Way back when I was around ten years old my brother and I would spend Saturday afternoon watching wrestling on a black and white TV with rabbit ears. My favorite wrestler was “Leaping Larry Chene,” one of the good guys who always managed to persevere even when the referee was conveniently looking the other way while Larry’s opponents were performing scurrilous acts in between tags. I also loved “Haystack Calhoun,” a huge fellow built like, well, a haystack. He had a good heart. His moniker was basically a belly flop onto his opponents incapacitating all but the strongest. “Crybaby McCarthy” was never a favorite, always blubbering in the midst of battle when he suffered the dreaded rabbit punch.
It was a fun time, grown men jumping from the ropes surrounding the ring, pouncing on top of each other for the pin, one shoulder down, then the other, then both at once. Bam, bam, bam the referee’s hand to the mat…victory!
It was of course pure theater and eventually I came to realize that wrestling was fake.
The sport evolved into a more mean spirited form with stunts becoming more realistic and violent. I had long since quit watching.
It then morphed into something else, ultimate fighting championships, a pay per view enterprise, where two people climb into a steel cage and participate in what can only be described as a low rent street fight. Very ugly and very bad theater.
Yesterday I revisited the old days in a sense. Nilla and Kali decided it was time to wrestle. There were leaps from the furniture onto the area rug that serves as their ring. There were props, the great battle for possession of “cheetah” a furry squeaky toy. Neither of them want it unless the other one has it. There is shoulder pinning and rabbit punching, and even a little blubbering if someone’s teeth chomp down a little too hard. There’s fierce growling and barking and bouncing off the walls. All in marvelous fun, two good friends in contest.
I realize that wrestling is still fake, but I enjoy the home grown variety a whole lot more. Sometimes fake is good.
Copyright 2011 Patrick Granfors
Anna
I can relate to your pups. My twin brother and I always fought–hard–but never really hurt each other. One day we were sparring and a friend of ours said, “Hey, you guys aren't fighting.” And it finally hit me that we weren't. We were pretty much doing what your doggies were doing, viciously sparring over turf, but making sure we weren't hurting each other.
Ron
JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
now come to my mind from my teenage
years!! *Patrick* thanks for the
memories, and my date who took me
to the matches in downtown Memphis!!
Lady Vivian
My 8th grade basketball coach was married to the sister of one of the bigger named wrestlers from those days, but for the life of me, I can't come up with his name. It doesn't really matter except that being that close to someone of celebrity status caused me to become very interested in watching it with my dad, who was an avid fan. Alas, we were never able to convince him that it was fake.
Thanks for this one, it brought back some good memories. Dick