By Scott Bowden
May 1, 2003
Birthday (small) package:
Scott Bowden celebrates his birthday kayfabe style with Bob Backlund and the Masked Superstar
It’s the morning of my 32nd birthday as I type this, so perhaps I’m a little more sentimental than usual about my days as a young rasslin’ fan in Memphis. (Didn’t think that was possible, did you, young marks?) You see, every year on the week of my birthday from 1979 to 1984, my uncle Robert would take me to the matches at the Mid-South Coliseum. One card was really special because it fell on my actual birthday — Monday, April 30, 1984 — with Humongous (inspired from the ROAD WARRIOR movie), managed by Jimmy Hart, defending the AWA Southern title against Jerry Lawler.
SIDE NOTE: The explanation of the Humongous gimmick was rather weak — Hart claimed it was the actual actor from Mel Gibson’s post-apocalyptic sci-fi film. Even the initial video promoting Humongous featured clips from the film. Thing is, even if that WERE the truth — so what? Ooh — a disgruntled actor comes to the South to rassle. For those who think Memphis fans were the biggest marks going because of scenarios like this, keep in mind that Vince Jr. did the same with Zeus shortly after the release of NO HOLDS BARRED. But at the time, I was sure that Humongous was out not only for the Southern belt but also as much gasoline as possible. Billed as “Road Warrior Humongous,” Mike Stark, a former Memphis State University football player, had wrestled in Memphis in the ’70s as “Mike the Mule.” I never understood that moniker until Stark became my high-school football coach years later — for he was a true jackass. Somehow, Stark had gotten the call in 1984 to come back under a hockey mask to take advantage of the notoriety of the Road Warriors Hawk and Animal, whose popularity on Ted Turner’s network had exploded months earlier because of the ever-increasing number of homes getting wired for cable TV. Sadly, the Warriors would inspire a trend of make-up-wearing stiffs entering the biz.
The Hogan effect had already taken a chokehold in Memphis at that time. During that five-year stretch, crowds averaged around 8,000. On the night I turned 13 in 1984, the crowd was around 4,000, despite stars like Randy Savage, Austin Idol, Rick Rude, Jim Neidhart, Eddie Gilbert and Tommy Rich (the New Fabulous Ones) and Harley Davidson (the future Hillbilly Jim working an even lamer gimmick, if you can imagine). Even as a kid, I knew things were changing, but I had no idea to the extent. I was only three months removed from marking out over Hogan’s WWF title win over the Iron Sheik in a packed MSG, which aired on the USA Network. Although Lawler remained my sports hero, the Hulkster was gaining fast, a fact I’m almost embarrassed to admit in hindsight. The crowds were starting to level off a bit in Memphis, in part because fans will not support something they view as inferior. And Vinnie’s celebrity-laden circus, if nothing else, was certainly exciting and had that major-league feel.
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On this night, Lawler won by disqualification when Ox Baker — who was terrible in the ring but had a tremendous heel look — interfered, giving the dreaded heart punch to not only Lawler but also promoter Eddie Marlin. (The latter incident caused announcer Lance Russell to toss down his microphone and run in the ring to help Marlin. I just knew that Marlin had been killed.) Lawler not only didn’t win the belt but he also was carried out — a downer of a birthday. Of course, the rest of the crowd was also reacting as if the balance of the free world hung in the balance — in these parts, the Southern title carried that much heavyweight.
Oddly enough, it was that “New York rasslin’” on cable TV that got me thinking about the magic of the kayfabe days. As I mentioned two weeks ago, I recently ordered 18 hours of Bob Backlund matches in an effort to understand how “the All-American Boy” got over in New York City. (Some critics of Backlund would argue that such a project is far more grueling than the atomic knee-drop or the crosswing chicken-face, two of the WWF champ’s finishers years back.) My parents got cable TV later than most (my dad was, and is, wonderfully pragmatic). The eBay-ordered VHS tapes arrived today, and since my flight back to Germantown (ahem) had been delayed until tonight, I started watching immediately this afternoon.
The tapes aren’t labeled, so I mistakenly put in the third (and last) tape of the series, which covers the latter stages of Backlund’s reign, during which the fans were starting to turn against him. (Actually, the revolution had started about a year earlier when heel “Superfly” Jimmy Snuka captured the imagination of the fans.)
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I watched the first match anyway, even though I had planned to watch the tapes in chronological order, but only because the Masked Superstar (Bill Eadie, who went on to fame later as one half of Demolition) was the opponent. The Superstar had been one of my favorites for a while, perhaps because of the super-villain aspect of his ring attire. Besides, I had seen him on WTBS years ago at my grandmother’s house, one of the first in the city to get cable, I believe. On this taped bout from MSG, Backlund had not yet donned the amateur wrestling outfit he wore in his title loss to the Iron Sheik months later; however, the recent crew cut made him look more ridiculous than usual. I was told that the writing was on the locker-room wall for Backlund the month before, when Howard Finkel’s announcement of the main event (featuring Backlund vs. Superstar) for the next show at the Garden — usually a guaranteed pop — was met with near silence.
But despite his waning popularity, Backlund received huge pops throughout the bout, even for the most basic moves — a reversal of an armbar, a bodyslam and, or course, the dreaded chickenwing cross-face. And you think finishers are over today? When Superstar caught Backlund in a reverse neckbreaker, the crowd went ballistic, if only because they smelled title change. But Superstar, ever the sadistic masked son-of-a-bitch, didn’t even bother to cover the champ. Instead he threw him outside the ring and applied the maneuver again on the concrete — the same move that had sidelined “Backlund protégé” Eddie Gilbert, who had recently injured his neck in a near-fatal car accident in Pennsylvania.
Although I’m not going to judge Backlund here (at least not this week), I will say that the fans were rabid throughout the bout, and screamed hysterically when Superstar applied his finisher. Did they really believe that the action was real? No. But that was when the business took itself seriously — something that is sorely needed today.
My friends back home felt bad for me because of my delayed flight plans, forcing me to spend my birthday here alone. Me? I couldn’t believe my luck. I spent my birthday watching some old rasslin’ — even if it was New York-style — and appreciating what is fast becoming a lost art. In short, I felt like a 13-year-old again — and that’s the best present I could ask for.
