Hello everyone and welcome to the Ninth edition of Pulp wrestling. The column with more juice than a Dusty Rhodes Death Match. I am as always, your not so ubiquitous host/usher for the evenings festivities, Julius ( In case you weren't bright enough to pick that up by looking over a little to your left). So now that that's been established let us not tarry on too much longer here in the lobby, since the show is now just about ready to begin. So make sure you have those ticket stubs ready, as you are about to once again enter the sleazy yet oh so sophisticated and artsy cinema that is now showing the full feature length production that is.... Pulp Wrestling.
Todays column is intended as a tribute to my Father. James A. McPherson. I don't know how well received this will be by any of my readers or my peers. And to tell you all the truth, I don't really care. ( Not trying to offend anybody there) This column was written for just one person in particular. I did struggle a while to think of other things to write about but alas, this was a topic that just pulled and pulled on me until it just almost felt like I HAD to write this. Now before you all ask, No he's not dead, he's not sick, and as far as I know he didn't just win the big Three Hundred Million Dollar Lottery. I just wanted to do the uncommon thing for once and pay tribute to someone while they are still alive and also when I have no real opportunity to gain financially from them by kissing ass. So now that we've gotten that out of the way, here is the column. I do hope that you get something out of it....
It was the summer of 1994 and I was the luckiest kid in the entire world. Why you may ask? Because that was the year my father bought my entire family tickets to see Summerslam. Though the passage of time has clouded some of my memory of the show and everything that happened during the specific matches themselves, I will never forget the elation I felt the moment I saw those tickets. Sure there were about twenty thousand other tickets just like those three that my dad had purchased. And probably about nineteen thousand nine hundred and ninety nine of them would have placed their holder in a much better seat than the one I was going to be sitting in with my family. But that didn't matter to me then, and it still doesn't matter to me now.
And while my memory of the event itself has somewhat diminished over the years, I still vividly recall the when and where of how I got 'those tickets'. I was at the time a nine year old kid sitting in front of my family's big ancient floor model Emerson television set watching the "King Of The Ring". This was not only the night that the late great Owen Hart became the second member of his family to wear the coveted K.O.R crown, but also it was the night that my dad confirmed the order over the phone for the tickets that would change my little life forever. I can still remember the smile that was on my face when he walked in and told me about what he had just done. For a family that on average took maybe one vacation every two years, ( and it was never that far from home mind you) This was a HUGE occasion.
This show that we were going to was to be the first event to ever be held in the brand new' United Center' in Chicago, Illinois. This venue was directly across the street from the now long since demolished 'Chicago Stadium' where Micheal Jordan had made all of those legendary early career highlights of his. The featured matches on the show that night included Deasil vs Razor Ramon (With Lawrence Taylor in his corner) for the Intercontinental title. It also included the now infamous 'Undertaker vs Undertaker' fiasco. (That match was literally so confusing that I actually had to explain it's entire storyline origins in great detail to the person who was sitting next to me, even though I was some twenty years his junior at the time) Also on the card that night there was a fantastic game of cat and mouse played out between Bret & Owen Hart inside of a fifteen foot high steel cage. This match is considered by many fans nowadays to be the 'Greatest Cage Match of all time'. And while I don't think I would go quite that far in my description of it, It was still a very good match nonetheless. And very entertaining for anyone who witnessed it live.
It's funny I don't remember even once during the entire course of this show even considering getting up for a drink or concessions of any kind. I truly believe on that night if I had had the need to go to the bathroom at all, I probably would have been sitting through the rest of the event in thoroughly soiled pants and a soggy seat to boot. That whole show it was just myself, my father and my mother ( who was conspicuously silent the entire evening) sitting there watching the best that the World Wrestling Federation had to offer in their second biggest PPV event of the year. It was a night that would not soon be forgotten by any of us McPherson's. Especially for the chubby little kid who had tickets to sit in 'The Nosebleed Section' (Cheap plug not intended.!) of one of the biggest wrestling events of the entire year. I think I spent the rest of 1994 just soaking in the aura of that magical night. Surely there would be nothing else that year that would ever top it's grandness in my mind.
