Granted there aren't that many left, but one of the ever dwindling pieces of my childhood came to an end tonight. The Nature Boy is retired.
(Disclaimer: If you don't know what that means, you probably should stop reading right here. The rest of this will seem kind of silly to you........alright, you've been warned.)
Last night at Wrestlemania 24 (wrestling, like football, is not important enough for roman numerals, no matter what the people in charge of each think) The Heart Break Kid Shawn Michaels, 42, defeated The Nature Boy Ric Flair, 59, to bring an end to the greatest career in the history of professional wrestling. Ric debuted in 1972 with Verne Gagne in the Minnesota-based American Wrestling Association. But it wasn't until Ric signed on with Mid-Atlantic Wrestling, run by Jim Crockett, and relocated to the Carolinas, that he became The Nature Boy. Ric was The Heel. Universally hated by the fans, he could make anybody, and I mean anybody, into the crowd favorite just by calling the guy's name. For crying out loud, the National Wrestling Alliance put their championship on Ronnie Garvin because they knew Ric would make him look like a million bucks. And he did.
As I grew up, 11 am on Saturday was sacred time. That was when Championship Wrestling aired on Channel 13 in Memphis. The dignified and respected weatherman Dave Brown got his start at Channel 13, making a little extra money on the weekends by joining Lance Russell at the announce desk for wrestling, and jumping into the ring to clean house when the bad guys got a little too much out of hand. Memphis' memory will tell you that Dave Brown gave instant credibility to Channel 5's move with his jump to their news broadcast. The reality is that Channel 5 hired Dave Brown to help get the wrestling show to follow him. In those days, the Memphis wrestling show was the highest rated locally produced tv program anywhere in America. As Yogi says, you can look it up.
When cable arrived in the early 1970's, the sanctity of Saturday stretched to 6 pm. That's when Ted Turner's little Channel 17, WTCG, broadcast Georgia Championship Wrestling. On Saturday mornings, we inhaled Lance Russell's disgust with the latest shenanigans of Jerry Lawler, his admiration for the little Australian Bill Dundee, his frustration with Jimmy Hart, and his respect for Tojo Yamamoto and golden boy (and company owner) Jerry Jarrett. On Saturday night we studied under the Dean of Wrestling Announcers, Gordon Solie. Lance Russell was as blustry as the wrestlers; Gordon Solie was serious as a heart attack. Solie ruminated on the consequences for later life of a suplex (always pronounced by the gravel-voiced Solie as "soo-play"), explained the risks of the Battle Royal (pronounced as "royale" as in Casino Royale), analyzed the differences between a regular punch and a Flair open-hand chop, and turned a phrase like few great writers have ever been able to do.
Gordon Solie told us how good Ric Flair was. And Flair carried every opponent, the almost-equally-able ones like Rick Steamboat, Terry Funk and Sting, and the ones like the aforementioned Mr. Garvin who couldn't find their way around the ring with instructions in hand. Ric Flair took care of his opponents, and without exception, made them look dangerous. Flair knew the business. He knew that if he insisted that he never lose, or never look weak, then he would have no strong rivals. No strong rivals, then no strong feuds, then no fan interest, then no ticket sales, then no business. Ric made us care. For 36 years.
Wrestling promoters recognized that Ric was money. Beginning in 1981, Ric was given different versions of a World Heavyweight Championship at least 16 times across the years. This, in the days when a world champion wrestled 45 to 60 minute matches 300 nights a year, all over the country and overseas. Ric made people in Atlanta, Dallas, Minneapolis, New York, the Phillipines, Japan, Korea, England and everywhere in between show up to see him get his butt kicked by the local favorite. Because as he always said, "If you want to be The Man, you have to beat The Man." And every wrestling fan, regardless of the language they spoke, knew Ric Flair was The Man.
