Pieces of My Mind 8.19.08: Get to Know Me!

Posted by Geoff Eubanks on 08.19.2008

In this inaugural edition of POMM, we're having an informal rap session and getting to know one another, so kick off your shoes, pull up a beanbag and settle. BYO punch & pie.

As my tenure with The R's began to stretch from months to years, I knew this day would eventually arrive, but now that it's here, it's a bit odd, flying solo after having contributed material for so long. That said, however, I've likewise had some time to consider how I want to approach this column, which is titled PIECES OF MY MIND for two reasons: 1) I'm going to blabber about whatever happens to infect my brain, be it a current or vintage topic and 2) it will be my endeavor and responsibility to achieve my first objective such that the second writes itself; I want to be the catalyst for intelligent discussion. I give you a piece of MY mind, in exchange for YOURS. Quid pro quo, Agent Starling.

As such, I think it would be fair that we get to know one another. Over these initial following weeks, although some of you may be familiar in a basic fashion from The R's where lie my particular professional wrestling preferences, likes and dislikes, I want to lie down a basic playing field, so to speak, of where originates my experience as a fan, how and where and why I've come to see "our great sport" as I do...and I'd be very interested in hearing from you in like kind.

Having followed my mom around the rural (to be kind) local mom & pop market to pick up supplemental groceries for dinner, my six year-old ennui met its limit as the checker punched in the prices of our items, encouraging me to wander to the adjacent newsstand. It was here that I discovered the glory of comic books. After the quality of perusal exclusive solely to children (to say nothing of the similar such quality of on-the-spot parental begging), I walked from the Greenfield Market with my first comic book, and a doozy in its own right, a special double-sized edition of DC's Superman Family (for a whopping 50 cents!). Well, that lit a fire by which I'd become defined throughout my entire elementary school tenure. If I wasn't copying the splash pages of my favorite titles (which, as I progressed, evolved to Marvel to include The Uncanny X-Men, The Mighty Avengers, The Amazing Spider-Man and Marvel Team-Up, which featured Spidey being written into a combo with a "hero of the month" situation), I was drawing and writing my own.

And then came junior high...you know, when stuff...changes (for my international friends, junior high or middle school in America is basically the scholastic grouping together of kids roughly 12-14 in age). Suddenly, there's a whole different perspective, requiring an entirely differently outlook and, comic books, as dedicated as I'd been for years, became an uncool anchor against which I needed to discover a lifeboat (this was, by the way, mere MONTHS before the legendary Frank Miller took the Batman myth into the modern age, lying down the blueprint of taking Adam West's "Caped Crusader" into an ever-evolving "Dark Knight" whose latest incarnation broke American box office records this summer). And so, I sold off all of my comics to my friends Mike & Jason, a cool set of twins with whom I used to trade comics (and with whom I am still friends, Jason with two kids named Conan and Thor), looking forward to re-inventing myself beyond the comic book freak image I'd cultivated since Kindergarten.

It was about this time my family received a brochure from the local cable company detailing its new, expanded services. Should we subscribe, not only would we be hooked up with the LA independent television channels, we'd get this new-fangled thing called MTV!!! I hunkered down and prepared to engage in a quality of begging I used to reserve for new Star Wars action figures, but I hardly had to convince my parents at ALL (although, granted, I went into the sell with everything short of a flow chart) before my mom said, "Hey, that sounds cool!"

And so, we got cable. I walked out of my bedroom one Saturday morning and found my brother in front of KTTV-11, broadcasting the WWF's weekly syndicated show SUPERSTARS and the proverbial light bulb went off over my head...real life superheroes and villains! My brother and I made a mental note to continue to tune in, the two performers most capturing our interest being Sergeant Slaughter and Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka, particularly the latter's program with "The Magnificent" Don Muraco. Although we loved to laugh at SSSSSlaughter and his SSSSSSWaggert SSSSSSStick and Cobra Clllutccchhtthh, a fact that dX would point out years later, this guy sprayed worse than leaky a Slip-N-Slide, the feud between Snuka & Muracao was some serious business.

