Big Time Wrestling’s Timeless Appeal

Bobo Brazil. The Sheik. Jimmy the Weasel. Haystack Muldoon. During the late 1960's and early 1970's, these men were the local kings of an entertainment phenomenon that may have started small but eventually grew into a multi-million-dollar industry - big time wrestling.

Drafted for their sheer size and relatively agile athletic skills, the stars of professional spectator wrestling were more performers and stunt men than anything else. Many of them started out as Olympic-level power lifters. Laughingly referred to as wrestling matches these seemingly competitive spectacles were little more than choreographed dance routines that happened to include some near-miss punches and kicks.

Competing for possession of one of several massive, "gold" trophy belts, in those days most of the matches took place at a local television studio. For the most part, the outcome of these events was known either well in advance, or determined by a coin flip shortly before the bout began.

At several times during each broadcast, tuxedo-clad announcers would interview the various contestants who would proceed to snort, scream, spit and growl at their opponents as if they were bitter, arch enemies bent on bringing about the other's demise. Of course, most of these guys arrived at the studio with them in the same car, sharing dressing rooms and hotel rooms as they traveled the circuit to each performance.

And "performance" is the best word to use to describe what so many fans actually still believe is genuine, athletic competition. Referees, announcers and event planted audience members were all part of the act, sometimes even making it into the ring or being pulled in by a seemingly angry and aggravated contestant, sick and tired of the taunting from behind the ropes.

Adding to the drama of the show, each wrestler portrayed a character who was either a 'good guy' or a 'bad guy' in the eyes of the audience. The man who portrayed the wrestler known as Mad Dog Muldoon, for example, would chew seltzer tablets so he would appear to foam at the mouth on camera, like a rabid dog. The Sheik threw fire from his hand - a simple magician's trick involving flash powder and a hidden ignition source.

Once in the ring, these characters also had signature fight maneuvers, like high-dives from atop the ring post to land with a slam on top of an opponent who shook and writhed violently as if he'd had a piano dropped on him. Miraculously, however, he would then rise and proceed to procure a folding metal chair from a well-placed supporter in the audience. As he spun around to the center of the ring, he'd smash the chair across his opponent's face and head, knocking him savagely to the mat.

So what was really going on? Anyone who's ever seen a well-made western has witnessed the same fake fight moves used by big time wrestlers - but probably performed with much more believability in the movies. At least when John Wayne got punched, they added a little blood. Adhering to no discernable set of rules, professional wrestlers appear, to the spectator, to endure repeated blows to the head and neck that should result, at least, in a severe concussion.

The only time anyone sees a genuine injury, however, is when some part of the choreography goes wrong - a badly-executed high dive or long bounce off the ropes that results in an unplanned tumble, wrenching an ankle. Everything else is planned out for the audience's viewing pleasure, including some actual sport wrestling moves to add a touch of authenticity to the bouts.

When it started, big time wrestling matches were performed in front of a live crowd that generally consisted of senior citizens. Event promoters would recruit audiences from area nursing homes; the residents of which would generally do anything if it meant a day out. Easily riled up, the geriatric fans would cheer and jeer whomever was in the ring, even adding the program with a well-placed cane hooked on some lucky wrestler's ankle.

Modern pro wrestling has more stars, brighter pyrotechnics and a world-wide audience. Still, the same ridiculous program is still being performed, bilking millions of dollars from loyal fans every year. Given its sharply conservative fan base, however, one would think that watching two, sweaty grown men rolling around together in their underwear would have less appeal.

Gery L. Deer is an independent columnist based in Jamestown, Ohio. Read more at www.deerinheadlines.com