Count Bartelli v Tarantula
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It was always going to be one man’s night, and that man was Count Bartelli, making his farewell appearance after forty-seven years in the ring. But for Bartelli the job was straightforward. All he had to do was to turn up, acknowledge the adulation of his admirers, work his way to victory and thank his fans.
The responsibility of the night lay with the man in the opposite corner, a heavyweight villain going by the name of Tarantula, having recently discarded the bandages and disposed of his Masked Mummy persona. Tarantula had been given the responsibility of making sure the fans went home happy, content that he was a more than credible opponent for the veteran Bartelli as he steered the match towards the inevitable ending that would satisfy the fans. The match ended with a submission win for Bartelli, but Tarantula knew from the start tonight was the night he would go down for the Count.
Seven and a bit minutes it lasted, but within that short time frame it was a match that lived up to expectations, probably exceeding them for many. From the outset it was clear that Tarantula was here for a fight. Never mind Bartelli, Tarantula was ready to take on referee Frank Casey before the bell rang. The tattoos, the straggly hair, the aggression; there was no doubt who was playing the part of the villain, not that anyone in Hanley would need reminding. Bartelli remained composed. And so he should. He knew he would collect his pay packet at the end of the match and could have a lie in the following morning.
The bell rang. Just one fall needed. A bit of a disappointment that. Just one fall. Even 63 year old Bartelli could do better than that. But then we all knew this couldn’t last too long. There would be all the razzamatazz to fit in when it was all over, and those buses didn’t wait for fans, not to mention how long the hall had been hired for.
The Screensport commentators played their part, there was no danger of their professionalism overshadowing that of the wrestlers. Kent Walton certainly wasn’t in the building, but they had done their homework and picked up all his old cliches – Tarantula spoke only broken English (possibly because he came from Portsmouth), a scrambling of wrestling history with Kendo unmasking the Count in 1976 (it was ten years earlier) and his reluctance to talk to them (understandably we think).
Tarantula was on the attack from the start. No time to lose. It was last day of term for Bartelli, but he was still working on a career. Bartelli retaliated with a chop that allowed Tarantula to catapult over the top rope with the precision of an Olympic high jumper. This was not classic wrestling, but my goodness it was enjoyable. Forty minutes of action packed into those seven and a bit minutes.
Frank Casey did everything that we would expect of a referee on this occasion – missing every blindside punch from the Tarantula, ignoring all the rope infringements and even awarding the first public warning to Bartelli. Tarantula tied up in the ropes with his beard pulled, a pummelling for a cornered Bartelli, an impressively high kick from a 63 year old …. this was riveting stuff.
And then it was all over. Just as we were getting into it. A posting from the Tarantula, a shoulder wrench from Bartelli and an arm lever to bring about the submission and arrive at the inevitable conclusion.
That was it. All over bar the shouting. Co-promoter Pat Brogan thanked the Count, the Count thanked the fans, especially his number one fan Vera who he presented with his red satin dressing gown, and Louis Armstrong blasted out over the speakers thanking a wonderful world.
It had been a great night. Fans went home happy and three people went home to sleep peacefully, Count Bartelli and Tarantula knowing they had done a good job, and Vera Wilkinson, the lady who worked as a pottery caster in a teapot factory had a new dressing gown.
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