The Phantom of the Ring
From the Sublime to the Phannies
Let me begin this column by welcoming Dr. Mike Lano to our Website. Mike is not only a good friend, but also one the people I look up to as a wrestling historian. His knowledge of the history of the West Coast promotions and the Japanese scene is second to none. Couple that with his radio shows and his amazing photos and you have sort of a Renaissance Man of the wrestling scene. I loved reading his piece on the late Mike LeBell and it only confirmed in my mind that, no matter how much we think we know about wrestling, there’s always room to learn something more. The only thing I can think of that’s missing from Mike’s resume is a book of his photos. We can only hope that some clear-sighted editor rewards us with such a book.
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Speaking of books, after reading Howard T. Brody’s Swimming With Piranhas (ECW Press, $19.95). I was happy that, no matter how infatuated I was with wrestling, I never decided to go in as a promoter. I would have been eaten alive, as almost happened with Brody. This is the story of someone who had a lifelong jones for wrestling, and in the end, got not only the short end of the stick, but got the short end stuffed up a most unpleasant place.
Brody was a Journalism major at Florida with dreams of a wresting career in wrestling. Unfortunately, his ideas were way too ahead of the established element, who believed in protecting the business. I never understood these people myself; it was almost as though they had a stake in the game themselves. Having met some of them I was always torn between pity and laughter. Brody, however, persevered in his attempts and almost landed a job at the WWF. He did manage to land a gig with Gold Belt Wrestling magazine, and from there began to expand his wrestling contacts, especially in Florida. Don’t look upon that magazine job as anything special. Having worked for a magazine, I quickly learned the first rule was to have another and steadier job. Do not depend on this as your living because you won’t be living long. Wrestling magazines are just like the sport they presume to cover, and we’ll leave it at that for now.
Gradually he began to get sucked into the business. Times were ripe for independent promotions, as any semblance of organization within Florida had dissolved and the territory was ripe for the pickings. Unfortunately, to reap the pickings, one needs money, which is something Howard never had a lot of. He ran his various operations on something less than a shoestring. They came and went, moneymen that were supposed to provide the golden goose instead ended up giving him just the bird. He tried his hand at a woman’s promotion; not once, but twice, and with the same horrible result. The high point in his wrestling life – if it can be called such – was when he became president of the NWA. But hold on a minute: this isn’t your father’s NWA. No, that went when WCW subsumed it in the 80s. The NWA Howard presided over, to put it in the Yiddish he uses in the book, was nothing more than a group of pishers who wanted to be menschen. They were the ultimate smalltimers in every sense of the word; each believing that he lorded over a vast wrestling empire that would easily wipe McMahon off the map if only given the chance. And the funny thing was that, if they only cooperated with each other, they might have carved out a decent niche. But the pisher mind doesn’t think like that, it only sees the short term, believing others need him rather than the other way around. Brody was a sane man among the inmates, which proved to be a recipe for disaster. He tried his best, and even got himself on Raw, along with Dennis Coralluzzo, as stooges in the NWA vs. WWF angle. In typical wrestling fashion, Brody didn’t have a sport jacket and had to borrow one belonging to the seven foot Kurrigan.
Naturally, the angle petered out; success just wasn’t in Fate’s plan for Howard. Part of the problem lay with his champion, Dan Severn, a fine wrestler who should have been plying his trade in MMA instead of pro wrestling, where he needed not only ability, but also a personality, to get over. This facet he lacked in spades: he would go around challenging the established WWE and Japanese champions to no avail. There were no long lines of fans who couldn’t wait for a Severn-Austin match, and that was that. Brody also had trouble with his fellow promoters, who, as I noted earlier, couldn’t even begin to envision the forest for the trees. The NWA still exists to this day, bigger on paper than in reality. It’s the perfect organization for a dreamer.
One of the other points of interest in the book is concerning the people he met along the way. There are wonderful chapters on Hiro Matsuda, an emigre who could never return to his homeland. Matsuda is legendary in wrestling for his strong style and reputation as a hooker. The list of those he trained for the ring reads like a who’s who of wrestling, but Brody brings us behind the curtain for a look at Hiro Matsuda the person, as opposed to the performer. There is also a chapter on Rockin’ Robin, and if your heart doesn’t go out to this brave woman, then you have no heart. Robin not only went through hell, she lived there for longer than most people could stand while still keeping their sanity. The sister of Jake Roberts and Sam Houston (a really pathetic case), she could have ended up like them if it wasn’t for her depth of character. To put it mildly, Grizzly Smith wasn’t exactly Father of the Year.
Other high points (if they can be called that) concerned Brody’s interactions with characters such as Herb Abrams of the gloriously defunct UWF and Dennis Coralluzzo. Both were con men who ended up conning themselves as much as the victims they preyed upon. It’s hard to envision someone who needs to partner with characters such as these to make a living, but that’s just what Brody did. And that’s why Brody’s book is so compelling. Imagine, if you will, a person who throws away every chance for a normal life, including what seemed a solid and happy marriage, to pursue not a dream, but a nightmare. And he received everything he wished for and less, for this is pro wrestling.
And now, the November Phannies:
WORST IMPRESSION OF PRO WRESTLING: New Mexico U. defender Elizabeth Lambert, who in her conference (WAC) soccer semifinal against BYU elbowed opponents from behind, kicked them while they were down and even yanked one down from behind by her hair. We should bring her to TNA as ODB’s kid sister, YDB.
