BEER 1: Open up my mailbox today and there’s that beautiful yellow card saying I’ve got a package too mufuckin big for the box. So I goes and get it and it’s a wonderful box full of delights from the good Reverend Axl Future of Claw Hold zine (PO Box 477869, Chicago, IL 60647-7869). One particular item was a little ditty called Mayhem in Memphis. This goes in the tape machine tonight and I ingest a cooler mixed with a sixer of Old Milwaukee and a sixer of Schlitz. They are battling for my mind’s desires. Let me give you a little background on this tape. It chronicles the infamous super southern angle of all-time, where “The Universal Heartthrob” Austin Idol took on “The King” Jerry Lawler in a hair vs. hair match in a steel cage match. It was a feud ender, the culmination of months and months of buildup. This was when promoters bothered building a feud like this that had to culminate in something so insane as to cause riots. But we’ll get to that later. The rest of the story will unfold as I get drunk and watch the tape. Automatic beer drunk for the snazzy greatness of the Assassins outfit, plain black full sleeve with the yellow mask and black trim. Idol and Lawler are partners here. Lance Russell is commentating this thing and quoting authors and shit. With Gordon Solie dead, Lance Russell is the Living Dean of Wrestling Announcers. Both are prideful, says Russell, and wanted a World title shot against Nick Bockwinkel. Lawler got the shot, and Idol took offense and cuts a promo, you gotta understand the women love Idol. The common men love Lawler. Forget the buffoonish Lawler of nowadays, with the too young wife he watches get boned by other guys. This is JERRY THE KING LAWLER, the King of Memphis. King of defending the honor of working men, the sheet-rockers and shingle-toters and house-framers. This is the man with the Mighty Fistdrop. He fought any and all evil-doers in Memphis for years and years and the people absolutely worshipped him. He was stocky and had the goatee action that looked perfect for a man driving a rusty Nova Supersport. All his career, he had wanted to be World champ, and never got that shot. Something always went wrong, usually his enemy of the time would rush the ring and interfere, thus Lawler went without either the AWA or NWA World title, but a hellacious feud was set up. Back then, there were touring World champions, and they might only make the jaunt through Memphis once every couple of months. The World title still held some markish prestige as being valued and earned. Idol pushes Lawler, Lawler pushes back. This is in the ring directly before Lawler’s match with Nick Bockwinkel. Idol lays him out. And then the tape switches to Austin Idol vs. Jerry Lawler, and let me tell you, Austin Idol is the most obnoxious dresser this side of Exotic Adrian Street. These guys were in abundance in Memphis, snappy dressers like Idol. This was the thick humid insane heel lifestyle that bred the fabulous dresser Randy Savage. Tennessee is its own place, odd and beautiful and twisted, full of redneck homosexuals and rattailed lesbian prostitutes and truck stops full of Tim Wilson tapes. In comes Tommy Rich to help Austin Idol. Tommy Rich is my new hero, eternally drunk and out of shape and never even close to reaching his true potential. He is the South. Ass kicked and self-destructive and thoroughly entertaining in a freak show sort of way. This leads up to Bam Bam Bigelow very early in his career teaming with Jerry Lawler against Austin Idol and Tommy Rich, who finally found the sense to put on full leg trunks so his flabby ass thighs didn’t show as well. Looking at Rich punch Bigelow center ring, big guts, tattoos, blond hair with bangs, it’s like a small mountain town fight outside the bar, just the guys are wearing funny clothes. Beer drunk because no fight ever stops when the bell rings in Memphis.