Long ago, fans stopped booing Ric the Heel. In the last analysis, it really is up to the fans to determine who the good guys are, and who the bad guys are. We wouldn't boo Ric anymore. He meant too much to us. He still engaged in some of the dastardly behavior that had earned him the moniker "The Dirtiest Player in the Game," but now we were grown up and working and would have loved to have been able to get away with doing some of those terrible things to people around us, too. You might almost say that Ric laid the groundwork for the anti-hero, Stone Cold versus Mr. McMahon, fight all authority story that brought the then-WWF back from near extinction in the late 1990's. He still presented himself as the "Limousine riding, jet flying, kiss stealing, wheeling-dealing son of a gun" and we ate it up as we settled into middle age and routine lives. We lived vicariously through the outlaw Nature Boy.
Now he's done. Vince McMahon wrote Ric's impending retirement into WWE storylines several months ago, declaring that the next match Ric lost would be his last match. The time came last night, and Ric did good business again, looking at the lights, doing the job, for HBK. You see, when a wrestler is leaving a company, the tradition says that he goes out with a loss so that someone who has to wrestle again tomorrow will be made to look good. But no one will ever look as good as Ric Flair, The Nature Boy; not even the great Shawn Michaels. And there will never be another like him.
Thanks, Ric. It has been so, so, so much fun. To quote Naitch, "Whooo!"
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Riddle Me This
What do you get when you combine
1) an arrogant self-promoter who can recruit but can't coach,
2) players who couldn't make a free throw if their lives depended on it
3) a team that wasn't challenged all year because of their pathetic conference
4) the team picked by every analyst and every fan poll to be the first #1 seed knocked out
5) a bunch of undisciplined outlaws with no heart?
A TRIP TO THE FINAL FOUR, BABY!!!
Go Tigers!
1) an arrogant self-promoter who can recruit but can't coach,
2) players who couldn't make a free throw if their lives depended on it
3) a team that wasn't challenged all year because of their pathetic conference
4) the team picked by every analyst and every fan poll to be the first #1 seed knocked out
5) a bunch of undisciplined outlaws with no heart?
A TRIP TO THE FINAL FOUR, BABY!!!
Go Tigers!
Friday, March 28, 2008
A Very Long Week
One of the families in our church has a 17 year old daughter and 4 year old quadruplets, all boys. In the time I have been here, this family has become something more than church members to my family, but that has been common for me with families with kids. Truth be told, I often prefer hanging out with the children and youth, and those of great ages, to dealing with those in between. Kids and old people are honest. They tell you what they think. When they connive it is to get their hands on a toy, or an extra piece of pie, not as an exercise of power to beat somebody up. In short, they are fun. I believe, unequivocally, in fun.
That is why I almost had a wreck on Tuesday when the mother of the quads called to tell me she and her husband had taken one of their little boys to LeBonheur for a CT Scan, and had to go back that afternoon for an MRI. Because Joshua had a tumor on the back of his brain.
I can't comprehend things like this. I stand firmly in the biblical tradition of grumbling at such moments. You know, the "We'd have been better off to stay slaves in Egypt than come out here with you" type grumbling. Which means, translated, "We'd be better off without you, God, if this is how you take care of us."
I had what I believed at the time was the worst pastoral situation I'd ever see in November, 1991. A grandfather in my congregation ran over the three year old granddaughter that was the apple of his eye, the joy of his life. The little girl was the child of his son, a young man who had suffered a brain injury on a job, and was left unable to function normally. So his parents bought a house trailer, parked it in their backyard, provided all of the hookups necessary to live, and moved their son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter into the mobile home, and began to provide for them. The little girl had ridden out to the field to feed the cows with granddaddy every day, but somehow, on that awful day, she got out of the back of the truck-chasing the dog, we thought-and in front of the truck when he stopped to open a gate, and she was too little for him to see when he got back into the cab. Pure hell. One little girl stopped breathing that day, but, believe me, all five people in that family died that day.
That day came rushing back to me as Joshua's mom told me what was happening.
