Wrestling had such a hold on me
Greetings, grapple fans! If those three little words bring back fond memories of childhood Saturday afternoons in front of the telly, you can join my gang.
I’m getting moisty-eyed about the wrestling, of course. Not the WWF American rubbish, but the 1970s UK variety, which was at the heart of our culture for a generation.
With Kent Walton ringside at the mic and Dickie Davies at the helm in the studio, it was the main event before the more serious matter of the classified pools check.
Names like Big Daddy, Giant Haystacks, Cat Weezel, Mick McManus and Jackie Pallo were as big as glam rockers, indeed the very best of the wrestlers combined the charisma of Noddy Holder with the machismo of Oliver Reed.
Well, that’s what it seemed like at the time. Now I wonder whether the whole scene was just a bunch of fat men pretending to fight.
I bring this up because of an email received from Wolverhampton Civic Hall in which it was announced that Kendo Nagasaki is to fight again at the very venue at which he was ceremonially unmasked 30 years ago.
Kendo is challenging for the world championship again which, considering he’s been at it since 1964, is a bit like Hilda Ogden going 12 rounds with Laura Croft.
The date of the fight is Wednesday, October 29, if you’re interested.
Kendo’s voice was never heard on TV which added further to the mystery of the man in the red mask who crossed Bruce Lee with Bruce Wayne and made a mint.
I won’t dwell on Kendo because I’m hoping to interview him on Monday when he comes to the Civic in his Rolls-Royce to publicise the bout.
Instead, let’s remember some of the great men, huffing and puffing in Spandex.
Everyone remembers Mick McManus, glorious in black trunks.
Wrestling had two types of contestants. Good guys and bad guys. I think it was based on Wacky Races.
McManus was in the bad guy camp. He was vicious but fair where others were vicious and sneaky.
While much of the spectacle was obviously choreographed, McManus had a brutal streak that was in no way stage-managed.
Despite having a large arse, he was popular with the excitable fans at the ringside.
Unlike Jackie Pallo.
Pallo was the most hated man in English wrestling, for good reason.
He was flash, a big-head and the ultimate self-publicist. He once boasted that a bout he had with Mick McManus attracted more viewers than the clashing FA Cup Final.
He didn’t mention that it took place during the half-time break and many just turned back when the second half kicked in.
Pallo also blotted his copybook when he rolled out of the ring and snogged the unsuspecting wife of Mr McManus.
You didn’t do that sort of thing in the 1970s, unless you were David Bowie.
We really believed that, like darts, wrestling was a proper sport and its primetime slot on World of Sport only reinforced this impression.
Holds and counter holds were where the skill came in. Not the whacking each other with steel chairs that we see in America today.
The very best bit was when too wrestlers would launch themselves from opposite ropes, leapfrog over each other and ricochet off the other side.
Sometimes they’d crash in the middle and one would invariably get knocked out.
It didn’t occur to us that something was fishy when the bad guy usually lost, often when the good guy in the yellow trunks had come from behind, snatching victory from the jaws of large and painful hecky.
It was illegal to fight outside the ring, although this sometimes happened. When it did it was a huge scandal and the talk of the playground or hairdresser’s for days.
One wrestler who was universally loved was Big Daddy, known to his mum as Shirley Crabtree.
Whether he was given a girl’s name to toughen him up or it was simply a mix-up at the Registry Office, I know not, but what Big Daddy lacked in a macho christian name, he more than made up for in entertainment value.
Grossly overwight, he made the majority of tubby grapplers seem positively thin.
His costume looked more like a throwback to the fashions of Margate circa 1899 than sensible athlete’s gear, but he was adored by fans young and old.
He was a regular sight around the children’s wards of hospitals, his charm as offensive as his wrestling style.
He would usually be seen in tag matches where he was teamed up with a young and sinewy pro who would do the general softening up of the opponent.
Only when the opposition was on his knees would Big Daddy be unleashed.
Then, huffing and puffing with all the grace of an obese Staffordshire Bull, Shirl would waddle out of his corner and side-swipe his opponent with his belly.
Great fun until one opponent, King Kong Kirk died after being splashed by the Daddy.
Wrestling was never the same again.