BEER 2: Apparently a tattooed bald head works like a Samoan or black head and hurts more with a headbut. Something about the heads of the impoverished types that makes their headbut more effective. Lawler and Bigelow crotch Tommy Rich on the corner post, like had been done to Lawler previously. Southern come-uppance, the Macho Penis damaged. The crowd goes wild. Back then Lawler had the best trunks, with the one shoulder strap, the alternate color leggings with the crowns running down the side. Austin is in leopard print with his goldilocks hair. Ref has to start counting to ten to get Austin to latch onto the other end of a chain with Jerry Lawler. Working the crowd from the get-go, they count along, Idol is giving lip from the one count, but by ten is there in the thing. Then Lawler takes his end off and hooks it up to the ring ropes, so Austin Idol is stuck, and Lawler pulls a small chain out his pocket and knocks Idol out, pinning him for the Southern Heavyweight title. “Austin Idol, that’s the way you have a chain match, Memphis style, boy” and Lawler holds the belt up. Crowd goes home happy and agrees that fuck that Vegas shit like Idol talked, you just wrap a chain around your fist and knock a pretty motherfucker out in Memphis. Now we get to the hair vs. hair match. To end the feud. Jerry Lawler puts his hair and the Southern Heavyweight title up against Austin Idol’s hair and Idol promises he’ll refund every paying fan’s ticket money if he loses. In a 12 foot steel cage. Out comes Idol with his manager Paul E. Dangerously, a very young and still with hair not needing a ECW baseball hat all the time Paul E. Dangerously. Idol is part Ric Flair part Adrian Street, flamboyant yet classy. Extravagant heel nature, yet good-looking enough to get the ladies’ attention. This is one of those old school cages too, the type you see around tennis courts in the deep south. Memphis used to have those nice chicken wire cages too back then, back when the Sheepherders were drunken maniacs, not the buffoonish Bushwackers (god, how many great southerners did Vince McMahon betray into goofs). Then we get Jerry Lawler, holding up his crown, “Eye of the Tiger” tweetering out of the sound system, the Mid-South Coliseum full of screaming fans. This is one of those cages that extends a few feet around the ring, giving a little bit of ringside area. “The door will be locked, with nobody but the referee and the two opponents inside the cage” says Lance Russell over the P.A. “There must be a winner,” that is what I like to fuckin’ hear. Watching Austin do his circle as Paul E. takes the robe off, that’s something missing from today’s professional wrestling industry, the wrestling robe. What better way to put over an arrogant heel than to have him parade out, nose held high, in a sparkly flashy somewhat feminine colored floor-length robe. Look at Flair, look at Austin Idol, look at Ravishing Rick Rude, Tully Blanchard, these fuckin’ robes made them seem like assholes before they ever got twenty feet down the aisle. No good ole boy wore shit like that. Steve Corino should invest in a robe, might be just what he needs to get over that hump and sell his soul to Vince McMahon. Lawler is wearing powder blue with the matching satin jacket. The satin jacket is a staple of the hardworking southern man. Oftentimes he gets it for free at work and the satin jacket will say Stihl or Snap-On or Chevrolet, you go to the race track and stuff a dollar in a bottle for every satin jacket you see and mail me the bottle afterwards and I’ll only need two of you to do that a week and I won’t need no fuckin’ job. Russell warns the crowd to save their ticket stubs so that if Lawler wins you can get your money back on the way out.
BEER 3: I finished that one off for the selling of the angle by Russell. Always sell the angle. Even if you’re getting stabbed or arrested, sell the angle. More build-up, as referee Jerry Calhoun starts the ten count to get Paul E. out of the ring or Austin loses. Quickly, Austin rips off his robe and throws it to Paul E. who runs out. Idol’s full head of long golden hair. Lawler’s solid Nova SS crop of workingman brown hair. One of them will be gone by the end of the night. This is absolute poetry, twisted southern poetry. Opening bell rings and Austin is testing the cage, trying to climb out. Lawler waits for him. Austin paces the outside of the ring. Wrestling is so fuckin’ beautiful. I catch a lot of shit about liking wrestling and I supposedly write about it too much in the zine, and yeah, if you watch the crap passing itself off as wrestling on cable TV today, it sucks and makes me seem stupid. But goddamnit, watching this match, the build-up, the pre-match, the little nuances that makes one guy hated and the other loved, down to just how they dress or walk or look at the crowd. Wrestling is much deeper than anybody gives it credit for, and it goes deeper at the hands of men who never get credit for being much of an artist. But there is an art, even if you’re working the emotions of 10,000 retards, that’s 10,000 retards who voluntarily paid their money to come see you work and you worked them, tweaked their emotions with little foot stomps and subtle ring movements. Live you did this, on the spot and on the fly. No second takes. That is absolutely incredible, and even if professional wrestling in America sucks for the rest of my life, I will forever take a chance at watching it and going to it live because that potential for amazing psychological poetry is always there. It might happen in a coliseum full of thousands of others, or it might happen at the fuckin’ county fair in front of 50 people, but goddamnit it happens. And when it does, when two guys get in the ring and one is the yin and the other is the yang and they are twisting and turning not only each other but the feelings and hopes and frustrations and prejudices and desires of all the minds behind the pairs of eyes staring in their direction, those moments make me happier and more fulfilled than any other form of entertainment could ever hope to achieve. Beer drunk due to orgasmic rant on wrasslin’.
