Hey, kids! I want to tell you a story. Put your imagine-caps on so you can see stuff in your heads while you read. Also, you should probably pop a Cialis or two. I don't know why. Perhaps it'll make you feel as though you're nature-soaking in an outdoor bathtub. Anyway here goes...
In a land 2 hours south of Burbank, some 17 years ago...
So I'm spending the night at my friend Freddy's house (haha, friend Fred, get it), and we're sitting on the living room couches (they had several, "L" shapes and the like) with his dad, also Fred, flipping through channels on the TV. I think there was some prior knowledge that Roller Derby was coming on shortly, so one of us changes the channel to wait for the derby to come on. We joined the previous program in progress and my life changed for years to come.
Saturday Night: Main Event was on. It was to my knowledge the only wrestling program on TV at the time. 2 wrestlers were going at it in the ring and I was immediately hooked. The wrestlers who were squaring off were Papa Shango and Bret "The Hitman" Hart. I was instantly drawn to Bret Hart. I can't recall if he was already the WWF world champ or just about to be. We caught the match, the main event of the show, about halfway through but that's all I needed. I'm not sure if I literally pointed and said, "This is my guy [Hart]" but that was definitely how it felt to my 10 year old soul. I can't remember if there was something in particular about Bret Hart that captivated me, but given his skill and charisma, his ability to make a dramatic comeback, and let's not forget his finisher "The Sharpshooter," it seems like I saw the right guy in the right match at the right time for me.
Soon I was watching everytime the show was on, hanging in to see The Hitman. Soon after that Monday Night Raw began to air on the USA network, so I had a major prime time opportunity to see The Hitman defend his world title against all challengers. What I think struck me most about Bret Hart was his ability to take a serious beating (or appearing to) and to get back up and find a way to win. And not only win, but make his opponent give up from the pain of the Sharpshooter. He was cool, even wearing pink! He wore sunglasses and a leather jacket too. I mean, The Hitman, that's a hell of a name and it certainly didn't hurt that he was also a good guy. I had already been a lover of movies and superheroes, and here was one every week winning fair and square, beating guys of all shapes and sizes. He was inventive and adaptive, both a strategist and a technician but also wasn't against biting or headbutting to break a hold. Afterall, he was biting or headbutting bad guys, who were sneaking brass knuckles in their tights and choking him when the ref wasn't looking. These were all things I believed in and I believed every punch, especially Bret's.
Pretty soon I was going to matches, or house shows, at the Sports Arena. I remember the first I went to was the day before my 11th birthday with my dad. Bret Hart wasn't there that night, the main event being "Macho Man" Randy Savage vs. Razor Ramon. I can still feel the disappointment I felt that night as Macho Man lost via count-out. My dad bought me a bright green foam finger with Macho Man's logo on it to console me. I waved it at other cars drearily as my dad drove us home.
Many more house shows followed as I got all of my friends involved. My buddy Wayne accompanied my mom and sister (who thought the wrestlers were hunks) to one and we both loaded up on Hitman gear. I remember distinctly having a pink and white t-shirt with the Hitman's face on it, pink logoed wristbands, and his trademark pink sunglasses. We wore all this stuff to class the next day for show and tell. I had also become a member of the WWF fan club via the mail (remember that?) and subscribed to WWF Magazine. I also picked up many action figures.
Somehow around this early time, my Uncle Ted was getting free pay-per-view. I don't know how and I didn't ask. A wrestling fan himself, he began taping every live event that aired starting with Royal Rumble '93. Bret Hart defended his title against Razor Ramon after a blistering match where I lived and died with every move. Hart took quite a beating but eventually slapped on the Sharpshooter to my cheers. I later died when he lost the belt at WrestleMania IX to Yokozuna. Don't worry, he won it back another 4 times.
As one would expect of a group of prepubescent boys, we had wrestling matches in living rooms, bedrooms ("...dinettes, Hey-Hey!"), and in front lawns, all with me calling most of the shots. I was afterall the most fervent believer of the sport, the smartest kid, and becoming the biggest on the street. Nobody really seemed to question my direction but maybe I just didn't notice. It was a bit dangerous at times. Somebody usually banged their head on something or nearly broke their mom's precious this-or-that.