At the end of an intense week, I am way past glad to be able to say that it sure looks like Joshua is going to be just fine. He has had his surgery. The biopsy isn't in yet, but the wonderful surgeon that is caring for Joshua has been as positive and encouraging as I've ever heard in 23 years of sitting with families listening to reports from surgeons. He is awake. He knows everyone he's supposed to know. He knows that nurses give shots, and so doesn't want any of them near him (Amen, brother!). His speech is unaffected. They never had to put him on a ventilator, and he was less than 18 hours in ICU after his surgery.
As all this unfolded, I went Israelite all over again. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that better off without you business. And that better off in Egypt thing? Well, not so much." And Christian: "If it's all the same to you, let's just run with this Easter thing. And, by the way, thanks!"
Most days, the Footprints poem is cornier than I can bear. Then there comes a week like this one, and it makes perfect sense.
And thanks, again! Amen.
That is why I almost had a wreck on Tuesday when the mother of the quads called to tell me she and her husband had taken one of their little boys to LeBonheur for a CT Scan, and had to go back that afternoon for an MRI. Because Joshua had a tumor on the back of his brain.
I can't comprehend things like this. I stand firmly in the biblical tradition of grumbling at such moments. You know, the "We'd have been better off to stay slaves in Egypt than come out here with you" type grumbling. Which means, translated, "We'd be better off without you, God, if this is how you take care of us."
I had what I believed at the time was the worst pastoral situation I'd ever see in November, 1991. A grandfather in my congregation ran over the three year old granddaughter that was the apple of his eye, the joy of his life. The little girl was the child of his son, a young man who had suffered a brain injury on a job, and was left unable to function normally. So his parents bought a house trailer, parked it in their backyard, provided all of the hookups necessary to live, and moved their son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter into the mobile home, and began to provide for them. The little girl had ridden out to the field to feed the cows with granddaddy every day, but somehow, on that awful day, she got out of the back of the truck-chasing the dog, we thought-and in front of the truck when he stopped to open a gate, and she was too little for him to see when he got back into the cab. Pure hell. One little girl stopped breathing that day, but, believe me, all five people in that family died that day.
That day came rushing back to me as Joshua's mom told me what was happening.
At the end of an intense week, I am way past glad to be able to say that it sure looks like Joshua is going to be just fine. He has had his surgery. The biopsy isn't in yet, but the wonderful surgeon that is caring for Joshua has been as positive and encouraging as I've ever heard in 23 years of sitting with families listening to reports from surgeons. He is awake. He knows everyone he's supposed to know. He knows that nurses give shots, and so doesn't want any of them near him (Amen, brother!). His speech is unaffected. They never had to put him on a ventilator, and he was less than 18 hours in ICU after his surgery.
As all this unfolded, I went Israelite all over again. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that better off without you business. And that better off in Egypt thing? Well, not so much." And Christian: "If it's all the same to you, let's just run with this Easter thing. And, by the way, thanks!"
Most days, the Footprints poem is cornier than I can bear. Then there comes a week like this one, and it makes perfect sense.
And thanks, again! Amen.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
And Another Thing...
If there is anything more bizarre than The Evil Rush Limbaugh deep-frying John McCain on a daily basis, it is surely the White House Propaganda Office (known to the public as Fox News) being so deeply offended by the preaching of the Rev. Jeremiah Wright, pastor of Sen. Barack Obama. There is just nothing better than a set full of privileged, wealthy, young white people challenging how a 67 year old black man has experienced and perceives America. Having actually spent time in conversation with older African-Americans, I have heard stories of what it meant to grow up in these United States in the 20's, 30's, 40's and 50's as a person of color.
We who feel mistreated when someone moves into our lane without signaling first would have been poor candidates to live through what our black seniors had to endure. And as for Rev. Wright's feelings about America, he served six years in the military, split between the United States Marine Corps and the United States Navy. Wonder how long the Fox News punks...oh, what's the point? They're Chickenhawks just like Bush and Cheney. Always ready to someone else to get their ass shot off to demonstrate the patriotism of the warmongers.