I still recall the empty-arena promo Snuka shot with then-geeky-announcer Vince McMahon once things had hit a fever pitch, once Muraco had cheated/lucked his way out of ICT-should-have-been-loss after ICT-should-have-been-loss after another...DAMN, that's the quality of serial business we don't see anymore. There was a wide shot of Vince & Snuka sat in the midst of rows and rows of wooden folding chairs, Vince lighting the proverbial fuse, Snuka owning the segment from there. "Don Muraco, lemme tell ya somethin, bruddah," The Superfly's eyes threatening to bulge from their sockets, indeed, boring through the television screen, his threat to Muraco becoming his promise to the fans, "nobody treats The Supuh-FLAH the way you treated ME." He gathers intensity until he's ripping his Fijian robe to shreds and begins to hurl the carefully assembled chairs hither and yon, implying that, once the bell rang that night, tomorrow night, ANY night, Snuka would have his revenge! That program would eventually come to a close with BOTH men going over, Muraco retaining the ICT, but Snuka getting the moral victory when he landed his patented Superfly Splash off the top off of a steel cage in Madison Square Garden, the same match that led Mick Foley to begin his legendary quest.

My brother and I used to thrill when we'd happen upon the big three hour-long broadcasts The USA Network would air from MSG. To be honest, I don't recall the main events of any of these events; rather, we used to enjoy the undercard action. After having seen a few of such cards, we came to rely upon the evening being opened by the long-standing feud of "Iron" Mike Sharpe versus New Zealand sensation Tony Garea. Sharpe, who played a fantastic black boots & tights-clad hulking boob, was a noisy bastard, deliciously overselling every maneuver into which the much more technically sound hero Garea would engage him. The real and eventual drama would come into play when the ever-outmatched Sharpe would distract the referee and somehow pretend to load a hidden foreign object secluded in this ever-present leather armband (think Cowboy Bob Orton or Owen Hart's respective casts, but with a "hidden helper" coming into play as signified by a sneaky-to-the-ref-but-obvious-to-the-fans "twist of the band", which the ever-vigilant Gorilla Monsoon always managed to catch on commentary), and then the outcome would be hop-scotched back-and-forth. Oftentimes Garea would overcome, but some nights, Sharpe would slither away with a disingenuous hand raised by a none-the-wiser referee. Of course, the real source of delight and ridicule was the fact that Garea, without fail, would come to the ring wearing trunks that resembled the Underoos we'd used to wear as children; it got to the point to where we'd place bets, when Sharpe was announced first, whether Garea would be featuring the Superman or the Spider-Man on any given occasion.

We also came to enjoy the psychology of old-timers Rene Goulet and Mr. Fuji.

Goulet, a French-Canadian, spent the entire match working dirty, always threatening his opponent with his white sequin-studded biker glove and the Baron Von Rashcke/Von Erich-like Claw it ensured, and oh, did he work that finish. He was awesome and I recall my brother particularly enjoying when the late commentator Lord Alfred Hayes would refer, in Goulet's honor, to his "SOO-plex-ez" as "soo-PLAYS".

Fuji was a master heel. He frustrated me because he did nothing BUT cheat. Chokes here, salt in the eyes there, heat which Monsoon compound with his masterful commentary. "Gimme a break! This guy wouldn't know a wristlock from a wristwatch! This place has gone bananas!" The thing I'll always relate with Fuji, whether or not he connected, was his Banzai head butt. He'd stand tall over a felled opponent, cock his head to one side, neck stiff, and yell, "BANZAAAAIIII!!!" and, his entire body rigid, like an entire wall caving in, fall on his foe, connecting head-to-head. Harley Race? Sure...but you see, I didn't have the NWA growing up...but I will transition into this in a moment.

