By John Shelvey
Wrestling Heritage welcomes your memories
I was musing the other day and for no apparent reason Rasputin (Irish version) popped into my head. His entrance to the ring I had witnessed live all those years ago had made a big impression, so much so that I still recall it now some thirty plus years later. The heavy cassock, the hooded cowl, his acolytes similarly dressed, following silently behind all to the chiming of church bells, set a sombre and mystic atmosphere in the building. Until that is, Johnny Howard disrobed and became a mere mortal in tights, albeit a good worker. After all how can you continue to be a Mad Monk for twenty minutes? You can hardly run into the audience and start to wipe them out! It’s the same with African Chiefs and the Hungarian Cosacks, the Lumberjacks, Canadian and Alaskan, once the costume comes off its, well, kind of a downer.
Not so with the Cowboys (that’s Cowboy Jack Cassidy about to unleash his shooter), once stripped of their leather waistcoat and chaps, kerchief, spurs and ten gallon hat, they can still be identified as such with their ring regalia of cowboy boots instead of wrestling boots, their trunks showing off their brand, if they happen to be a villain then a handlebar moustache is par for the course. Add to these a bulldogging headlock as a finisher and you are fully aware of who this guy is and what his background is supposed to be. Hell man, from time to time these dudes, after beating a guy have been even known to hog tie their foe or fire their pearl handled six shooters in the air!
The natural enemy of the Cowboy, the Red Indian, are also resplendent of reminders of just who they are and where they hail from. Away goes the headdress and tomahawk, but the feathers, the braids (or Mohawk) the decorated footwear and face paint remain. In addition you watch enthralled as the red man angered at the injustice handed out by his paleface opponent, lets loose with blood chilling war cries and war dance. He unleashes sizzling tomahawk chops and finishes the match with his bow and arrow submission hold.
The same holds true for the Nazi. The uniform and cap, or if he is a storm trooper the helmet, is discarded, but the military style trousers remain along with the dreaded jack boots with THAT insignia, boots that will stomp his opponent into defeat. If you, the stupid peasants in the audience aren’t making enough noise, not complaining vehemtly enough at his dirty deeds, then he will hold himself ramrod straight, sneer and strut while giving the Nazi salute and oh he noise and the abuse, well it’s music to his ears!
Of course the Japanese when appearing overseas are much the same. They take off the silk robe, the wooden footwear, they throw their ceremonial salt and then they proceed to be very sneaky, sly, cunning. They use Judo chops, nerve holds, rake the fingernails down the spine, use their specially hardened bare feet to unleash Karate kicks and just as they look as all is lost and the crowd is ready to hail his opponent as the winner, the dastardly mysterious Eastern devil, reaches into his trunks and with an explosive sleight of hand throws salt into the heroe’s eyes, momentarily blinding him so he can be finished off with a deadly thrust of a thumb to the throat. There can be no doubt where this wrestler comes from as furious fans leave the arena shaking their collective heads and muttering ‘that dirty Jap’
Then of course we have the Englishman (abroad) Monocles, bowler hats, Mancunians and Cockneys talking wiv a ‘plum in their mouth’. Once they have shucked off their paraphernalia they,? Well they would wrestle, pure and simple and everyone who saw them would know and remember they were English. (The Scots, Welsh and Irish are another story again)!
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