Wrestle Mania

I don’t remember how we arrived to this part of the conversation but I mentioned to Jan that one of my best friends when I was little was named Scotty. “Scotty the Body?” she quipped.
“Where did you get that?”
“That’s what Ryan Seacrest called Scott McIntyre on American Idol.”
“No” I explained, “ His name was Scotty, but he didn’t have much of a body. He was just a little kid. I think Scotty the Body is a wrestler. Anyway, it sounds like the name of a wrestler.”
We then popped off several not very original wrestler names that would rhyme with Scotty. Such as Scotty the Haughty, Scotty the Naughty, Scotty the Gaudy, and, here’s the nine year old coming out, Scotty the Pottie.
After this deep cerebral conversation I began to think about the professional wrestlers I grew up with.
In thought progression most of our thoughts are linked one to another but, the end of the chain of thought can be very different from the beginning. To complicate things many of my links have rusted through, causing my thoughts to often jump randomly without restraint or logic.
Oh yeah, where was I?
So I began to recollect my younger days sitting around watching professional wrestling on the black and white Saturday afternoons. These matches were carried on local TV stations with most events originating from the Cow Palace in San Francisco. The wrestlers back then weren’t the steroid pumped cartoon characters of today. Some seemed to be a little on the pudgy side. However, these were real men with names like Pat Patterson, Ray Stevens, Pepper Gomez, Rocky Johnson and the heroic Italian Kenji Shibuya.
I’d watch intently as these warriors of the ring applied choke holds, threw opponents into the ropes, and, jumping from the top of the ring corners, fly through the smoky air onto their prostrate foes, forcing elbow, or knees to the midsection like a pneumatic hammer. There’d be stomps and plops, slaps and chops, pokes and jokes. There really weren’t any jokes. Mayhem is not funny.
In wrestling you always knew who the good and bad guys were. Pepper Gomez was a good guy. Ray Stevens was evil. Stevens talked in a raspy voice that sounded like he’d been chopped a few to many times in the chords. He referred to everyone as “pencil necks”, which I’m sure didn’t make a very good impression with the ladies. When he got the three count on the good guy it was usually because of an illegal hold, hit or slam the referees conveniently ignored. Oh, how I hated him.
The trouble with wrestlers is that they often trade off from being on the dark side to seeing the light. I heard that even Ray Stevens eventually began wearing the white trunks of goodness. I doubted that his conversion was sincere.
The name of a wrestler adds to their mystique. It characterizes the grappler’s persona and encapsulates who they are as fighters. The list that follows are real names of real wrestlers who really are fake but their names are not. Follow me?
There are the powerful names that evoke fear, such as: The Rock, Ultimate Warrior, Samoan Savage, Vampire Warrior, Killer Kowalski.
Then there are names of disasters, weather, earth and beyond like: Gold Dust, Road Dog, Cactus Jack, Earthquake, Shark-Typhoon, Avalanche, Saturn,
Man –Mountain- Rock, Thunder, and Lightning.
Some are named after cities and areas where wrestlers learn their craft through hard lives on the streets. Men such as Bobo Brazil, Vegas Connection, Belfast Brawler and the Flying Dutchman.
Some names are creatively mind boggling, confusing opponents with their wits. Names such as: Isaac Yankem DDS, Adam Bomb, Koko B. Ware, Bastion Booger, Cheetah Kid, Justin Credible, Dusty Roads, and Sparky Plug.
Then there are the just plain odd names who cause heads to itch and jaws to drop like Gangrel, Christmas Creature, PM News, Mini Mankind, Dude Love, The Soup Eater, The Fig Wasp, Balsamic Vinegar, The Shlub, The Keokuk Optometrist, The Tattle Tale, along with separate wrestlers who sound like they’re from a Disney movie: Doink, Dink, Wink, Queezy, Seezy and Cheezy.
There’s also a group of elite wrestlers whose names evoke thoughts that even I could slam them through the canvas mat and grind them into the concrete below. Sissy names that make you wonder what they’d been drinking when they registered their name with wrestling federations. Factual names such as The Really Tiny Mouth, Kimono Boy, Tickles, The Whispering Mime, Phineas Godwinn, The Flying Nun, Diabetes, The Pediatrician, The Old Coward, The Narcoleptic, The Impressionist, The Phonics Expert, Hospice Boy and The Poet Laureate.
Finally, for Christina, there is even a wrestler named…Smarty Pants.
One can understand the need for the alias. Real names don’t convey the message wrestlers want to send their ring foes. For example; Jake the Snake is actually Aureliao Smith. Killer Karl Drupp’s name is really George Momberg. Christian Pallies is that nemesis King Kong Bundy. The Mongolian Mauler? Real name is Peter Miller. I doubt he was even Mongolian. That feared wrestler of my early day Pat Patterson? The name given him by his parents was Pierre Clemant. Then there’s the vicious, high flying wonder name Sunshine with a not too tough name of Victoria Fenners. So what if Sunshine is a girl. Finally there’s the famous Tatsumi Fujinami who pummeled adversaries senseless. His given name is… Tatsumi Fujinami.
Wrestling names aren’t just for wrestlers. Here’s an opportunity for each person to create a name that is instantly identifiable as you, to describe your fierceness in a fight, that causes adversaries to cower into dark corners of sullen madness.
Here are instructions, according to a web site, for creating a mighty warrior name.
1) For your first name use the third letter of your last name. Since my last name is Smith the letter I will use is i.
2) For last name use the second letter of your first name. Make a verb into a noun, such as Abolisher rather than Abolish. With a first name of Greg I will use the letter r.
3) Review to make sure no other wrestlers have the same name. Make it unique, powerful, and expressive.
I looked through the dictionary for incredible identities included in “I”. Some of these are Ice Man, Ideal, Inca, and Infallible.
For the second name I searched for those powerful verbs turned nouns beginning with “r”. Like Relative, Rocker, and Rattler.
Putting these together I come up with: The Infallible Rabbi, The Incan Rassle-Dazzler, The Ivory Rhino, The Indian Reaper, The Imbecilic Roughneck and The Immaculate Rainbow.
However, despite the instructions, I’ve selected only one name that describes my powerful, brawny intensity. The wrestling name that I lay claim to is…
“The Incinerator”. Are you all quivering yet?