Our cable system in Bakersfield grew cautiously and strategically. I recall USA, MTV, ESPN and Nickelodeon (shout out for "You Can't Do That On Television"!). TBS? If we had it, there was nothing to suggest that there might have been wrestling available. As I grew up, though, when I got home from summer league swim team, I discovered that ESPN ran old episodes of The AWA (Verne Gagne's American Wrestling Association out of Minneapolis) and, more vigilantly, WCCW (Fritz Von Erich's World Class Championship Wrestling from the Sportatorium in Dallas). By the time I caught on to The AWA, it was in the declining years...virtually anyone recognizable (Bobby Heenan, Hulk Hogan, Gene Oakerlund, Shawn Michaels) had already moved on...I just remember that stalwart announcer's voice coming to me from The Showboat in Las Vegas (although having been exposed to others such as Von Rashcke, Greg Gange and the great Nick Bockwinkel, among others, was certainly fun).

However, WCCW ran good and long and I got good and cozy with the best and worst the territory had to offer, even if I missed a bunch when I was in school. I had a hard time cheering for The Von Erichs, knowing the reason they were at the top of the card was because their dad owned and ran the territory, although there was no denying Kerry's physique and Kevin's athleticism (I'm afraid I regrettably missed the bulk of David's rise to prominence). I also came to love to hate uber-asshole manager Gary Hart...he was to WCCW what Heenan became to the WWF, as well as Skandar Akbar's proverbial "stable of misfit toys", DEVISTATION, INC.

But there was nothing like THE FABULOUS FREEBIRDS from Bad Street, Atlanta, GEE-AY. They were the consummate package. The legendary leader and mouthpiece, Michael Hayes was the southern David Lee Roth with hair that looked as if being moved by a breeze (even when he was stationary) and what he lacked in technical prowess, he made up for as the primary focal point of heat; Terry Gordy was as badass a big man as ever to lace up boots...he was the fuck-with-me-NOT muscle of the group; rounding out the trio was Buddy Roberts, the technician who, oftentimes, because of his ability and lack of relative size, ended up taking the fall. But, with THE BIRDS, there was never an "I" in "TEAM", and team they were, to the extent that, should a rival gang sign on for a match against them, such gang never knew which two of the three they'd be facing (although, of course, the third would accompany to the ring, so the trio would virtually always be in tact). I'm even wearing a FREEBIRDS T-shirt as I type this.

Another Los Angeles local, KTLA Channel 5, also threw its name in the hat on Saturday mornings when it began syndicating Bill Watts' Universal Wrestling Federation, where I discovered a HEEL Jim Duggan, a FACE Ted DiBiase, the incredible talent of "Doctor Death" Steve Williams, the beyond-scary Abdullah The Butcher, a fella named Cactus Jack and a little bright-eyed Oklahoman named Jim Ross on commentary who had the unnatural ability to make a headlock seem as deadly as a spike piledriver.

I grew to love The UWF because there was a level of danger, excitement and urgency that was missing from WWF programming, which I faithfully observed. I credit this largely due to Ross' commentary, but, also, too, the hungry performances of the more-than-able talent looking for it's next rung up the ladder. Imagine my chagrin when I tuned in one Saturday morning, eager to follow the rough and rugged stories of The UWF, only to find it had been unceremoniously replaced by a televised recap program hosted by some spotty, bespectacled, over-the-hill, bland-voiced announcer. Of course, in the arrogance and ignorance of my youth, I couldn't fathom the scope, importance or expertise the great Gordon Solie had afforded the business, or how important and mind-boggling was this show conceptually; imagine, during the Monday Night Wars, if some impartial personality was spending a half an hour with you on a Saturday morning, describing, franchise by franchise, the top goings-on WITH CLIPS of the WWF, WCW, ECW and even throwing in some Indy stuff on top of it! It was a televised Pro Wrestling Illustrated with the journalistic integrity of the New York Times.

