screw around in airports,” something that seemed eminently reasonable. I had no problem agreeing to this demand and only wanted to get to the arena and far away from anything with an airplane in it.

Naturally, Tom wanted to know what had just occurred. When I told him, he laughed at the confusion his name had caused. I then told him, “I’m just glad you’re not known as ‘The Bomber.’ They’d have shot me on the spot.” We both chuckled at the thought, although my mirth was heavily laced with relief.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. When you accepted employment in the world of pro wrestling, at least as it was once conducted, it served you well to expect the unexpected. As I continued in that capacity over the next few years, I learned to be prepared as much as possible for situations that someone in a more traditional field of endeavor would never be likely to encounter.

Leastwise, my accountant never mentions them…

Richard Berger is a freelance writer and editor with an extensive background in professional wrestling. His career includes media production for Stampede Wrestling, ring announcing, regular columns for WOW Magazine and IGN.com, and special feature work for other publications. Between June, 2007 and June, 2008, he wrote a weekly column for The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. To discuss Richard’s articles or just about anything else, contact him at: WriterGuy1A@hotmail.com.

The small sampling of his work found here was originally published at The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. The majority will appear in a soon-to-be-released book along with new material. Stay tuned for information as it becomes available!

THE TWELVE WRESTLING DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

It is perhaps only a little bit surprising that wrestling fans, like many other people, have wives and girlfriends (and sometimes both). The following spoof is therefore intended as an expression of empathy and appreciation for long-suffering spouses and significant others. As such, we offer this variation on the traditional carol, “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” as sung by the befuddled wrestling fan:

On the first day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
A stripe-shirted blind referee

On the second day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Two eye gouges
And a stripe-shirted blind referee

On the third day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Three choke holds
Two eye gouges
And a stripe-shirted blind referee

On the fourth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Four kicks to the groin
Three choke holds
Two eye gouges
And a stripe-shirted blind referee

On the fifth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Five Fingerpokes of Doom
Four knees to the groin
Three choke holds
Two eye gouges
And a stripe-shirted blind referee

On the sixth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Six chairs a-breaking
Five Fingerpokes of Doom
Four knees to the groin
Three choke holds
Two eye gouges
And a stripe-shirted blind referee

On the seventh day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Seven Atomic Noogies
Six chairs a-breaking
Five Fingerpokes of Doom
Four knees to the groin
Three choke holds
Two eye gouges
And a stripe-shirted blind referee

On the eighth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Eight Canadian Destroyers
Seven Atomic Noogies
Six chairs a-breaking
Five Fingerpokes of Doom
Four knees to the groin
Three choke holds
Two eye gouges
And a stripe-shirted blind referee

On the ninth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Nine World Class wedgies
Eight Canadian Destroyers
Seven Atomic Noogies
Six chairs a-breaking
Five Fingerpokes of Doom
Four knees to the groin
Three choke holds
Two eye gouges
And a stripe-shirted blind referee

On the tenth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Ten Garvin stomps
Nine World Class wedgies
Eight Canadian Destroyers
Seven Atomic Noogies
Six chairs a-breaking
Five Fingerpokes of Doom
Four knees to the groin
Three choke holds
Two eye gouges
And a stripe-shirted blind referee

On the eleventh day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Eleven cobras clutching
Ten Garvin stomps
Nine World Class wedgies
Eight Canadian Destroyers
Seven Atomic Noogies
Six chairs a-breaking
Five Fingerpokes of Doom
Four knees to the groin
Three choke holds
Two eye gouges
And a stripe-shirted blind referee

On the twelfth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Twelve grudge matches*
Eleven cobras clutching
Ten Garvin stomps
Nine World Class wedgies
Eight Canadian Destroyers
Seven Atomic Noogies
Six chairs a-breaking
Five Fingerpokes of Doom
Four knees to the groin
Three choke holds
Two eye gouges
And a stripe-shirted blind referee

* Grudge matches to be determined by wife/girlfriend as any two of the following three:
(1) flaming ladders in a toxic mud pit,
(2) piranha attached to electrified barbed wire baseball bats
(3) exploding chain-link tables while blindfolded and wearing a coal miner’s glove scaffold match

~A very large thank you to Cindi Augustine for providing the inspiration and for her substantial contributions in the creation of this silly little parody.~

Happy Holidays to one and all!

