Yesterday afternoon my buddy Bags played parts of a wrestling DVD during my weekly visit to his home across the street from my old house. He cued to the 2007 WWE Hall of Fame induction of the legendary Dusty Rhodes, billed in his heyday as The American Dream and The Common Man. He thanked several other greats: Eddie Graham, Dick Murdoch, Harley Race, Arn Anderson, Jack Briscoe, Ricky Steamboat, Superstar Billy Graham and, of course, Rick Flair. The Flair-Rhodes feud in the NWA was as good as pro wrestling gets. One thing I respect about these freaks of nature is their love of the industry, and their appreciation for its fans, which was manifested in Rhodes’ speech. What a country - a fat guy with bleached blond hair, forehead riddled with scars, many self-inflicted, captivated a sizable chunk of America. Here’s a two-minute clip from that famous feud. Note how enthralled Flair is while Rhodes is speaking. I don’t know if Dusty rehearsed or merely improvised, but his delivery is perfect. I would frequently sound those words in my head, astonished by phrasing this writer wished he had written. I also imitated the southern accent aloud. And his closing “By the way, Tully…” part became a catchphrase between Bags and I. Enjoy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNHeLFBADKs
Here’s an excerpt from a short story, Defining Moment, a sort of ode to pro wrestling. It’s available in the A Hitch in Twilight collection, print or Kindle, link below:
"Damn you, Lenny," said the plump woman at the sink.
"A grand, Mil," said the hulking man, the guilt of a boy in his eyes. "Double to goin' rate. I couldn't turn that down. You want me to build that deck out back or what?"
"What good's it gonna do us with you in the hospital?"
"Junior says two minutes -- tops."
"You trust 'im? With all the stuff he pulls? He'd put his own mother in there if he thought it'd sell some tickets."
"We woulda never been able to buy this house if it wasn't for him and his father, an' you know it."
"You don't owe 'im nothin'. How many more operations you gotta have? When're you gonna grow up? You're in no shape to get back in there. It's been three years. You're forty-two now. You wanna end up like Freddie, wrestlin' 'til you're sixty, walkin' 'round with a cane?"
"This's the last time. I promise. He's in a bind. Jimmy must be on another bender. They can't find 'im. I can't back out. I gave my word. I gotta go. The show already started."
"If you get hurt I'm divorcin' you."
"C'mon, Mil. I don't need to hear that."
A boy of twelve had entered the kitchen. "Hey, Johnny," he called into the living room; "Daddy's goin' to get his butt kicked again."
John, a few years older than his brother, howled. "What's your record gonna be now, Da - three wins, a thousand losses?"
"Is it on cable?" said his brother. "I gotta see this."
"Awright, wise guys," said Len. "Keep it up an' yous can put yourselfs through college."
"Put the towel back on your head, Da," said John. "You buffin' down to the brain? I can't see the TV for the glare."
Len flicked the towel at the boy. His bald head was gleaming.
As he was driving, he tried to calculate what his record actually was. He was certain of the wins. The three came long ago in preliminary matches when the federation still held cards at bingo halls and gymnasiums. His losses may have exceeded 1000. In 20 years he'd taken time off only to recuperate from injury. He missed the excitement, the limelight, even though he'd been only a bit player. Were the game on the up and up, he believed he could have beaten many of the stars to whom he'd been made to take a fall.
It was a slow day at the floating book shop, enlivened by a curious incident. I was right in front of the Chase indoor ATM. A young woman exited and the next thing I know she's yelling from her car, which she paused briefly behind me: "I ain't no Russian an' I ain't no Chink," she huffed from her seat at the wheel and through the open window on the passenger side. "I speak English." It seemed directed at me. If so, she must have overlooked the 90% of books in English. We all know what happens when one assumes. Maybe she'd had a few. My thanks to the kind folks who made purchases.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx
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