Wrassle!

One of the more homo-erotic sports pursuits I engaged in as a youngster, was wrestling. Like a lot of kids in their Jr. High years (circa the mid to late 80's) we started stripping our love for action figures (Star Wars "final" episode having been removed from theatres for some time) dirt bikes (For Mountain bikes and 10-speeds) and cartoons (Okay. So that last part never really technically left my daily routine.) And started adding more lofty, adult pursuits.

Cartoons, for example, were replaced with cartoon violence. In the form of Pro-Wrestling.

Gone were the baddies I remember hearing my dad and his co-workersjoke about. (Baron Von Raschke, who btw did the voiceover for the monorail @ the MN Zoo) Killer Kowalski (Spokesperson for the United Way) Mayslack (Who's name adorns a terrific bar in historic NE Minneapolis. Best damn garlic roast beef sammies, evah!) The were replaced by the new heroes and villains: Andre the Giant (Pre-Princess Bride Fame), Ravishing Rick Rude, Rowdy Roddy Piper (Did we ever talk about that guy, Geef and Weef), Sgt Slaughter (Yo JOE!), Macho Man (Great cameo in Spider Man, btw.) Hacksaw Jim Duggan, Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka, Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat, Ted DiBiasi, some Minnesota punk named "The Body". There were the topical bad guys: Nikolai Volkoff (Oooo Cold War), The Iron Sheik (Ooooo Arab!!!) And the hero: Hulk Hogan.

Maybe y'all remember some of the guys. Maybe you had the action figures, or finger puppets. (1, 2, 3, 4, I declare THUMB WAR!!!) Maybe you'd occasionally flip channels on Saturday after 'toons and see this testosterone-y soap opera. I was never into as much as some of my friends, but I knew enough to know who was good, who was bad, and that Wrassle-mania was the Superbowl of Wrasslin'. And, for example, to be encouraged by my parents to take up wrestling.

Which was nothing like the shite on TV. No boa's, no body slams...Just this grody...singlet.
That rode up the crotch. (And made for some hilarious pics...which NONE of you will ever see. Ever!) It was about pins, and holds, and catches, and takedowns, and people who were all quite a bit bigger than me tossing me around. It was about nosebleeds (Which I got, a lot.) from getting your head crammed into the mat. (What, no "ring"?) It was about making weight. (I was at the low-end of the heavy weight division in 7th and 8th grade. Besides induring the "baby fat" insults, I had to wrassle dudes who were way bigger than me. And gassy. And greasy. And pimply. All-over pimply.)

It didn't last too long. I quit, mid-way through 9th grade, to focus on Hockey. I wasn't all that good anyway, being a benched B-Squader for most of the 2 seasons.

This all came back to me after watching "Hogan knows Best" late last nightThere was the Hulkster, getting inducted to the wrasslin' hall of fame, shaking hands with all these be-suited dudes. Dudes, who looked like older executives you may pass occasionally, walking downtown. Older, tall, bespectacled. Weird, to be shaking hands with this old pro-wrestler, wearing a tux and a bandana. Weird, until they showed who they were. (See above paragraph after Andre the Giant. That's right, all of 'em. Weird.)

* We kiddies never wrassled "pro-style", like some of the stupid kids today who get in trouble or hurt each other by trying the TV moves on each other. Um, we kinda knew it was fake. And probably dangerous. Doi.
** "Wrassle!" Was whut my wrestling coach would shout at anyone starting a match. An ex-Marine with baaaad cauliflower ears (From wrestling sans headgear.) He'd also yell "COMBAT!!!" when it was time to square off. He was wicked weird.