Pro Wrestling will never let you down, except for when it lets you down. Which is often. I am today reminded of that very special episode of The Fresh Prince when Will's biological father shows up and gets his hopes up with reconciliation only to crush his dreams yet again. Pro wrestling is a derelict deadbeat dad that never lives up to his potential. My inner child will never stop pleading for the healing touch of pro wrestling, and pro wrestling will never stop throwing salt in my wee little teary eyes. This is one cycle that will never, ever break.
There is a special vibe about southern-style wrasslin' tv footage from the 80's. It is a fragrant bouquet with notes of cheap whiskey, greasy road side burgers, and unairconditioned housing. It is a special little slice of long lost niche subculture, never again replicated for as long as we live. It feels like the shiny, cheap hopes of a poor man temporarily soothed by truck stop trinkets. Let us pray.
Whoever recorded this on their long-since junk shopped VCR saw fit to include the commercials. Our first ad is for a $20 mail-order unicorn statue. How many of these unicorns decorated the headboards and nightstands of sweaty rasslin' nerds of our past? We also get an ad for the broadcast premiere of Chuck Norris' classic film A FORCE OF ONE. Back in the studio, Lance Russel is talking in front of that infamous and much loved hand-painted Conan The Barbarian Style banner. I am pleased.
It seems that Jerry "The King" Lawler went to meet with some children at United Way and we got the footage to prove it. It is somehow scuzzy and uplifting at the same time. He is the King for a reason. The nearest thing to heaven is a child. You're not going to understand what Lawler is without watching these kinds of videos of him doing local celebrity things. He's what would happen if your local wacky morning DJ was also known as the toughest dude in town who fought everyone from Andy Kaufman to a fuckin' mummy. He's also most likely a man with a severe carnal weakness for teenaged girls based on all available information. What a world.
Then we get some footage from a tag match pitting Lawler and his best friend/worst enemy "Superstar" Bill Dundee against Jonathan Boyd and Rip Morgan. Of note, as always, are Lawler's punches. He is the master of fake punches. Morgan and Oliver are less good, but they are big and scary and that is literally all Lawler needs to unite Memphis against them. Dundee does a hillarious bit when he tries to tag out to the wrong man, then falls on his ass and scoots away in this weird crab walk. Lawler comes in and the crowd goes mental. Beatings ensue. Morale improves. It all ends in a massive brawl as the entire roster hits the ring. Dundee takes a flaming torch (!) to the face as Lawler fights off an entire army of bad guys.
More ads! Games magazine! My dad had a subscription. Remember magazines?
We get some footage summarizing a dastardly attack against the beloved "Bullet" Bob Armstrong by Tom Pritchard and Pat Rose. Bullet Bob is a much more wholesome local hero. He's like the neighborhood dad who everyone knows has a tough guy past but who will also happily toss another braut on the grill for every kid on the street and not make a big deal of it. So it's a big deal that Prichard and Rose tried to crack Bob's head open like an egg. We get an AMAZING bit recorded "in the hospital" by the half-dead Bob Armstrong as his virile, bepermed, and vengeful sons Scott and Steve speak for him. "HE CAIN'T TALK! HIS FACE IS ALL WIRED TOGETHER!" And then, thank the maker, we get a backyard training and hype video of Bullet Bob on the road to recovery set to Bad to the Bone. God is good. The neighborhood dad is doing chin-ups on the playground. You can't keep a good man down, even if that motherfucker Tom Prichard did break the man's face and hang him off the ring ropes. The Armstrong Boys will not abide this shit. "They broke ever' bone in his FACE!" "We're comin' up there to see you boys. You call us the RAT PATROL and the first two rats we're startin' with are YOU." All this while Bullet Bob sits there on his leather sofa barefoot with the thousand yard stare of a man who was almost murdered in the ring by a couple of douche bags. This is, as they say, the good shit.
More ads! Glen King is a TVA advisor who wants to help you save money on insulating your home. I wonder where he is today.
Back in the studio, Tom Pritchard and Pat Rose are here doing some highly irritating fake crying to impersonate those weaklings in the Armstrong family. "I can't help but feel a little sorry for ya, old man. Send those snotty nosed brats up here and we'll take care of 'em." What a couple of assholes.
Then we get those very same assholes taking on the super-mega good guy team of Bill Dundee and "King" Jerry Lawler. Holy shit. I guess that Dundee got better from that torch to the face. Dundee comes out and tries to hug every girl in the audience, which, considering what we know about him now, is problematic. It is clear from the start that Prichard and Rose are outclassed, but they never stop talking shit. Lawler throws right hands and shakes his knuckles out after every shot, and we rejoice. Rose and Pritchard cheat in every way you can imagine. The girls are chanting "go, Billy, go" and we are all troubled by the implications. One of Lawler's more underrated qualities is in his insistence on dressing in the ugliest colors imaginable throughout his entire career. The Masked Superstar shows up to start shit with Dundee, and we're going to commerical.
Charley Pride! 20 songs on one album!
We're back! The match continues! Holy shit they gave this a ton of time. Pat Rose, it must be said, looks like the type of guy who'd throw beer cans at his kids. That asswipe the Masked Superstar comes in again and starts whipping Dundee with a belt. The match breaks down into chaos. Lawler and Dundee are left laying. Justice, it seems, will not be served today.
Dundee has a response for the Masked Superstar. Who is the real superstar? Take one guess.
Commercial! Buy your insurance from The Insurance Mart "next to the Water Plant."
Main event time! Which is, I guess, highlight footage of Harley Race vs. Koko Ware from another place and time. Harley's perm is as robust and fabulous as his gut. I never met Harley, who is a Kansas City icon, but I've heard from those who have that he's an intimidating individual with a cast iron handshake. I'm sure that is true. Harley wins!
Commerical! Life is better in Jackson, Tennessee. Maybe so, but I'm not sure I want live in a place where Tom fuckin Prichard can just run up and punch Bob Armstrong's face into pieces. Also, in case you're interested, the Jackson Central High class of 76 10 year reunion is coming up. It would be best for everyone if Lawler and Dundee were kept away from all high schools just in general principle. I can respect that Lawler routinely saved Memphis from literal monsters, and I like my heroes flawed; but statutory rape is one of those character flaws that I just can't rally behind.
Anyway, Memphis wrestling is the best. My hopes are up, and I need a cigarette.
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