Their objections to his sermons are funny for a couple of reasons: 1) Rev. Wright has been pastor at Trinity United Church of Christ since 1972. The only reason that they are interested in him now is that one of his congregants is running for president; 2) Nobody cares what preachers say. We spend most of our time trying to impact human behavior, but the extent of our effectiveness is typically a "Hey, preacher, you really told THEM this morning!" 3) Rev. Wright's clips, as I have seen them presented, are a challenge to America to be what America is supposed to be, from someone who has experienced America settling far short of what we aspire to. Only the current, pathetic "America: Love It or Leave It" crowd could begin to argue that we shouldn't seek to live into the nobility of the Declaration of Independence and Constitution.
I might never phrase some of Rev. Wright's objections the way he does, but I just don't find him to be the "Un-American racist" that he has been labeled by Murdoch's Morons.
(And, by the way, they mean biggot, not racist. A member of a minority group can be a biggot; such a person can never be a racist. Being a racist has to do with reaping the benefits of being a member of the majority without standing for those who are deprived of those benefits because of their race. For example, whatever my attitude toward my black colleagues, if I unquestioningly spend my career enjoying the benefits of being appointed to the more affluent white congregations of our Annual Conference without objecting to the limitations placed on the appointments of those black colleagues for no reason other than their race, then I am, indeed, a racist. Perhaps not a biggot, but certainly a racist. Because the field is tilted in my favor. That's racism. And that's why members of the minority cannot be racist. Ever!)
We who feel mistreated when someone moves into our lane without signaling first would have been poor candidates to live through what our black seniors had to endure. And as for Rev. Wright's feelings about America, he served six years in the military, split between the United States Marine Corps and the United States Navy. Wonder how long the Fox News punks...oh, what's the point? They're Chickenhawks just like Bush and Cheney. Always ready to someone else to get their ass shot off to demonstrate the patriotism of the warmongers.
Their objections to his sermons are funny for a couple of reasons: 1) Rev. Wright has been pastor at Trinity United Church of Christ since 1972. The only reason that they are interested in him now is that one of his congregants is running for president; 2) Nobody cares what preachers say. We spend most of our time trying to impact human behavior, but the extent of our effectiveness is typically a "Hey, preacher, you really told THEM this morning!" 3) Rev. Wright's clips, as I have seen them presented, are a challenge to America to be what America is supposed to be, from someone who has experienced America settling far short of what we aspire to. Only the current, pathetic "America: Love It or Leave It" crowd could begin to argue that we shouldn't seek to live into the nobility of the Declaration of Independence and Constitution.
I might never phrase some of Rev. Wright's objections the way he does, but I just don't find him to be the "Un-American racist" that he has been labeled by Murdoch's Morons.
(And, by the way, they mean biggot, not racist. A member of a minority group can be a biggot; such a person can never be a racist. Being a racist has to do with reaping the benefits of being a member of the majority without standing for those who are deprived of those benefits because of their race. For example, whatever my attitude toward my black colleagues, if I unquestioningly spend my career enjoying the benefits of being appointed to the more affluent white congregations of our Annual Conference without objecting to the limitations placed on the appointments of those black colleagues for no reason other than their race, then I am, indeed, a racist. Perhaps not a biggot, but certainly a racist. Because the field is tilted in my favor. That's racism. And that's why members of the minority cannot be racist. Ever!)
Nothing Since January 30? Really?
Nice unintended vacation. That's what New Year's Resolutions (I won't go longer than a week in 2008 without entertaining myself in this way!) get you. Or me.
On to various catch up topics:
1) Did I actually manage to sit at the table with the baby and have a rational conversation about wedding invitations (who would get them, what would they look like, etc.) without losing it and weeping uncontrollably? Yes, I did! Darned proud of the old daddy! Then again, it's probably three years out. Still, marvelous self-control.
2) I am thrilled with our Memphis Tigers. Yes, John Calipari is one of the greatest self-promoters in the history of self-promoters. But he's also one heck of a basketball coach, and this is one excellent team he has assembled, and shepherded to a 33-1 record and a number 1 seed in the NCAA South Regional (and number 2 overall!). This Memphis team has the best shot ever at a national title, and yes, that includes the 1973 team that got to the championship game.