Richard Berger is a freelance writer and editor with an extensive background in professional wrestling. His career includes media production for Stampede Wrestling, ring announcing, regular columns for WOW Magazine and IGN.com, and special feature work for other publications. Between June, 2007 and June, 2008, he wrote a weekly column for The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. To discuss Richard’s articles or just about anything else, contact him at: WriterGuy1A@hotmail.com.

The small sampling of his work found here was originally published at The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. The majority will appear in a soon-to-be-released book along with new material. Stay tuned for information as it becomes available!

BOOK REVIEW - PAIN AND PASSION: THE HISTORY OF STAMPEDE WRESTLING

To get directly to the point, the title says it all and this book delivers. Author Heath McCoy, a pop culture writer for The Calgary Herald newspaper and a young man that grew up watching the Stampede Wrestling promotion as a fan, presents an affectionate and fair-minded look at both the Hart family and the company they operated for decades. McCoy’s take on the Stampede Wrestling circuit places the reader directly inside any one of Stu Hart’s old vans as the boys hit the road on a seemingly endless number of challenging (some would say brutal) tours.

On the plus side, the book is much more than a collection of amusing anecdotes. Rather than taking the lazy man’s approach by simply gathering and retelling old stories from the road, the author has done an excellent job of capturing the essence of what made Stampede Wrestling singularly exceptional in the grappling world. Of course, the story begins and ends with the promoter, along with his special and unique family.

As a child, Stu Hart grew up under the harshest conditions imaginable. Given his background, it’s not difficult to understand how the youngest member in a family of five would become a hard-nosed wrestler, then a promoter. When he was a child, Stu’s father stubbornly consigned himself, his wife and their three children to live in tents on the prairies through several harsh Canadian winters, thanks to a property dispute. How Stu would eventually raise his own family and run his wrestling business makes for a fascinating read. (Naturally, he took a very different approach from his old man, although there were hardships during some lean years). It’s fair to say that even those that are familiar with the tale will find more than enough rich detail, all of which serves to flesh out the picture.

But just what was it that made Stampede Wrestling so meaningful to so many wrestlers and fans? Different people will come to different conclusions, and none will necessarily be off base. It all began with Stu Hart’s vision of the sport. To him, professional wrestling had to appear as a competition. Having been trained by Jack Taylor, a legendary shooter in the business, Stu became a highly respected practitioner of his craft everywhere he went.

The author goes into this aspect of Stu’s early life in wrestling in a way that draws vivid word pictures without overstatement. Every bit as vital as the story of Stu’s travels within the business, his meeting and marriage to the beautiful Helen Smith is touching. Cynics that don’t know otherwise might proclaim their personal story as little more than a romantic fantasy. While they’d be wrong to dismiss the couple’s partnership in such general terms, in a sense it can be rightly said that Stu and Helen enjoyed a tender relationship amidst a world of brutality, ersatz or otherwise.

The stories that comprise the bulk of the book focus on the years of successes and occasional failures on the circuit Stu came to shape into Stampede Wrestling. They are sometimes shocking, frequently funny and unfailingly entertaining. As well as producing a viable wrestling product, Stu and Helen also believed in the maxim to be fruitful and multiply. The result was 12 healthy and beautiful children, 8 boys and 4 girls, and every one of them became involved in the world of pro wrestling through direct participation or marriage.

But it’s the wrestling lore and the well-documented narrative that invites the reader to join in, to become involved and share in the triumphs and defeats, the joys and the tragedies that comprise the Stampede Wrestling story. In its strongest years, the circuit typically featured outstanding, even breathtaking wrestling, thanks to an influx of talent from around the world. Just as well remembered are the never-ending series of pranks, some of which went beyond the pale to border on near-criminal acts. It’s all recounted on these pages with no punches pulled.

If it wasn’t obvious going in, it becomes abundantly clear that the rough humor which is invariably a part of the wrestling trade was a key element in the fabric that made Stampede Wrestling what it was. In fact, one comes away with the distinct impression that the Calgary company was Swerve Central. Once, two of the Hart brothers, Bruce and Owen, conspired to pull off a beauty on Brian Pillman. Brian had recently graduated from the Hart training camp and was now appearing with Bruce as one-half of Badd Company, the North American tag team champions. Lodging for the night in a sparse hotel in a small town, Brian met up with a lady acquaintance after the matches.

Having little else to do and feeling frisky, the Hart boys found a mangy stray dog and decided to feed the animal, then dress it up in Pillman’s Badd Company outfit (which included such accoutrements as sunglasses, leather jacket and bandana). Struck by a shared sense of inspired lunacy, they placed the dog under the sheets in Brian’s bed, where it promptly fell asleep. Before leaving the room, the duo put the finishing touches on the prank by removing all of the light bulbs, guaranteeing the shock effect would be heightened at such time as when Brian returned.