That was my first exposure to Crockett's NWA.

What I am about to say shames me, in the grand scheme, as a wrestling fan, but it was true for me then and, having viewed retrospective footage, I see why I held then the haughty opinion I held back in the day; Mid-South presented itself to this California kid (who'd first been touched by the World Wrestling Federation's slick and glossy production values) as a local, rinky-dink, hick production. Now, granted, yes, I'd seen The AWA, WCCW, The UWF, but they all tacitly "knew their role" against The WWF, whereas here was a franchise attempting to pimp itself as The Fed's equal, if not superior. Well, following a proper education some 20-odd years later, in matters of booking, locker room and in-ring product, I'd be hard-pressed to argue that claim; however, in terms of initial presentation combined with my own ignorance and arrogance, it was absolute bush league in my eyes. Add to that, and God help me, I hate myself for having to say this, but when I first saw Ric Flair in one of his legendary behind-the-podium promos with Tony "I can give you this Subaru at trade-in cost" Schiavone, I simply laughed. To a kid who lived an hour-and-a-half out of LA, who'd begun to look to London for his music and fashion (by this time, I was discovering and enjoying edgy post-punk musical acts such as The Cure, Siouxsie & The Banshees and The Smiths, who went a much longer way in shaping my outward post-comic book identity), Flair coming out and rattling off with that...HAIR...about his custom-made suits from Michael's in Charlotte (really...? Well...there's this guy named Armani in Italy who makes suits...if you're really THAT loaded...). I'm sorry if this offends anyone, but, those promos simply exuded small-town money in a much wealthier world and I didn't buy it. I came in late to the Flair dynasty and couldn't buy what he was selling and just laughed at him.

I had been deprived the foundation of Flair's legacy, although, considering Vince had reached me first, thus setting a certain precedent where my expectation of what I had a right to demand of a wrestling product was concerned, combined with the fact that, Solie's show only gave me glimpses into Crockett's NWA, I didn't buy into the NWA and found it as secondary as WCCW, the AWA and the UWF, especially when the top stars from each promotion eventually found their way to The WWF. HOWEVER, watching Solie's recap show faithfully, I soon came to realize that whenever I saw the NWA's green ring apron, I was in for a great match, to the end that, bush league perception or not, at one point, I recall wishing the matches I saw on Solie's Saturday morning show and the enthusiastic fan response they earned could be combined with the professionalism and slickness Vince's product offered.

But, all too suddenly, Solie's show disappeared, too, and KTLA ceased providing wrestling programming. My view into The NWA was cut off, thus depriving me the opportunity to overcome my initial indignant opinion.

There's a bit of gray area where I'm not sure how things progressed. To backtrack a bit in terms of The WWF, I recall watching Rocky Johnson & Tony Atlas defeating THE WILD SAMOANS for the TTTs one Saturday morning. I recall Arnold Skaaland throwing in the towel on WWF HWC Bob Backlund's behalf, thus awarding The Iron Sheik the belt, and making sure I tuned in a month later for the rematch that never happened, Hulk Hogan jumping from The AWA to come in and storm The Sheik for the belt and making history. I recall the absolute THRILL that went through me during the Piper's Pit segment where Piper cracked a coconut open across the cranium of Jimmy Snuka, who collapsed through the set of the program, providing a level of realism I'd not yet witnessed. I recall caring more about the Women's Title at the very first WrestleMania because of Cyndi Lauper's involvement in the program (she was my first concert in 1984 at the Kern County Fair) than the main event and how stoked I was when she referenced Roddy Piper "getting his" as she accepted her Grammy. I recall coming home from church Sunday afternoons only to monopolize the television to "watch" scrambled PPVs we couldn't afford to buy outright, listening as if they were radio broadcasts. I recall sitting in the bleachers at one of the myriad WWF house shows I'd attend at the Bakersfield Convention Center, hearing my lone applause encouraging The Barbarian as he pounded Koko B. Ware.