3) Nobody is going to enjoy playing the Atlanta Braves this year. Chipper Jones and Mark Teixeira in the middle of the order is unprecedented in MLB history. Never before have two switchhitters of this ability anchored a lineup. Yunel Escobar has done nothing this spring except further his argument to be seen as another Jose Reyes-type ballplayer, and that's pretty darned good. Jeff Francoeur has learned the strike zone, and seems to have had the epiphany that walks aren't a bad thing. If his OBP goes up to .380, Jeff goes to the Hall of Fame on the first ballot. You heard it here first. Last year's New York Mets' ace is this year's Braves' number three. Tom Glavine will follow Tim Hudson and John Smoltz, and that is really, really close to the quality of the 90's Braves' rotation. Kelly Johnson and Brian McCann are another year more mature, and Matt Diaz looks to be ready to take over full-time in left. Some order, some rotation, and Rafael Soriano at the end makes the Braves look very formidable to my eye.
4) The Red Sox should beat the living hell out of the MFYs this year, and I can't wait to watch it unfold, because, as always, the YANKEES SUCK! That's solely for my friend in Knoxville. And me.
5) I probably should update the job situation for the two or three of you outside the family that actually waste the time to read this little piece of my mind. A United Methodist congregation stood up for a preacher under persecution. Yeah, I couldn't believe it either! I do regret that two households have apparently taken their leave over this thing, but if they weren't going to let it go, pitch in and become productive parts of the church, then they needed to go. Their choice, not mine. I'll be here another year, and we'll see after that. Commitments about salary and staff growth have been renewed, acted on, and improved. So we'll see how it goes from here.
6) When it's needed, there is nothing on earth better than a good backscratcher.
7) There's really something wrong with St. Patrick's Day (as celebrated in our fair country) falling on Monday of Holy Week. Actually, it's thoroughly appropriate, as anyone who drives out snakes is obviously doing the Lord's Work, but we've allowed the patron's day to become an amateur hour for dopes in search copious amounts of green beer. Hey, morons: BEER ISN'T GREEN! Just freaking grow up, will you?
8) I have become an absolute devotee of the prehistoric game show What's My Line, airing on the Game Show Network every night/morning at 2 am. In the age of "reality" crap (we've all spent a month on a remote island with no modern conveniences, in a house with a bunch of hideous people placed there to provoke us, or trying to get a job with a jackass tycoon haven't we?) WML as we devotees refer to it, is a half-hour of elegance, intelligence, wit and class from before I was paying any attention to television. Set your DVR/VCR and thank me later!
9) Since the last scribble, I have marked my sixth year with my significant other, for which I am deeply grateful. She's an excellent playmate for this big, dopey kid, and even if I don't tell her often enough, I am delighted that she graces my world on a daily basis. That she is such a fine mother to my daughters (and along with my mother, the finest mother my children have ever known) is just gravy. That wasn't meant to be a shot at anyone, but the truth is the truth.
10) We had the birthday dinner for the son-in-law-to-be tonight. He's a good kid who has every excuse in the world to be a jackass, but has chosen to turn the challenges of his life into becoming something better than what he has known. I am proud to know any young person who has chosen such a path in life. He treats my baby well, and that's all anyone can ask for. My goodness, 19 is young!
11) As much as the Good Friday Tenebrae service means to me, I'm really glad that it runs about 40 minutes. 7 pm worship start, 7:45 departure from the church, 8:30 arrival at home and gathering of the snacks for the Tiger's tipoff at 9 pm. Sounds like a schedule to me! University of Texas-Arlington, beware! Hungry Tigers are looking for you!
On to various catch up topics:
1) Did I actually manage to sit at the table with the baby and have a rational conversation about wedding invitations (who would get them, what would they look like, etc.) without losing it and weeping uncontrollably? Yes, I did! Darned proud of the old daddy! Then again, it's probably three years out. Still, marvelous self-control.