Pillman finally arrived in the early hours of the morning. The ensuing howls from both the surprised wrestler and the newly ordained Badd Company pooch awakened everybody on the floor. A mad dash followed, as Brian tried to escape down the hallway from what must have appeared to him as a crazed and rabid fan-dog. The mutt, no doubt having been startled by an unknown assailant, ran after the wrestler. Others stuck their heads out of their rooms to see what all the fuss was about and some of them too joined in the chase, forming something of an informal line of dog and running athletes.

But amidst all of the rough humor and great athleticism that characterized Stampede Wrestling, there is an all-pervasive sense of sadness and tragedy that is very much a part of the chronicle. The passing of those who died far too young figures into the account; fortunately, Heath McCoy relates this without descending into morbidity. The facts are discussed in an honest but sympathetic manner, especially the tragic death of the youngest member of the Hart family. As wrestling fans are more than aware, Owen fell to his death during a WWE show while performing a stunt he hadn’t wanted to do. The sobering story and its aftermath is not glossed over in the telling, nor should it be.

There are small quibbles to be had with some of the portrayals and perceptions found in the book. Most are of the trivial and unimportant variety. It’s to be expected in any endeavor where many different people are involved in relating their version of events, and personal accounts will undoubtedly vary. Nevertheless, “Pain and Passion: The History of Stampede Wrestling” by Heath McCoy and published by ECW Press, is a well-researched book that invites anyone, be they a confirmed wrestling fan or not, to gain an understanding of the people in the business on a very personal level. The reading experience is engrossing and rewarding. It’s fair to state that this entry is far more substantive and provides greater depth … and heart, no matter how you spell it ... than many similar attempts in the field of wrestling journalism.

Richard Berger is a freelance writer and editor with an extensive background in professional wrestling. His career includes media production for Stampede Wrestling, ring announcing, regular columns for WOW Magazine and IGN.com, and special feature work for other publications. Between June, 2007 and June, 2008, he wrote a weekly column for The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. To discuss Richard’s articles or just about anything else, contact him at: WriterGuy1A@hotmail.com.

The small sampling of his work found here was originally published at The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. The majority will appear in a soon-to-be-released book along with new material. Stay tuned for information as it becomes available!

THE DICK THE BRUISER VS ALEX KARRAS AFFAIR

One of the all-time most memorable battles to ever take place in wrestling may or may not have been a work. While it definitely occurred in 1963, the memory remains as vivid to long-time wrestling fans as if it took place yesterday. For those who may not be familiar with the Dick the Bruiser - Alex Karras encounter, a little background is in order.

Dick the Bruiser, who was born William Afflis, had been a disciplinary problem all his life. This is not to suggest he was completely incorrigible, as he successfully attended the University of Nevada, Reno. While not a scholastic standout, he did well enough to stick around and establish his name on the football field. However, as was to be the case for the rest of his days, it was a lack of self-control that caused Dick’s difficulties in the “real world.” Before he was done with college, he changed his first name from William to Richard, as his football eligibility had expired under his original name.

There was little doubt that Afflis would enjoy a stellar career in the world of pro football. He became the defensive captain for the Green Bay Packers and attained a reputation as one of the toughest and meanest players in the history of the sport. So much so, that his famous gravelly voice came about thanks to a cheap shot on the field; he was the recipient of a vicious elbow-to-the-voice-box from an opposing player.

When Dick Afflis entered pro wrestling in the mid-1950s, it was an ideal fit. Because he was a powerfully built tough guy with a reputation that preceded him from his exploits in the NFL, and because he already was in possession of the aforementioned gravel voice, he was a natural. The Bruiser-to-be trained hard and learned the intricacies of wrestling, then never looked back as he brutalized his way through the business.

The man was a walking riot waiting to happen. Dick the Bruiser made a grand total of one tour of the New York area, in 1958. A tag team match was signed in November, with Dick teaming up with the equally despised Dr. Jerry Graham. Their opponents were the beloved babyface duo of Antonino Rocca (one of North America’s first wrestling high flyers to hit the big time in New York) and his partner, the talented and equally acrobatic Frenchman (via Montreal), Edouard Carpentier.