The most fun I had was at Wayne's house. His parents had a huge bouncy bed. And Wayne also had 2 opponents for us to fight: a easily 4 foot tall stuffed Pink Panther and a hefty though small limbed stuffed bear we called, Big Bear. We came up with our personas: The Wrecking Crew, which we got from a Nintendo game of the same name. I was Jack Hammer (sadly, not Bauer) and Wayne was Monkey Wrench. It sounds pretty retarded now but it was a blast. We'd announce the match while we wrestled and as long as we didn't do a move off the bed by mistake, we rarely got hurt. Wayne and I rarely wrestled one-on-one. I didn't trust him not to hurt me. Not that I didn't slap the Sharpshooter on him from time to time, as I did to other neighbor kids. I still contend that I invented the move that Goldust later used as his finisher, The Curtain Call.
Eventually when it came time to head back to the Sports Arena for house shows our seats got better and better. What was most important to me was to be able to sprint to ringside before and after matches to high-five wrestlers. The first of such shows, we were a bit of a ways away, but I'm quite swift for my size and much like The Juggernaut, I'm hard to stop. And at this show, Bret Hart was wrestling! I was especially excited by this because before every match Bret would go around high-fiving fans but he would also give an autographed pair of his sunglasses to a kid in the crowd. Obviously, I wanted that to be me. I think I raced down to ringside between every match but I think I got turned away every time. I was disappointed of course, but was undeterred. After Bret defended his title, I flew down to ringside, because I'd been half-sitting the entire match, and I squeezed to the railing. Bret (with his brother Bruce, he had 7 brothers in all) came right down in front of me and I stretched my hand out as far as I could. Bret swung his hand in my direction... (dramatic enough for ya?) But he juuuuust missed me. I was devasted.
It should be noted that I had written a few more paragraphs before accidentally closing the window. The above is all that I had saved before that so excuse me if this blog loses some steam, as I am pisssssssssed.
I hung my head for days after the event. I did end up going to one more house show. Bret wasn't there but we had the best seats we'd ever had, within feet of the entrance railing. The highlights of the show include: touching Adam Bomb's sweaty arm pad, swiping Shawn Michaels's arm pit (yuck), and getting elbowed in the face by a security guard while reaching for The Undertaker. I did get to pat his manager, Paul Bearer's shoulder eliciting his usual terrified look (Oooooh Yeeeeah, in a wobbly high pitched voice).
So I kept watching and rooting for Bret. I mean, it wasn't his fault that he missed my hand. But around '96 or so things start getting hazy in my memory as far as wrestling goes. I can't recall who won when so I must not have been that into it. I know that friends of mine started to turn to WCW and their whole N.W.O. storyline. To me it was more funny than anything. I could never take WCW seriously. They had a rule that if you threw another wrestler over the top rope, you were disqualified (yes, YOU!), a move that had been standard and acceptable in the WWF.
But wrestling was changing. People started rooting for bad guys, guys who would cheat and attack other wrestlers all over the arena. Guys like Stone Cold Steve Austin (who I'd seen as Stunning Steve, with Flyin' Brian Pillman, as the Hollywood Blondes in WCW), Degeneration X, and eventually The Rock were becoming fan favorites while appealing to a less classy side of the sport with more low-brow stunts, interviews, and storylines. Bret wasn't really a part of that, in fact he always seemed to be fighting against them. But then I have a distinct memory of tuning in and seeing Bret Hart become a bad guy. He came out and gave a 20 minute speech bashing American fans. I was crushed. I turned off the TV somewhat for good.
I was losing touch as it was. I was hitting middle school which took up more of my time. My neighborhood friends had all turned to rap music and completely lost me. That was alright to me as there'd been both growth and tension between us all anyway. And then I heard that Bret Hart had gone to WCW. I was done. I may have torn up all of my memorabilia at that moment. At that exact same time, Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa were beginning their homerun chase. I was fully hooked into that and as many of you know, I've been a baseball addict ever since. So with a new passion, I moved on.
I remember sitting at home in May of '99 to watch the Sunday night news, when it was announced that Bret's brother, Owen Hart, had died in a stunt gone wrong at a pay-per-view earlier that day. I wasn't a big fan of Owen since he'd been an opponent of Bret in a big feud. But needless to say, it still hurt. I tuned into to the following nights Raw, where wrestlers all paid tribute to Owen. At the end, Jerry Lawler (whom I'd always thought looked like my Uncle Ted) tearfully ended the show. Minutes later, I started crying while in the shower. I'd had a lot of emotional involvement in wrestling and to see Lawler crack, I couldn't help but crack myself.
