My Brother and Wrestling

My brother Tim believed wrestling was real. 

We used to watch it a lot in the mid 80's.  Typically there was Verne Gagne's AWA out of Minnesota on local television that my Dad introduced me to, and when we eventually got cable, TBS brought us NWA on the weekends. 

I could take it or leave it, but was often entertained when I watched it with others. Including my brother. 

Out of all things, however,  my sister came running into the living room on a Saturday telling us to switch the TV to a UHF Chicago station.  That channel was carrying WCCW out of Dallas.  There we were introduced to the legendary and tragic Von Erichs.  Click on the image below for some video history.

When we moved from Wisconsin to Texas in 1985, wrestling became more frequently viewed by my brother and I.  Wrestling was almost as common in North Texas as football.  This was back in the days where the wrestling organizations were regional territories.  Long before Vince McMahon Jr. broke that "stay in your back yard rule" and began siphoning talent into his own organization, eventually killing the regional game and giving America the monolithic nationwide WWF, and along with it Sgt. Slaughter, Randy "Macho Man" Savage, and of course Hulk Hogan.

My Buddy Bill and I (also from Wisconsin), had many choices.  Between the burgeoning WWF, the short-lived but explosive UWF, NWA on Atlanta's Superstation WTBS, and the Von Erich's WCCW, there was almost around the clock wrestling options for bored kids during the spring and summer of 1986.  Wrestling at this time was almost as much "Texas" as football, biscuits and gravy, shit-ass weather, and country music.  

So on Sunday, April 6, 1986, my brother, his friend Greg and I went to the Waco Convention center to see WCCW wrestling.  The main event was Kevin Von Erich and his late great brother Kerry versus "The Fabulous Freebirds".  I was massively entertained, but watching closely, I saw the magicians' tricks. These were great athletes, no doubt, whose bodies had to take massive poundings over the years, but they were not really punching or kicking one another, and assisted their "opponents" into safe landings.  The results of the matches were pre-figured.

As I walked away, fully entertained but stating these facts, my brother looked at me in shocked disbelief.

"No, no, man.  I've never been more convinced.  This shit is real!"

To try to prove it at home, shortly after holding up his four non-thumb fingers in the sign that signified "the Four Horseman" (Ric Flair, Tully Blanchard, Arn Anderson, and by this point in time, Barry Windham), Tim suplexed me violently into my bed, cracking its frame.  

It didn't hurt. We laughed for hours while covering the damage.

Furthermore, Bill was a junior high traditional wrestler.  He eventually adapted into an amateur "pro style" wrestler for fun while in Texas, with the ability to apply a flawless Ric Flair "Figure Four" leglock submission hold. He did this to me dozens of times. 

It didn't hurt.  Not once.  This proves the point as well, because on TV, victims of this hold looked like they were going to die, and almost always submitted, tapping the mat with agonized cries, sweat flying from their bleached locks.

So, 8 years older than me, and I had to be the one to try to explain to Tim, in his infinite enthusiasm, that the science that would be so eloquently described by Bret Hart in his autobiograpy Hitman (Highly recommended) was a work, and the game itself was predilected on making it look real. Somehow I was able to pick up on that by using the powers of observation.  I admired it more for this.  It was athletic story telling.

Selling it.

I sadly lost my brother years later too damn young, after pro wrestling's "kayfabe" or "the fact or convention of presenting staged performances as genuine or authentic." became known to the general public.  

The audience was in on it now, but it didn't affect ticket sales or television ratings. I never did get to know  Tim's reaction to this revealed truth.

Now back in Texas, I'm sure that the contact was what Hart described as "stiff" or the use of excessive force  causing the opponent increased legitimate pain.  And I'm sure it was the norm in Texas rasslin'.   To me that's dangerous and irresponsible, especially when so many others make the effort to tell the physical story with little to no pain caused to their ring partner.  Hart was the master of this.  Often called the "Excellence of Execution", he prided himself on never hurting his opponent, and often guiding matches to make his ring partner look better than him.  It's a source of great pride for Hart. 

Kevin Von Erich and British  legend "Gentleman" Chris Adams took turns in the hospital after legitimate blows from wooden chairs to each other on separate occasions.  Wooden, not the standard aluminum.  That's stiff by any definition.

By the way, "The Gentleman's" Superkick preceded and was superior to Shawn Michaels'.

Maybe the combination of those two elements was why my brother believed it was real.  Texas' stiff showings live and in person, and those on television's skill at presentation combined with top flight television production, camerawork and editing.

I haven't watched wrestling in 30 years, because it has been horrible, godawful really for so long, but to a degree I'm fascinated by the business and those behind it back in the day who made it work, and others who eventually destroyed what it was all about.  But most of all, I'll remember the fun it was for my brother and I back in 1986. 

This video below illustrates a lot on how in-ring safety was a matter of respect and due diligence for many.