The day after the bout took place, newspaper reports circulated around the country about what had occurred. On that infamous night, Madison Square Garden erupted into a full-scale riot at the conclusion of the bout, due to the highly charged actions of a certain Mr. Afflis. Because the New York State Athletic Commission tightly controlled wrestling in the state at that time, they had a long-standing edict that nothing “too wild” would be tolerated.

Dick the Bruiser took such rules as a personal affront. Whether or not it was pre-planned or spontaneous, he went out of his way to administer as much damage on his adversaries as possible. Focusing his ceaseless attack on the beloved Rocca, he grounded the flying Argentinean and mauled him badly. The fan’s outrage built to a furious roar, but Bruiser only increased the intensity in a relentless pursuit of inflicting as much damage as he could.

Finally, the overflow angry crowd couldn’t stand it any longer and surged towards the ring. When all was said and done, more than 300 people (including several police officers) were injured in the ensuing riot. The New York State Athletic Commission acted quickly, and Richard Afflis was banned indefinitely from appearing in New York again. It was his choice never to appeal the decision or attempt a return to the northeast region.

One might think the guy would have learned something from that outcome and pull back a bit. It only made sense that by using a certain amount of restraint in the future, Dick’s own career would flourish. After all, even the greatest wrestler in the world would minimize his career opportunities if he was to continue facing suspension and/or banishment. Still, such realities failed to deter a man hell-bent on brawling. Psychiatrists would undoubtedly have had a field day with him, but the fact is that Dick the Bruiser took rules in any form as a personal offense. As a result, it became a point of honor for him to push codes of conduct as far as he could, obliterating them whenever possible.

Undoubtedly, the “highlight” of the Bruiser’s wild career was his confrontation with Alex Karras. The talented Greek was a high profile football player with the Detroit Lions, and would go on to make a name for himself as an actor (Paper Lion and Blazing Saddles are but two in a well-established film career). Karras, who was a very tough competitor on the NFL gridiron, possessed a good sense of humor and was equally well liked and respected by teammates, and even those he faced on the field. Still, everyone knew not to push Alex too far, as he was an extraordinarily powerful man that would respond in kind when challenged.

It was in 1963 that a confrontation between the Motor City hero and the man with no use for rules came to pass. In retrospect, since Karras was the reigning football star in town and the Bruiser had recently invaded Detroit, it was probably inevitable that their paths would cross. That’s exactly what happened, although as in most things having to do with Richard Afflis, it didn’t take place in the usual manner.

As the story goes, Bruiser decided to come a-calling in person. He went to a local bar that was partially owned by Karras, knowing he would find him there. At first, the two sat and talked about sports and their respective careers. Then, Alex made a comment that riled Dick. Although eyewitness accounts varied, it was virtually unanimous that the remark was mild and not intended to provoke.

Still, that was the opening Dick the Bruiser sought, and he challenged the footballer on the spot. Karras instead offered to meet Afflis in a wrestling ring, and Dick responded with something like, “How’s about right here, right now?” Within seconds, they were throwing punches. Alex’s buddies tried to intercede, but even with all that manpower the police had to be summoned. Before Karras AND his friends AND the police could finally subdue the crazed wrestler, the bar had been virtually destroyed. The brawl spilled out into the street and, according to official reports, several innocent passersby became involved. The only thing missing was a large group of enthusiastic people chanting, “EC-DUB! EC-DUB!” three decades before Extreme Championship Wrestling came into existence.

When it was all over, many of the participants, including several policemen, had received their fair share of injuries while attempting to calm the fighting mob down. Local promoter Johnny Doyle knew a dream grudge match when he saw one. He called each of the protagonists into his office (separately) and made an offer for a one-time-only bout. The deal was signed, and on the night of April 27, 1963, Detroit’s Olympia Auditorium was packed to the rafters. So great was the interest that reports were filed in newspapers all around the country.

The match was as one might expect. It offered violence of the type that was atypical of its day. With no hold being too vicious and no act too sadistic, it was brutality in its purest, most basic form. At one point, Bruiser received a nasty gash above his eye that continued to bleed heavily for the remainder of the match. Even as a one-eyed madman, Dick the Bruiser managed to defeat the valiant but overmatched Alex Karras in just under 15 minutes of wild action. They never met again, either in or out of the ring.