A few months later, I saw Hitman: Wrestling With Shadows, on A&E. It was a documentary that covered Bret Hart's reasons for leaving the WWF. He had had no intentions of ever leaving despite WCW's hefty offer. But he got screwed by Vince McMahon and was forced out. The documentary also covered why Bret made his anti-American speech and how uncomfortable he was with it. I felt some relief in my soul upon this revelation. My still open wound over that finally started to heal. But I still had little interest in wrestling besides the occasional laugh.
Huge jump ahead to 2008, when I saw the movie, The Wrestler, starring Mickey Rourke. While completely living up to the hype, it also reminded me of how much I had once loved wrestling (and Marisa Tomei, "Wowwwwwwwee!"). As the film went on to lose at the Oscars, I anxiously awaited the BluRay release. I still think it blows that Darren Aronofsky wasn't nominated and that Mickey Rourke didn't win for best actor. I mean, what's harder: 'roiding up to play a wrestler or having to kiss James Franco? I say the former. And now that makes me look like I wanna kiss James Franco... Why does it always have to go this way?!
Anywho, so the day comes and I hop on Amazon to buy The Wrestler on BluRay, and Amazon invariably gives me a list of other stuff I might like. The first thing on that list is an autobiography written by Bret Hart called, Hitman: My Real Life In The Cartoon World Of Wrestling. I was intrigued so I read the reviews which were stellar and on impulse bought it too. I should also note that around this time my co-worker and friend, Erick, an avid wrestling fan had been chatting me up on the subject since the film had come out. So that had also sparked some thoughts into my past fandom but it really took seeing this book on Amazon for me to remember how big a part of my life Bret Hart had been. I can honestly say that I hadn't really thought much about him in almost a decade. I mean, I had graduated high school and college in that time.
When the book finally arrived, I could hardly put it down. It was so candid and vivid, as it was based off copious audio tapes Bret had kept throughout his life. There were so many stories behind every match, from behind the curtain to inside the ring. I really can't say enough about how good the book is. It's loaded. Bret talks candidly about his life, both good and bad, and the people involved. It gives you a look at everyone that has ever wrestled, professionally and personally. Guys who played bad guys were really nice and gentle and vice-versa at times. It's amazing the insights and an extraordinary view of that world and also of the Hart family. I especially enjoyed and got quite giddy when he got to my era of wrestling.
The only sad thing about it is getting to know so many wrestlers in the book who are now dead, first and foremost Owen. Bret's life is and was tragic in many ways. He had always been great in the ring and it turns out most felt he was outside of it as well. But he does admit to using steroids, which I honestly don't fault anyone for. He also admits to drug use, though not addiction as it plagued many. But mostly his infidelity humanizes him, and surprised me. I cannot look past it, but he does take pains to explain it. That may have been his addiction to some extent, much like Ted Nugent, who has never really hidden it.
Also, I hadn't known how his career had ended. He ended up having to retire due to post-concussive symptoms. I had no idea. I'd just assumed age or lack of desire had caught up to him. And then he'd had a stroke to top that off. He's luckily recovered mostly from that and has a good outlook on things. I'm at least happy for him for that. I recommend buying his book if you've ever been a fan of his or of wrestling. It's a must have.
After having finished the book, I borrowed, bought and soaked up everything Bret Hart I could find. Wikipedia has been a great resource. It has detailed biographies of almost every wrestler ever. This has been a great trip down memory lane for me. It's something I hope that will really stay with me because for a time it was so huge in my life. Seriously, it was bigger than any other sport, girls, and Little Debbie snacks (you bitch!). Bret Hart was a god to me and perhaps he still can be in some capacity. His place in wrestling history is for others to decide but I see him as the best, much as his saying went.
I'm curious as to whether any of you who may have read through all of this have had a similar experience in anything in your lives? Let me know if you have. It'd be interesting to know because it's always odd what make us who we are or in part. I can't necessarily pinpoint what I may have taken from Bret Hart because I was so young. I think I'll leave that to some shrink one day. I guess if you the reader have any ideas, I'll welcome that. I just wanted to share this piece of me with any of you still out there (hello?). Anyhow, it's out of me.
Just an FYI (and because I love stats), it took me 4 and 1/2 hours to write this blog. Some paragraphs are lost forever, and that sucks. But I made it this far and hopefully, at least someone else has too. I thank you if you have.
:-P Pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbth!!!
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