The year after my family and I saw 'Summerslam' live in Chicago, we made a repeat trip up to Nashville, Tennessee to see a live 'In Your House' Pay Per View event. The only matches I really remember from this are Shawn Michaels vs Jeff Jarret for the IC Title. And also Deasil vs Sid in a lumberjack match. I think after the Show there was also a Casket Match between 'Kama' (A.K.A Papa Shango, Godfather) and The Undertaker. While not as important or as exciting of a show than the previous one that i had seen, this was still a fun little Journey that provided me with many fond memories. These two events that I attended in the course of this one year period mark very significant and special events for me in my childhood development. For one thing they instilled in me a lasting love and respect for the sport of Professional Wrestling and also it brought me much closer to my Father. I guess the best way I can explain it all is like this...
In many circles 'Baseball' is refereed to as 'America's favorite pastime'. There probably isn't a street or street corner in this country that doesn't have at least one backyard where you can catch father and son tandems working on their tossing and catching skills with each other. It's an American tradition, that for some family's doubles as a religious experience. (Although it has been recently usurped in some circles by the NFL) In my house though, neither of these sports took all that much precedence over our daily existence. My father and I, while we did play catch on a few occasions and I can even scarcely recall us at one time or another going out in the backyard for a game of tackle football. (Two hand touch is for wimps he'd say) The biggest event in my home from the time I was a child up until my late adolescence was always, watching professional wrestling.
Wrestling was the one thing that could always bring me and my father together. When we disagreed on every other subject that there was to disagree on (religion, politics, school etc, etc) wrestling was the one safe haven. Every Monday night whether we were watching RAW or Nitro, it didn't really matter. All arguments stopped once Seven O' Clock rolled around on TNT or Eight O' Clock on USA. That was a sacred time for us almost. At the time that's how I felt anyway. Since for a fourteen year old punk kid who strongly protested any of his parents most urgent attempts to get me into a church of anykind, 'Austin 3:16' was probably as close as I was going to get to any kind of biblical message for quite some time. (Although I have since began attending regular services again after I turned 18)
Now, I don't want to give anyone the impression that me and my father shared any similar tastes in wrestlers whatsoever. There was a time I would go out of my way to despise any of the wrestlers that he used to like. We were practically always split down the middle on every issue. He liked 'The Hulkster', I was more into 'The Macho Man.' He liked Shawn Michaels, I was a Bret Hart fan. ( Although even in the midst of my strongest attempts I was never fully able to really bring myself to actually 'hate' The Showstoppa) It continued on, my father wasn't a fan of the "Attitude Era" of wrestling at all. I can't really say I can blame him there. ( from a parental standpoint at least) His interest in wrestling did start to wain a little during the time of Steve Austin and Degeneration X. And I truly can't ever remember being as uncomfortable watching wrestling with my Dad than during those episodes where there would be "Bikini Contests" or when the likes of Val Venis, The Godfather and for a while 'Dude Love' would come out to the ring with scantily clad women dressed in thongs by their sides. And don't even get me started on all the 'backstage skits' of this era.
But getting back on the topic of our disagreements. As it goes in any sport, not every fan will agree with every other fan on who is the best/ most talented at any particular event. Likewise in wrestling, me and my dad could always spark up some pretty fun debates regarding who was the most entertaining wrestler currently going or who could "whip" who in an actual non scripted fight sequence. This was all part of the magic of Sports Entertainment for us. As I said before me and my father grew kind of distant from each other during my teenage years (as I'm sure lots of people did when they were that age) but no matter how much we argued or how fiercely we disagreed we always at least had that one thing to keep us talking. And for that I will always be eternally grateful to this sport. Fake as it may be to most people, it is indeed still very real to me. (dammit!)