BEER 4: Idol thrown face first into the cage door, Lawler chases him full circle around the ring, then again against the cage door. Not only does this put the good on top of the bad, but it reaffirms to the audience that there is not escape. Idol has tried to unsuccessfully climb out of the cage, and he has unsuccessfully tried to get out the locked door. There is not escape. The King quickly teases his signature piledriver, Idol escapes the hold and gets out the ring. He’s juiced already, which is normal for the heel in a cage match. A good juicing blade job looks wonderful on the bleached blond hair of a man like Austin Idol. This is why old school wrestlers always dyed their hair. Big punch by the King’s Ronnie Garvin-like fist, and a cover. Only a two count. This is the tease part where the good beats bad from the beginning, making the crowd think they’ll get exactly what they want. Idol mounts a quick kicking offense, but Lawler regains control. Idol pulls out a chain and nails Lawler to take over the match. This is the beautiful southern wrestling phenomenon of the hidden object in the trunks. Out the trunks as the good guy is in a headlock, shielding the object from the ref, punch to the head, crowd freaks, back in the trunks, ref is not hip and good guy is down. Crowd is throwing Dr. Peppers. Beautiful absofuckinlutely beautiful. This little trick made Abdullah the Butcher the evil sadist in the eyes of the fan that he became. I’m sure Lawler is tasking his blade right about now. He falls outside face down, and Idol throws him face first into the cage, giving Lawler a chance to rub his face against the cage a little and give it that good juicy color. Wrestling main events without blood are like sex without women, yeah it can feel good and have a satisfying ending but it just ain’t the same. Idol gets the two count, only the second pin attempt of the match, good wait and build between pin attempts. Dangerously beats on the door with a pipe, distracting the ref, so Idol gets another shot with the chain in his trunks. However, this being an anything goes match, Idol doesn’t need to hide his chain. By doing so, he creates the sense in the crowd that he’s completely dishonest, even if you allow him to do something, he’d rather do it without you knowing. Sneaky Las Vegas bastard. Shouldn’t even be in Tennessee. Word to the wise for all bad guys out there: if you are wrestling a match and nail a second rope elbowdrop on the man the crowd is cheering, don’t go for a second one, you will never ever ever hit that second elbowdrop. Trust me. And don’t run at a guy to clothesline him while your partner holds him, cause the guy will duck and you and your partner will go over the top rope together. Then you’ll get to pushing and arguing outside the ring and that type of unity is not what World Tag Champs are made of. See, the extra little legkick and smack of fleshy fist on fleshy forehead as Austin from the apron drops and punches Lawler on the concrete, that’s what the fuck makes wrestling become wrasslin’. Beer must be drunk.