There are but a handful of grueling, memorable matches that remain etched forever in the minds of those that saw them. Bret Hart facing off against Shawn Michaels in a 60-minute Iron Man Match at Wrestlemania XII in 1996 is one of them. Of course, Mick Foley’s attempt at suicide in 1998’s Hell in the Cell Match, seen at WWE’s King of the Ring PPV, is yet another. But it would be wrong to neglect the Dick the Bruiser vs. Alex Karras match, which should be included in this same rarified category and considered as a forerunner to hardcore wrestling.

To this day, the question remains: was the bar room brawl worked, as some claim? Was promoter Johnny Doyle really smart enough to dream up the bar room confrontation and then convince both Afflis and Karras to comply with the concept? Or was it actually a case of a brawling hothead instigating violence on his own?

Personally, I’ve talked to many wrestling veterans and none claim to know for sure, although most of them have opinions one way or the other. And frankly, after so much time, it would now be almost disappointing to get the definitive answer. The story has been a part of wrestling lore for so long that it has taken on mythical proportions. Perhaps it’s best to simply leave well enough alone and be satisfied with the story itself. Suffice it to say that in this case, we don’t really need to know for sure.

Richard Berger is a freelance writer and editor with an extensive background in professional wrestling. His career includes media production for Stampede Wrestling, ring announcing, regular columns for WOW Magazine and IGN.com, and special feature work for other publications. Between June, 2007 and June, 2008, he wrote a weekly column for The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. To discuss Richard’s articles or just about anything else, contact him at: WriterGuy1A@hotmail.com.

The small sampling of his work found here was originally published at The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. The majority will appear in a soon-to-be-released book along with new material. Stay tuned for information as it becomes available!

WRESTLING WORTH WATCHING: PRO WRESTLING NOAH

Last week, we took a look at Ring of Honor and how it presented something of a hybrid, by blending an old school wrestling philosophy with modern-day sports entertainment action. As in the case of ROH, if you’re someone who enjoys pro wrestling that puts aside over-the-top silliness, nonsensical characters and inane skits, then Pro Wrestling NOAH is the place you want to be. This Japanese organization, which came into existence in 2000, convinces even the most jaded viewer of its legitimacy by relentlessly offering the appearance of a genuine athletic competition. NOAH is the epitome of realism, and any effort required on the viewer’s part to suspend disbelief is minimal, if at all.

What may appear to be a Johnny-come-lately outfit actually has ties to a promotion with a long, storied history. In 1972, “Giant” Shohei Baba formed a company in his homeland, known as All Japan Pro Wrestling. Because he had a well-defined vision along with a philosophy of how to present professional wrestling credibly, All Japan quickly earned great respect for its hard-impact and no-nonsense attitude. It’s not an exaggeration to state that All Japan Wrestling, along with Antonio Inouki’s New Japan Wrestling, were regarded as the two top promotions in the country. They were similar in their respective presentations, although each had his own name for it. In All Japan, it was King’s Road Style, while in New Japan it was known as Strong Style. But no matter what it was called, the image was that of a genuine and true competition.

When Shohei Baba passed away in 1999, the proprietorship of All Japan was left to his wife, Motoko, while the planning of the company’s direction remained with top wrestler and booker, Mitsuharu Misawa. Before long, he became disenchanted with what he believed were poor business decisions, entertaining grave doubts about where the company was heading. His increasing unhappiness caused him to look at the possibility of starting his own promotion, and that’s precisely what he did in mid-2000.

Taking all but a very few members from the All Japan roster, Misawa announced the formation of Pro Wrestling NOAH. Nowhere else in the history of pro wrestling had such a mass evacuation occurred, and it left All Japan reeling in its wake. And, true to his word, the first pro Wrestling NOAH champion was crowned in April of 2001. It was Misawa himself who became the first titleholder, defeating long-time rival Yoshihiro Takayama after a grueling tournament. He held the GHC (Global Honored Crown) heavyweight title for three months before losing it to Jun Akiyama in a great bout at Tokyo’s Budokan Hall.

The name of the company itself is evocative of the mass departure from All Japan. According to Wikipedia, “The promotion's name alludes to the Biblical story of Noah, in which the people and animals in the ark survive the flood and make a new beginning in the world, a story which was seen as a parallel to the wrestlers’ departure from All Japan. NOAH's promotional symbol, an ark with a dove holding an olive branch, refers to this.”

Now, in 2007, Pro Wrestling NOAH is among the strongest and most respected wrestling organizations in the world. Featuring a stellar roster of Japanese and foreign talent, NOAH pays homage to its lineage by adhering to the philosophy of realism. On occasion, two combatants will wander outside of the ring and even resort to the use of a chair as a weapon, but it’s done sparingly and without prolonged exaggeration. Otherwise, it’s all about the testing of skill, strength, strategy and wrestling acumen.

