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New York Post rips Wrestling and the fans


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THE wrestling buff may be the dumbest of the species and I must doubt my country is an enlightened nation as long as a citizen of this beautiful land purchases a ticket to this boring pantomime. It is the most incompetent pantomime ever performed for money and kids in the first grade would not tolerate it as entertainment if it were acted by other children.

Such nonsense, which must be considered naive for kindergarten standards, again has incited the people, who are liberty to walk our streets, to slug one another in partisan frenzies. It occurred this time at St. Nick's Arena and before that it happened in the Garden, and what kind of personalities must they be, kicking and punching one another in angry faith because of the silly furies of stupid acrobats.

The sketches never change. There is nothing original about any of it. It is repetitious and graceless. The comedy of the wrestlers is depressing. Their rages are parodies of the old burlesque comedians who used to throw their hats on the stage and jump on them.

It is an insult to the human family even to suspect that anyone would give a night of a lifetime to watching this. It is a calamity that promoters print tickets and sell them to spectators who attend these muscle concerts without being intimidated. If there lives one man who would commit violence on another because he is incensed by what one wrestler does to another, then we should investigate our educational system. We're in a jam.

It is always the same. The fat guy is put in with the handsome one. The obese one is the wrestler and he usually trains by not shaving. It also identifies him as a scoundrel if he needs a haircut. He is a genuine louse if he is fat and grows a beard. The leading men, who are comparable to the juvenile in a tab, frequently pretend they are effeminate and torment their dyed coiffures into rippling henna ridges.

Gorgeous George, a fat hussy, flounced into the ring in the sequin-twinkling robes the strip teasers wear during the first chorus. He minced around, giving the hips the old flip-flop of the soubrette about to drop the handkerchief for the comedian, replying to the taunts of the audience with flirts of his glaring head.

Gorgeous George, doing the nance bit with a female impersonator's coyness, was a hell of a draw for a while. You should see the way the old dowagers carried on. He generally made an appointment at the beauty shop as soon as he hit town and the photographers came down and took his picture, sitting there, saucy and gay, while a broad in a nurse's smock worked on his locks which were the color of the rail in a good saloon. The queens are pass? now but they still do the heavy breathing and it's good man against bad man.

It was the contention of Jake Pfefer, a cynical maestro of the racket, that the clients of his sideshow were degenerates. He had a savage contempt for them. He lived off what he believed was their depravity but thought they should all be bugged.

"People who come to wrestling," said Pfefer, "are sideshow freaks. They are freaks who want to be disgusted."

It was Pfefer who brought the monstrosities to wrestling. Some just shaved their heads clean, grew long mustaches and used shoe polish on their eyebrows and claimed to be Turks or Serbians. Men of many origins fascinated Pfefer but he believed that a man born in the Middle East had a mysterious and slightly vile appeal.

There was one among the numerous angels who, deformed by a terrible disease, would become exhausted if the match was allowed to go past five minutes. He was nearly a basket case, and sickness had turned his bones soft and then expanded them, so that he was lopsided and his skeleton was trying to break out of the anguished flesh. People came to watch him and what an awful thing it was.

Another was The Blimp who was 750 pounds of practically intestines and they had to push him up the ring stairs; his opponents had to be careful with him or he, too, would have died. He sucked for breath like a fish in the bottom of a boat and his sketch ended when he gently lowered himself and sat on his straight man like a wall to wall Buddha. I tell you I had to cover that but there were people there who shook this freak's hand as he came down the aisle and told him how wonderful he was.

Any man who makes a living as a wrestler must be pitied because most of them began by believing they were athletes and no one can enjoy the degradation of it. Some, grotesque in their obesity, are eyesores with their clothes on. When they get into tights, they act as if they were a new strain of pigs that had been taught to stand up on their hind legs.

It is tiresome and it isn't sport but that isn't a story any more. Wrestling had been exposed by every cub who comes into the sports department and no sports editor takes it seriously. God help the wrestlers. They are in a sickening business. But what about the people who still pay to see them? They're really spooks, they're strictly Halloween.


Aug 19, 2002
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What BS!??

Did this guy wake up from a coma that he has been in since 1992? Most of the new wrestlers, the ones that people actually like or hate with passion are athletes.

No one really cares about The Big Show, but they do about Angle. The most boring heels are the one with no abilities, the one with the most heat, are the ones who deserve it.

I really hate these articles and hear them all the time. The only Columnist I read that supports wrestling is Bill Campbell for Espn. That's about it.

They don't like it then why not cover their sports, or are they too bonehead to make up an article on it because the seasons are over!

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