WORST MATCH: Ayako Hamada vs. Tara. No disrespect intended towards Tara; she is a good worker, no doubt about it. But she is not in Hamada’s league and during the match we can see Hamada sort of slowing down, as it were, to let Tara catch up.
WORST RAW GUEST HOST: Ricky Hatton. This guy needed subtitles when he spoke. Of course, he gets what all recent guest hosts get to do: beat up Chavo.
Dishonorable Mention: Roddy Piper, who promised much, but brought absolutely nothing to Raw.
WORST RETURN: Raven. His time is past. Now he simply looks like a refugee from an Alice Cooper concert.
WORST BOOKING: Mick Foley and Abyss. One week, Foley is bashing Abyss with a barbed-wire baseball bat, calling him nothing but a Foley imitator. Fast forward two weeks; it’s forgotten and they’re the best of buddies.
BIGGEST MYSTERY: The Scott Steiner push. Talk about someone who should be done. Steiner reminds me so much of Dino Bravo.
BIGGEST MYSTERY 2: The Eric Young push. Compared to this guy, John Morrison has a personality. In fact, Eric looks like a monkey that’s been strategically shaved and put into a suit to pass.
BIGGEST MYSTERY 3: Why is Alyssa Flash still jobbing out to lesser talents such as Sarita? What does this woman have to do, for God’s sake?
WORST PROJECTED FEUD: John Morrison vs. The Miz. The Miz is coming along nicely, but Morrison has all the personality of a block of wood. The best thing one can say about it is that it’s there.
WORST TAG MATCH: The Divas “Mayflower” Pilgrims vs. Indians match. Reminds me of a cross between a bad school play and the film Scandal, where the strippers were dressed as Indian maidens and moving to the tune “Running Bear.”
OOPS! WRONG NEIDHART: Jim The Anvil appearing on TNA. Guess they couldn’t get any other member of the Hart family.
WORST MOVIE COMMERCIAL: The Marine 2. Think Cena the Entertainer’s a bad actor? You ain’t seen nothing until you see Ted the Thespian. Warning: Do not eat or drink wile you watch him act. Choking from too much laughter will result.
WORST POSSIBLE TELEVISION DRAMA: Is it me, or does Sheamus seem like Mr. Hyde to Conan O’Brien’s Dr. Jekyll?
WORST IMITATION OF BOOKER T AND SHARMELL: Bobby Lashley, who drags wife Crystal to ringside where she does awfully cute things like badly faking an ankle injury. And Bobby, quit mouthing off about how you’re thinking of going to MMA full time; we’ll believe it when we see it.
WORST MOVIE NEWS: Steve Austin is making a movie called Hunt to Kill. In the film Austin stars as a border guard. He’s taken hostage along with his teenage daughter by a gang of killers. The gang is then double-crossed by another outfit, and Austin’s character is recruited to help track them down to save the life of his daughter. Sounds about as exciting as watching paint dry. Where’s DiBiase? At least his acting could give us much-needed laughs.
Dishonorable Mention: The Iron Sheik is reportedly shooting a movie in L.A. No word as to title or plot, but do we really want to know?
WORST KEVIN NASH NEWS: It was reported that Kevin “Flex” Nash was having a hard time with neck and knee injuries after the TV tapings one week for TNA. Considering Kevin’s work rate, the injuries must have come from running over to the catering table and glomming down everything in sight. The report goes on to state that it took Kevin an hour to get of out bed the next day. Like his matches, it probably took only five minutes but only seemed like an hour. Hell, it takes him an hour alone just getting into the ring.
WORST PORTENT: Dwayne Johnson, while on the syndicated Jack Diamond morning show, opened up on the “great” relationship he shares with Vince McMahon, hinting at a possible return to WWE. In what capacity he did not elaborate, but he did reiterate his great love for wrestling. Considering how badly McMahon needs a good superstar, and the fact it would make not only Cena the Entertainer’s day, but his decade as well, perhaps we’ll see The Rock in the squared circle once again. It wouldn’t be a bad move, considering his movies go to DVD two days after hitting the theater. The Rock seems to have a psychic knack for picking the worst roles in the worst movies. What he doesn’t seem to get is that he’s a supporting actor, not a star. In WWE he can be a star, considering his competition is the likes of Cena and Jericho.
CRUEL AND UNUSUAL PUNISHMENT? America’s favorite jailbird, O.J. Simpson, reportedly spends much of his free time (and he has plenty of that) watching WWE programming. Raw is his favorite, leading us to believe that once released, he’ll be quickly signed up as a guest host. He also likes Smackdown and ECW as well. We have the perfect role for O.J. upon his release. He can go to the WWE as the manager for Cryme Time.
WORST INSTRUCTOR: In an interview for Time Magazine, the Huckster says that one of the benefits of working for TNA will be the chance to give back and help “these young wrestlers who don’t understand the business and the art form.” This from someone who doesn’t understand them either. What’s he going to teach these poor unfortunates, how to no-sell and finish the match with a hold his grandmother could kick out from under? Pity those poor students. They’ll know less coming out than they did going in.
PHANNIE OF THE MONTH, OR “PERHAPS YOU SHOULD CALL DRIVER’S TRAINING INSTITUTE”: Nick Hogan, son of You-Know-Who, was involved in yet another auto accident. This time it was in Los Angeles and was described as minor. It happened as Nick was returning from a charity event for an organization called “Keep It on Track,” which teaches people to drive safely. Nothing else need be said.
– The Phantom of the Ring
You can write to the Phantom care of Karen Belcher
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