Along with everything else, it’s fair to say the action is not limited to mat work alone. There are plenty of high flying maneuvers to be seen, especially among the junior heavyweights. But they, too, adhere to the NOAH demands of believability while simultaneously displaying death-defying aerial acrobatics. Consequently, the vast majority of bouts become increasingly exciting as they are built to powerful and well-executed climaxes.

We here in Canada are fortunate. Pro Wrestling NOAH can be seen every week on The Fight Network. Adding to the proceedings is The Fight Network’s own Mauro Ranallo, a man with a long history as an announcer in both pro wrestling and Mixed Martial Arts. His easy-to-follow fluid call of the matches is beyond reproach, and one can’t help admiring how comfortable and fluent he seems to be with Japanese terminology. His color man, Dan Lovranski, has been a favorite as host of the weekly radio program, Live Audio Wrestling, and he too knows his stuff. Together, they comprise a refreshingly solid and informative two-man team.

In talking with Mauro, it quickly became clear of his dedication to what he views as one of the best wrestling companies in business today. “Frankly, I’m in awe at much of what I see in Pro Wrestling NOAH. When I’m given to shout, ‘Mama Mia!’ at some of the action, it’s not your typical wrestling hyperbole. It’s because what has just taken place is truly astounding from an athletic standpoint. I’ve seen the best there is in combat sports, and as far as I’m concerned, Pro Wrestling NOAH has reached the pinnacle when it comes to wrestling. The standard that Misawa and company have set would be very hard to top.”

Pro Wrestling NOAH is indeed an oasis in the professional wrestling landscape. A new episode can be seen every Wednesday night on The Fight Network, debuting at 8 p.m. EDT and repeated again at 3 a.m. Thursday. It is also televised several times over the next six days.

Richard Berger is a freelance writer and editor with an extensive background in professional wrestling. His career includes media production for Stampede Wrestling, ring announcing, regular columns for WOW Magazine and IGN.com, and special feature work for other publications. Between June, 2007 and June, 2008, he wrote a weekly column for The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. To discuss Richard’s articles or just about anything else, contact him at: WriterGuy1A@hotmail.com.

The small sampling of his work found here was originally published at The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. The majority will appear in a soon-to-be-released book along with new material. Stay tuned for information as it becomes available!

WRESTLING WORTH WATCHING: RING OF HONOR

This week, we'll be taking a look at TV wrestling as it currently stands. If you’re a wrestling fan who finds WWE programming to be, for the most part, silly, uninvolving and frequently insulting, there are several programs The Fight Network has to offer that will cause you to rejoice. In no particular order, they are Ring of Honor, Pro Wrestling NOAH and Superstars of Wrestling: Past, Present and Future. We’ll look at all three of them over the next few weeks.

In view of the fact that the very first Ring of Honor pay-per-view debuts on Viewer’s Choice Friday, July 20, it only makes sense to start with them. If you enjoy professional wrestling and watch it on The Fight Network, then chances are good you’ve long since discovered Ring of Honor for yourself. If you haven’t, please consider this to be a gentle but firm nudge in that direction. What you’ll find is a throwback to a time when the action in the ring told a compelling story that rivaled a great movie or, dare I say, literary work.

ROH is quite different from the stuff WWE churns out. The first thing you’re apt to notice is that the matches aren’t rushed. In ROH, it’s not about a couple of “superstars” hitting their signature moves and going home in 3 – 5 minute exhibitions that lack development or cohesion.

Unlike other sports entertainment programming found on Monday night television in Canada, ROH provides a genuine sense of excitement and creativity by building matches to satisfying conclusions that aren’t always predictable.

All of this conspires to invite the thinking wrestling fan to mentally and emotionally jump right in and partake in the proceedings. Yes, there’s actually a sound, rational reason for most everything that takes place, and it’s usually done very, very well. What a radical concept!

Ring of Honor places the accent where it belongs. Often, we’ll find mat wrestling displays that are fluid and beautiful in the same way figure skating can mirror ballet. Frankly, the only obvious difference is that ROH is a hell of a lot more butch!

With ROH, the application of holds and counterholds is their primary strength. That’s important, for that is where both the art and the skill of wrestling are to be found. When properly presented, such exchanges create a breathtaking spectacle to the viewer and, as a result, are captivating.

