Thursday, February 16, 2006


In my youth, wrestling was still fairly underground as an entertainment. The days of Gorgeous George. Matches took place in smokey basements of the local auditorium and the folks that went took them very seriously.

I wouldn't of thought about this except for Sandy brought it up.

I had friends that told deathly tales of mayhem and humiliation and made me want to go so bad, but my folks were above such things and we stayed away. As I grew, we would sometimes argue about whether it was fake or not. And it was years before I became convinced that it was.

When son1 was a wee tad of a boy, he was fascinated with wrestling and just would not listen to reason about how fake it was. So I decided to set up a little demonstration.

We were watching wrestling on television one Saturday and one of the wrestlers would jump up on the ropes and leap off onto the other unsuspecting guy and cream him right to the mat. I told son1, "how on earth you think that guy didn't see that coming?"

He wasn't convinced. So I climbed up on the couch until I was standing on the back of it and told him, "Stand right there while I jump on you."

I knew darned well that by the time I launched myself from that sofa, he would run away and I could say, "what makes you think you're faster than those wrestling guys?"

About that time the couch tipped over backwards, flinging me forward in a prone position parallel to the floor, barking my shins and causing me to land painfully across the sofa which was now laying on its back, my face skinned and flattened on the floor.

And, as predicted, son1 moved deftly aside in deference to my landing.

When son1 finally quit laughing he admitted that maybe I had a point. The little bride told me that he was only saying that to make me feel better and then told son1 that wrestling was real no matter what daddy says. I've pretty much stayed out of the discussion ever since.

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