BEER 5: Lawler hulks up by taking the strap down on his wrestling trunks, but there’s a big collision and the ref is down. Austin Idol piledrives the ref, so now there’s nobody to make a count. Lawler does the standard non-functional ref roll-up for a twelve count that never gets counted, but Idol rolls out. Lawler is held to the cage door and Paul E. does the old manager’s trick of throwing powder into the good guy’s face (unless you’re a Japanese manager, then for stereotypically good reasoning, you were throwing salt). Lawler fights back and piledrives Idol, “but where’s the referee? He’s hurt,” says Russell. Then out of nowhere comes Tommy Rich, fat beer belly hanging out from under his amusement park sweatshirt, and he piledrives Lawler. Then he holds Lawler up as Idol climbs the ropes and jumps to grab the ankles and drive Lawler into the ring with extra 2-man piledriven effort. The bleached blond bad guys crotch Lawler. He’s out. Idol pulls the ref over. Announcers are freaking because the door is still locked and Rich came from nowhere. Rich is giving the crowd the middle finger and the natives look restless. One-two-three. Austin Idol wins. Good ole boys are getting held back by security as Tommy Rich brags about cutting the King’s hair. Dangerously, Idol, and Rich are lucky to be inside a cage. Fans are climbing the cage to fight the bad guys. Cops are climbing the cage after the fans. One redneck and a half deep-tanned outside working fan makes it to the top, then stops there as he realizes Tommy Rich waits at the bottom for him. Similar story involving me, when I went to see ECW live in Richmond, we had seats right on the aisle where the wrestlers come out. Tommy Rich comes out and I’m on the gate yelling “you sucked dick, you sucked dick” because back in the day Tommy Rich “beat” Harley Race for the NWA World title because either he sucked the promoter’s dick, or more likely, the promoter sucked Rich’s dick. It makes for good taunting either way. Well, Rich gets right fuckin’ beside me and turns, with a look in his eyes that I’ve seen before when I was about to get to throwing punches with a man I’d never met before and just happened to end up at the same bar in the same mood for trouble. So I’m thinking, “Fuck, now I’ve gotta fight Tommy Rich” cuz he has that mean drunk look in his eyes, and then he smiles and blows me a kiss. He knew what the fuck he was doing all the time. All I could do was clap. He worked me, more than anybody could know. You can’t fake that look he gave me. You could audition a thousand Shakespearian actors and not one of them would get me to stop chanting “you sucked dick” because not one of them could give me that pool table why are you talking to my woman look like Rich did that night. He may be a drunk, and he may be worthless, but goddamnit, he knows what he’s doing when he wants to do it. Back to the thing at hand, Idol and Rich beat Lawler with a chair a little, then set the chair up with Lawler in it. Some official in a white suit comes in to do the dirty hair shaving. Fans are sort of crowding the cage. Dangerously is such a homo. Tommy Rich is choking Lawler with a chain while the barber takes the hair of “the legendary King of Wrestling” as Lance Russell calls it. Russell is “dumbfounded” as how Rich got in the cage. See, what happened was Rich spent five hours underneath the ring, before they even started letting folks into the show that night. All for the main event feud-ending cage match with hair vs. hair stipulations. Women are screaming, Lawler’s current wife Kat must’ve been like 7 or 8 years old back then. Austin Idol is triumphantly posing with his arm flexed and holding up Lawler’s bald head, and Paul E. has a plastic bag full of Lawler hair. The beauty of it is Idol and Rich and Dangerously are hugging and laughing like they won the Super Bowl. Selling the angle, that’s what the fuck I’m talking about. All the way to the locker room and beyond.
BEER 6: Wonder what Tommy Rich’s folks think of him? I mean, it’s okay if he’s cool as shit to me, and we all try to be open minded nowadays and all, but what the fuck if your kid is a drunk? Or gay? Or dates folks from another race? It’s easy to say that’s hunky-dory when it’s not in your backyard, but what about when it happens to you? It ain’t so easy to deal with. Tommy Rich rules, but if my daughter brought home a Tommy Rich, I’d either be kicking ass or getting my ass kicked, one or the other. Life is a fucked up thing. You can judge and not judge, and then none of all those judgments even matter when the chips are down in the for-real lifetime moments. Rich and Idol and Dangerously get rushed, I mean rushed out by Memphis PD. Fans are pissed. Rich gets in a few taunts on the way out. Austin Idol’s bloody face is cleaned up and there’s one little razor nick on his forehead. Such is the art of a professional wrestler. Tommy Rich’s post-match promo is warped God-like. There’s a certain homo-erotic love between the blondie Rich and Idol and Dangerously. Fuckin’ awesome. “How did Tommy Rich get inside the cage? Under the ring? Well, nobody really knows that.” End of tape, and only six beers, but let me tell you what, the usual wrasslin’ tape review is twice the amount of time, so the Lawler vs. Idol cage match got 6 beers for one match and one match only. That’s wrasslin’. That’s how it was and how it should be. Until it is, fuck Vince McMahon.
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