I'm also dimly aware of when I finally did catch WCW on TBS. This, of course, was after the glory days of Crockett's NWA had fallen apart and, although there was some talent that definitely caught my eye and I did appreciate the improved production, it still failed to pull me in. Three performers really stuck out to me - Stunning Steve Austin, Flyin Brian Pillman and Paul E. Dangerously (of course, Jim Ross' commentary was also enjoyable, but that probably doesn't bear mentioning, it's taken so for granted). Paul's DANGEROUS ALLIANCE was awesome, as there was just such obvious thought being lent the gimmick on the part of Paul E., that it extended a hint of realism I found all too often lacking in wrestling content that I absolutely appreciated. THE HOLLYWOOD BLONDS, Austin & Pillman, were a criminally short-lived tandem that, I later discovered, were never meant to get over, and yet, again, the careful thought put into the completion of the act (mostly from Pillman) brought the team to the WCW TTTs.

Eventually, I moved to the dorms while attending San Francisco State University (I didn't want to leave California and SFSU had the best Broadcast Communication Arts program at the State level) and...shall we say, had also enrolled in the school of life, so there was a very significant period of the business for which I was sadly absent (ie, Flair in the WWF, Bret Hart's singles wrestling heyday, etc.). It was during my final year in The City that I began following WCW alongside The WWF, once settled in my own apartment. However, and I forget which one it was, but I swore off buying any more WCW PPVs the night I fell asleep in front of a $30 event before the Hulk Hogan/Vader main event even occurred, if that tells you my feelings on the then-product.

I moved back to Bakersfield about the same time the Goldust character was coming to prominence, which thrilled me. I recall being mere inches from young Dustin (when he was just being introduced) at another Bakersfield Convention Center house show, and I dug the fact that here was a kid not much older than me beginning to make his name. Goldust was such a dramatic turnaround from his roots, I knew it had success written all over it. Shawn Michaels was also just starting to really rise up as a singles performer and I was enjoying bearing witness to that, as well (we'll be discussing individual personalities in the coming weeks).

It wasn't much longer after, that Kevin Nash & Scott Hall defected to WCW and the whole nWo deal started, lighting the fuse on the Monday Night Wars. Well, obviously, I was absolutely CEMENTED in The WWF camp. This article is actually a prelude to my discussing my most and least favorite performers of my lifetime, so I'll decline from elaborating on specific performers for now, but WCW continued to not impress me. Don't get me wrong, initially, the nWo concept was quite innovative (even if Bischoff did steal the idea from Japan and claim it as his own; there was still the customization to the American market that required ingenuity...and Turner's money); however, the only real problem was that the bawdy, edgy nNw World Order program became so bloated and stagnant over time, it ended up a near-weekly statement of Bischoff masturbating Turner's pocketbook over Vince, shooting a load on New York with each new acquisition...and, as the names got smaller and smaller in marquee value (Vince managing to hold onto his top loyal talent in Michaels, Undertaker and Bret Hart, among others), Bischoff's money shot shrank exponentially, as well. Really...who bit off fingernails over the burning question of whether or not John Tenta or Ray Traylor were "4 LIFE" (all respect due to these great talents in their own rights)? Quite frankly, the nWo was a stolen concept Bischoff was too busy playing XPac with the boys in the strip club to worry about writing an end for.

Goldberg was a decent notion, too, except to look at him, Bischoff's intentions were clear; "Ha! I may have handed Stone Cold Steve Austin over to Vince, but I've got my OWN bald-headed, goateed, black boots-and-tights-wearing dominant force...and mine's BIGGER!" And Bischoff booked a huge angle around the guy, whose fierce enthusiasm and fabricated personality, ability and story got him over and made a lot of money...PLUS, Bischoff wrote an ending to this story...BUT he gave it away on free TV...and then realized he'd done little more than create a neo-Warrior in Austin's image, because Goldberg as champion wasn't NEARLY as interesting as Goldberg coming to get the gold.