I know for a fact that my father appreciated the relationship he had with me very much. Since he himself grew up watching old time boxing and wrestling on TV back in the Fifties with his father James McPherson Sr. Back then my Grandparents owned the only TV in their entire rural neighborhood and that place so normally always filled to capacity with neighbors and people from all over. I remember we bought tickets for my Grandparents to come with us to Nashville in 95'. Sadly, neither of them could make it so we sold those tickets to some people outside the arena I think. Now that they are both passed on, it only makes me appreciate the relationship I have with my Dad all the more. I know it's cliche', but you never truly realize the impact somebody has on your life, until they are taken from you. The tighter the bond, the harder the tear and the more it will eventually hurt.
Now that I'm an adult I still sometimes watch the occasional wrestling event with my Dad. Although most of the time nowadays it's usually restricted to just old tapes of the bygone 'New Generation' era, or the even more bygone 'Hogan era'. Every Thanksgiving we always will sit down in front of that same big outdated floor model Emerson TV and watch an old 'Survivor Series' and laugh our asses off at the commentary of 'Bobby Heenan' or 'Jesse Ventura. They sure don't make announcers like they used to 'huh Pop? '
Now I know my dad might not have been a hero in most people's eyes. However, in my eyes and in my heart that's exactly what he was/will always be to me. Not just for the wrestling obviously. But for the fact that he went out and busted his ass every day of his life regardless of how shitty the weather or how poor his health was. ( And it got pretty bad at one point) In fact even though he is now pushing the sharper edge of 70 he still refuses to retire no matter how much my mother objects. I guess you could truly call him the 'Terry Funk' of my family. I would also like to thank him for always being there during the bad times. For helping me back up when I skinned my knee after falling off that Bicycle when I was Seven. (And for insisting that I get back on it ) And most importantly just for not throwing my rebellious ass out on the street when I'm sure alot of other people would have done just that (and rightfully so). For this and for many other reasons too numerous to even begin to name. I would like to dedicate this little column (as feeble an attempt at one as it may be) to my Dad.
PS
I love you and thanks for those tickets.
Well, that piece right there was somewhat inspired the latest edition of 'Destrucity' entitled 'A Heartfelt Goodbye'. Although I had the idea to write this long before then, reading that column was what cemented my desire to complete this tribute. Since it was itself an extremely well done column filled with a beautiful homage to that writers Childhood memories. This leads me to the return of something I once promised to do in every column. But have thus failed to deliver upon. It's a little poll for you the readers. This weeks question is: What is your most cherished wrestling related memory from your childhood days? Or how has wrestling brought you and your family together/torn it apart. I am very interested in hearing all of your responses.
So until next week, it has been my pleasure.
Oh f*** me in the Ozarks! I almost totally forgot!!!
Yep, it's that time again. Time for you all to get your regular religious fix right here at Pulp Wrestling! Dig my brethren on this weeks, Ten Commandments.
I: I am the best there is, the best there was and the best there ever will be. Thou shalt induct no other person into the Hall of Fame before me.
II: Thou shalt not post-pone Raw with a silly show about dogs.
III: Thou shalt not watch the Winter Olympics. (As if anyone was already?)
IV: Thou shalt not make fun of poor Al Snow anymore, Mick Foley. ( However it is still completely allowable to make fun of 'Avatar',' Leif Cassidey' and 'The Kennel From Hell Match'.)
V: Thou shalt never trust a guest referee to ever call it 'Right Down The Middle'
VI: Thou shalt not beat up Midgets, Finley.
VII: Thou shalt keep 'Byte This' canceled as that homo 'Todd Grisham' displeases The Lord's ears and eyes to no end.
VIII: Thou shalt not 'no sell' a Piledriver or a DDT, ever.
IX: However, thou shalt always 'no sell' an R.K.O any and every time it is applied to you.
And finally....
X: Thou Shalt surely never, ever forget... The Public Enemy.
R.I.P, Rock & Grunge.
Jules
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