2) I am thrilled with our Memphis Tigers. Yes, John Calipari is one of the greatest self-promoters in the history of self-promoters. But he's also one heck of a basketball coach, and this is one excellent team he has assembled, and shepherded to a 33-1 record and a number 1 seed in the NCAA South Regional (and number 2 overall!). This Memphis team has the best shot ever at a national title, and yes, that includes the 1973 team that got to the championship game.
3) Nobody is going to enjoy playing the Atlanta Braves this year. Chipper Jones and Mark Teixeira in the middle of the order is unprecedented in MLB history. Never before have two switchhitters of this ability anchored a lineup. Yunel Escobar has done nothing this spring except further his argument to be seen as another Jose Reyes-type ballplayer, and that's pretty darned good. Jeff Francoeur has learned the strike zone, and seems to have had the epiphany that walks aren't a bad thing. If his OBP goes up to .380, Jeff goes to the Hall of Fame on the first ballot. You heard it here first. Last year's New York Mets' ace is this year's Braves' number three. Tom Glavine will follow Tim Hudson and John Smoltz, and that is really, really close to the quality of the 90's Braves' rotation. Kelly Johnson and Brian McCann are another year more mature, and Matt Diaz looks to be ready to take over full-time in left. Some order, some rotation, and Rafael Soriano at the end makes the Braves look very formidable to my eye.
4) The Red Sox should beat the living hell out of the MFYs this year, and I can't wait to watch it unfold, because, as always, the YANKEES SUCK! That's solely for my friend in Knoxville. And me.
5) I probably should update the job situation for the two or three of you outside the family that actually waste the time to read this little piece of my mind. A United Methodist congregation stood up for a preacher under persecution. Yeah, I couldn't believe it either! I do regret that two households have apparently taken their leave over this thing, but if they weren't going to let it go, pitch in and become productive parts of the church, then they needed to go. Their choice, not mine. I'll be here another year, and we'll see after that. Commitments about salary and staff growth have been renewed, acted on, and improved. So we'll see how it goes from here.
6) When it's needed, there is nothing on earth better than a good backscratcher.
7) There's really something wrong with St. Patrick's Day (as celebrated in our fair country) falling on Monday of Holy Week. Actually, it's thoroughly appropriate, as anyone who drives out snakes is obviously doing the Lord's Work, but we've allowed the patron's day to become an amateur hour for dopes in search copious amounts of green beer. Hey, morons: BEER ISN'T GREEN! Just freaking grow up, will you?
8) I have become an absolute devotee of the prehistoric game show What's My Line, airing on the Game Show Network every night/morning at 2 am. In the age of "reality" crap (we've all spent a month on a remote island with no modern conveniences, in a house with a bunch of hideous people placed there to provoke us, or trying to get a job with a jackass tycoon haven't we?) WML as we devotees refer to it, is a half-hour of elegance, intelligence, wit and class from before I was paying any attention to television. Set your DVR/VCR and thank me later!
9) Since the last scribble, I have marked my sixth year with my significant other, for which I am deeply grateful. She's an excellent playmate for this big, dopey kid, and even if I don't tell her often enough, I am delighted that she graces my world on a daily basis. That she is such a fine mother to my daughters (and along with my mother, the finest mother my children have ever known) is just gravy. That wasn't meant to be a shot at anyone, but the truth is the truth.
10) We had the birthday dinner for the son-in-law-to-be tonight. He's a good kid who has every excuse in the world to be a jackass, but has chosen to turn the challenges of his life into becoming something better than what he has known. I am proud to know any young person who has chosen such a path in life. He treats my baby well, and that's all anyone can ask for. My goodness, 19 is young!
11) As much as the Good Friday Tenebrae service means to me, I'm really glad that it runs about 40 minutes. 7 pm worship start, 7:45 departure from the church, 8:30 arrival at home and gathering of the snacks for the Tiger's tipoff at 9 pm. Sounds like a schedule to me! University of Texas-Arlington, beware! Hungry Tigers are looking for you!
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