Granted, I was grateful for the three-hour Nitro, because it meant I could tidy the apartment, cook dinner, fold laundry, whatever, till Raw started and then I'd turn to USA and not look back. Plus, because Bischoff had enough interest in the CruiserWeights to book them on the show (another fantastic idea he stole, this time from Paul Heyman's ECW) and cut them loose, but relegate them to the first hour "before the real show started", I got to see all that mattered to me in the company anyway, Chris Jericho, Chris Benoit, Eddie Guerrero, Dean Malenko and Rey Mysterio.

Oh, and did I just mention ECW? My roommate and I staggered in one night after closing down the local, and I flicked on my TV as I undressed and loaded a "nightcap" and there on a local public access show, was a display the likes of which I'd never before seen called Extreme Championship Wrestling's Hardcore TV. Granted, The UWF had some pretty rough stuff on its menu, but nothing like THIS. Heyman had managed to reach out and touch the West Coast just prior to the promotion he was provided by Vince on Raw before the inaugural ECW PPV, BARELY LEGAL in early 1997, so when Sabu, Taz, the bWo and Tommy Dreamer stormed the Manhattan Center (when commentator Vince referreed to the nWo as a clothing line) I was already well-familiar with them all. I was in a proud minority who saw The WWF and ECW as the top two American franchises, with WCW bringing up a very distant and sloppy, saggy backside. Looking back, I was amazed that, although poor production was a factor in my initial dislike of other Indy feds in the past, with ECW, I didn't mind at all. I guess I got over myself. That, and the fact that slick production would have been in direct opposition to the product they were presenting. Having one of the best play-by-play men ever in the business in Joey Styles didn't hurt either.

I've been accused of being a WWE mark during my tenure with The R's, a statement with which I now take issue. But back then, with the rise of Steve Austin, the formation of dX, Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels cutting cryptic shoots on one another (with a surprise backstage shoot fight being caught on camera once in awhile), Mankind's evolution, the hostile take-over by an ever-improving Rock on Faarooq's NATION OF DOMINATION, all this WITH an older and wiser, yet no less passionate Jim Ross behind the mic, all this BEFORE the inception of The Attitude Era, and yeah, I was so far up Vince's ass, when the doctor instructed him to turn his head and cough, I shot out his back end.

However, it wasn't until this period I stopped watching with the same childlike eye that swept across the pages of those comic books so long ago and began smartening up. I started appreciating a performance for what it was in addition to what it was supposed to accomplish. Wrestlers with irritating personalities (face or heel) began being favorites if they could go in the ring BECAUSE they could go in the ring. I began to acknowledge and embrace logic and continuity. It seemed wrestling and I were beginning to simultaneously mature.

I continued along my path of maturation, closely following the WWF and ECW, an eye on WCW. When poor business practice drove WCW into the ground, I was amused that WCW was up for sale and that, having since moved to Los Angeles, my boss' brother-in-law's company was in line to purchase it. In fact, it was I who (somewhat gleefully) broke the news to him that Vince had purchased WCW. He was displeased...

It's my contention since that Vince has displayed poor execution and/because of an inflated ego since the purchase of his competition, but there's a whole lot of other material for future columns there; suffice to say that, I like to think I've evolved a well-rounded and adult view of this business; it's certainly flawed, but I like to think I observe and report in a level-headed and fair manner (overall...I'm certainly not above taking a shot or two here and there where I feel they're well-deserved but I also praise highly when it bears saying) and it is this piece of my mind I intend to continue to share with you here on Tuesdays, if you decide to join me.

Next week, I begin discussing my personal Top 20 favorite wrestlers and why. It's sure to piss off someone...at the very least, be an interesting read. See ya then?

In the meantime, please share with the studio audience how YOU came to discover and enjoy pro wrestling in the comments section below!