The knowledgeable ROH fans in attendance, rather than restricting themselves to cheering and booing based on preposterous story lines and angles, respond in the same way as do the educated Japanese wrestling fans. Their exuberant approval (and vociferous disapproval) is based on the aptitude, athleticism and timing on display. It is precisely those elements that earn the fan’s respect, regardless of whether or not the individuals involved are portraying themselves as babyfaces or heels.

Ah, but don’t be misled by that description alone. There’s far more to be seen in ROH. The hardcore fan will have no problem finding the excesses that are so prevalent in modern pro wrestling. Thanks to the triumph of ECW, which launched in the U.S. in 1993 and over time became a cult favorite by imitating Japan’s FMW furniture-smashing style, it’s now standard operating procedure in most promotions. For better or worse, ROH is anything but shy when it comes to using chairs, tables and other miscellaneous accessories on a semi-regular basis. The trick, and ROH generally succeeds, is to keep it within a reality-based context. (This is a subject we’ll place under the microscope in the near future).

In Ring of Honor, there are engaging characters to be found that don’t, as a rule, transcend believability by too great a margin. When someone with an obviously outrageous gimmick does appear, it’s usually for the purpose of mocking the absurdity inherent in the guise. The fans instantly recognize when something or someone is extraordinarily silly, and they will react by hooting and ridiculing it or him in a raucous but good-natured manner. This, of course, is precisely what ROH intended.

But that’s all window-dressing and the mileage varies. Where ROH truly shines is in their ability to tell the story of a match in a believable back-and-forth, give-and-take manner. Yes, it really is that simple. To depend upon juvenile antics and foolishness that adds nothing but an unnecessary distraction would be to mimic WWE.

Somebody’s girlfriend gets caught cheating on him. Perhaps a zombie-like figure has come back to life. Or take any one of a montage of moronic backstage skits that removes any chance for the willing suspension of disbelief. You may see that sort of thing on Monday night, but they’re not happening in ROH.

Instead, viewers are invited to settle in for matches that run, on the average, between 10 minutes and an hour. And when the bouts are over, if you’re one to appreciate encounters that have all the appearance of a genuine contest, you’re likely going to feel exhilarated at the tremendous display of athleticism. After having witnessed demonstrations of in-ring storytelling and wrestling performances designed for people that don’t enjoy being told that they’re idiots, you shouldn’t be too surprised to find yourself hooked on ROH for good.

One last aspect of Ring of Honor will likely impress you to a very large degree. Happily, there are many matches that don’t depend upon a “hate-filled issue” to give them purpose. While the action doesn’t become muted in those instances, nor does the use of heelish tactics disappear completely, it’s more about showing one’s ability to wrestle from start to finish. And when all is said and done, it’s not uncommon to see handshakes, accompanied by a show of respect with the raising of the victor’s hand by the vanquished.

By presenting wrestling in such a realistic fashion, the organization lends authenticity to the proceedings. Again, the ROH philosophy of what constitutes pro wrestling gives us permission to suspend our disbelief despite the worked atmosphere. While it may take a misstep every once in a while, ROH understands what it is selling and avoids insulting the viewer’s intelligence. Compared to things like RAW, it is refreshing and proof positive that wallowing in a preposterous WWE fantasy-land is unnecessary.

Ring of Honor is a company that knows how to sell its product with agility, wit and panache. Professional wrestling is at its best when it’s about who wins and who loses, and of how close one can come to acquiring the championship. To that end, ROH gets the job done by seamlessly blending entertainment with muscular expertise. And while showmanship is indeed a vital part of the mix, it is rarely, if ever, the point.

Programming note: A new episode of Ring of Honor wrestling debuts every Monday on The Fight Network at 9 p.m. EDT and repeats at 12 midnight. It is shown intermittently over the next six days, with the final airing Sunday night. Previous episodes of ROH can be seen during the week at various times.

Richard Berger is a freelance writer and editor with an extensive background in professional wrestling. His career includes media production for Stampede Wrestling, ring announcing, regular columns for WOW Magazine and IGN.com, and special feature work for other publications. Between June, 2007 and June, 2008, he wrote a weekly column for The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. To discuss Richard’s articles or just about anything else, contact him at: WriterGuy1A@hotmail.com.

The small sampling of his work found here was originally published at The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. The majority will appear in a soon-to-be-released book along with new material. Stay tuned for information as it becomes available!

WILL CONGRESS INVESTIGATE PRO WRESTLING?

