My Grandmother used to love to watch wrestling. She used to fill a bowl with potato chips and sit in her little chair in her little house in El Paso, Texas and yell at the television. She would scream “get him” and all sorts of other colorful comments at her television, or so my mother would tell me. Her favorite wrestler was Gorgeous George. I know it sounds phony but it’s true. Here was this little old lady watching big sweaty and back then, hairy guys beat the crap out of each other for the crowd’s amusement. There was no pyrotechnics, lasers, smoke machines, or any of today’s necessities. She didn’t have the T-shirts, DVDs, or programs. It was pure sports entertainment.
My mother carried on my Grandmother’s love of wrestling to me. She would go to the grocery stores and pick me up a wrestling magazine at the check out counter. I would read all about my favorite heroes and most despised villains. I would learn about wrestling promotions that my local channels would never get. And I would dream. I remember wishing I could DDT the bully like Jake “The Snake” Roberts. I hoped that one day I could knock out the kid picking on me like “Hands of Stone” Ronnie Garvin. And most of all I wanted to live like Ric Flair. My version of his “Jet flying, limousine riding, stylin’ and profiling” was bus riding, sitting in the backseat cramped with my brothers in a beat up Chevy Nova driving, wearing grocery store jeans stylin, and barely surviving. I know my Grandmother had bullies she dreamed of putting into the figure four just like I did.
I know that wrestling programs have been around almost since the advent of television. It was an easy and cheap to produce show when there weren’t four million cable channels and four billion options. Therefore, lots of people watched it. There was my Grandmother, a little old lady, watching and responding like a rabid fan at an ancient gladiatorial contest. Why?
Wrestling is more than the gimmicks and often way too cheesy storylines. It is the basic story of good overcoming evil. It is the little guy overcoming incredible odds. It is the hero in defeat licking his wounds and still raising his head high knowing that tomorrow is a new day and a new chance at victory…even if today’s heroes aren’t as easily identifiable as the heroes of my Grandmother’s time.
I was in the process of writing a different column when my Mom came over. I showed her The Wrestling Voice column I have begun to write with pride. She reminded me of my Grandmother’s love of wrestling and asked me to write about it. My Grandmother passed away when I was in the Eighth Grade. I never had the opportunity to truly know what an amazing and unique woman she was firsthand. I have learned to appreciate her through my mother’s stories. My Grandmother had many challenges and defeats in her life, just like her favorite wrestlers. But after every defeat, she got up slowly and went back into the ring. She taught my mother this and my mother taught me.
And just like my Grandmother passed on a love of wrestling to me, I have passed this on to my kids. I have taken my sons and my nephew to live events. We purchased the T-shirts, programs, gadgets and trinkets. We heard the explosive entrances. We were dazzled by the fireworks. We wondered at the lasers. But most of all we watched the hero take on the villain and we cheered for the hero no matter the outcome. I have my Grandmother to thank for this.
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