Before jumping into my second column for The Fight Network, I’d like to extend a large thank you to the folks that responded to my debut effort.

As you might expect, putting together an article about Chris Benoit a few days after the tragic event had occurred was difficult and not at all where I was planning to start. Your positive feedback and comments regarding the piece were very much appreciated, and I encourage you to drop a line anytime the mood strikes. You’ll find my e-mail address at the conclusion of this column.

As I write this, it appears that the U.S. Congress may consider holding hearings as a direct result of the Benoit tragedy. Good on the U.S. Congress and all that. But I'm also old and cynical. Putting aside any praise for turning Congressional attention to an industry that has long needed investigating and regulating, it’s difficult to expect much to come of it. Sure, there'll be a few headlines here and there when somebody says something particularly "news-sexy" and provocative. Great! And then what?

Will Congress actually have the desire and, just as importantly, the testicles to look beyond the surface? Will the legislative branch find the courage to peel back the layers and dig to get at the deeply-established and far-ranging roots that comprise the very structure of the industry? How well will it be able to avoid indulging in self-serving political opportunism by limiting its focus to buzz words like “steroids”? Will Congress have the jam to inspect the entire culture of pro wrestling and sports in general? And finally, will it have the wherewithal to call upon knowledgeable people that are not beholden to the one man who has a stranglehold on the entire industry?

Like I said, I'm old and cynical. I also know better than to pre-judge something that hasn't yet occurred. Perhaps what you are reading right now will prove to be 100 percent wrong and some long-term good will result from the hearings, assuming they even take place. But until that comes to pass, color me skeptical.

Based on the storm clouds gathering on the horizon, there’s a very real potential for a "steroid witch hunt" that may ensnare a few middle-to-lower level employees and possibly a couple of names that are either on the downside of their careers or pretty much out of the business altogether. Meanwhile, the REAL problems could once again be swept under the carpet and life as it currently stands will carry on. Well, at least until the next tragedy takes place, when the outcry is ratcheted up once again and the whole dog-and-pony show is trotted out for an encore.

It’s hard not to recall how Major League Baseball was placed on the so-called "Congressional hot seat" back in early ’05. It was good theater, watching Rafael Palmiero wave a reproving finger at Congress while vociferously denying any manner of drug usage, only to expose himself five months later as a hypocrite and a liar. Same deal with Mark McGwire, who flat-out refused to cooperate with investigators when it came to discussing his possible indulgence in enhancement drugs. The members of Congress were so busy falling over themselves in fan-boy fashion that they happily accepted his and other player’s non-explanations without pressing further. And what was the upshot of the whole thing? What meaningful changes have since been enacted? Exactly.

The thing is, in wrestling, as in all forms of athletics, steroid abuse is a very real problem. But it’s only one part of the big picture. The question of how to fix a corrupt system is something that supersedes any one facet, be it in a worked or shoot sport. And if Congress, with all of the resources it has at hand, focuses on the drug aspect alone, then it'll have missed the point entirely.

We also can’t ignore the fact that steroid abuse is a high profile issue in the public consciousness, and 2008 is an election year in the U.S. Hmmmm ... what’s the sum total of 2 + 2?

To reiterate ... forget about any long-term affirmative consequences if the subject of steroid offenses becomes the primary fixation. Should Congress launch an investigation into professional wrestling with the goal being to catch and punish those that indulge in or supply drugs, and then refuses to take the probe any further, only one piece of the problem will have been exposed. The opportunity for real revisions and restructuring, to incorporate changes that would have a positive, profound and permanent impact will have been bypassed. Sadly and predictably, it'll all just fade away once the TV people find the next hot topic and rush away to position their cameras elsewhere.

Did I mention I'm old and cynical?

Whether you agree or disagree with what you’ve just read, don’t hesitate to voice your thoughts directly to me. I’m always interested in exchanging views with sports fans whenever they care to express themselves. I look forward to our next visit right back here at The Fight Network.

Richard Berger is a freelance writer and editor with an extensive background in professional wrestling. His career includes media production for Stampede Wrestling, ring announcing, regular columns for WOW Magazine and IGN.com, and special feature work for other publications. Between June, 2007 and June, 2008, he wrote a weekly column for The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. To discuss Richard’s articles or just about anything else, contact him at: WriterGuy1A@hotmail.com.

The small sampling of his work found here was originally published at The Fight Network and Live Audio Wrestling. The majority will appear in a soon-to-be-released book along with new material. Stay tuned for information as it becomes available!