Senior Moments

Previously on Michael Park Bark: The lack of actual anniversary celebrations has eluded Jan and I. This year afforded us another unique opportunity to reflect on our 32 years of marriage.
My father recently turned 90 and all of his children were there to show their love for him. Because of the expense of the trip Jan and I decided that this trip would need to suffice for anniversary activities.
So we packed up our “newer” car, the one with 120,000 miles on it, and drove the 375 miles to Castro Valley, California. Dad lives in a retirement community, Baywood Court, where I believe residents need to be at least 70 years old in order to inhabit one of their bungalows. It’s been a great place for him. He’s built social networks, the food and dining room atmosphere are restaurant quality, and a maid comes in to make your bed, clean up your bathroom and leave fresh towels. I’ve asked Jan for the same type of service. The eye roll let me know where this would lead. So now I make the bed, clean the bathrooms and leave fresh towels for Jan to enjoy.
Baywood Court has a guest room that is cheaper to stay in than one of the hotels. Our last visit we stayed at a nearby hotel but for the money paid all we got were noisy drug dealers, screeching cars and the smell of garlic and curry. No, it wasn’t me.
So, we decided to again enjoy the confines of the guest room. Approaching the double front doors to Baywood I was tempted to press the button that automatically swings the doors wide so wheelchaired seniors could roll in. Or rather these days with battery powered chariots, drive in.
The first thing I noticed as we entered the lobby was a row of upholstered chairs where several women were sitting, watching people come and go through the front doors. It was disheartening to think these women were probably waiting for a loved one, who would never come, to whisk them away from this place and return them to their homes. I imagined that this comprised their whole empty lives; sitting, waiting, watching.

Walking by I gently placed my hand on the shoulder of one of the women and compassionately asked why they sat, and waited. She turned her wrinkled face and without a smile replied, “We’re waiting for Harold to come back from shopping. He’s so hunky, we just like to look at him.”
After checking in at the front desk we pressed the elevator button and waited for our ride to the third floor. I noticed all the residents wore name tags, complete with the Baywood logo, pinned to their shirts or blouses, or pajamas, or tank tops. Those from the outside world who choose to tarry awhile with loved ones were also asked to wear a name tag that identified them as visitors.
When the elevator doors opened a gentleman already in the elevator glanced at our tags and spritely welcomed us, “Hello visitors.”
I looked at his name tag and smartly said, “Good morning Jim.”
Jim twisted his shirt so he could see his tag then replied, “No, my name is Baywood.”
Later I was told that Jim, also known as Baywood, rode the elevator for most of the day.
The following is meant as a guide to living with old people. Hopefully we all will be old people someday.
Never try to pass two women with walkers side by side in a narrow hall. Some were in roller derby.
Don’t play pool with a hunched over gentleman named Sammy the Shark.
Stay away from the swimming pool during swimming time.
Don’t mistakenly leave the treadmill on high in the gym.
Never say, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” if you trip over the chair and tumble to the floor.
Don’t think that every light in the place can be turned on by clapping.
Don’t try to break up a verbal battle between men arguing over who has had more surgeries, whose scars are longer or who can remember what they were arguing about in the first place.
If you eat a meal there be prepared to add your own sugar, salt and other spices.
Never jokingly try to take someone’s walker for a spin. They tackle hard.
Remember to always repeat yourself because whoever you’re talking to didn’t hear it the first time.
You can learn about people’s TV viewing habits by walking down the hall. Their TV’s are cranked up like CD listening teenagers in a convertible.
Never complain about odd smells.
Never, no matter how clever you think you are, tape the word “final” next to an exit sign.
Finally, here’s a list of words and terms that should never be used in a sentence at Baywood Court: Remember, older folks usually only hear part of your sentence.
“His license has expired.”
“She passed on having a second helping of dessert”
“Oh, she just went to the other side of the building”
“What! My credit card has been terminated?”
“The losing water polo team made a last gasp effort to score.”
“I’m on my last leg. I need to make an appointment to get another one.”
Lastly, take time to listen. That’s how you learn about admirals of navy’s, symphony violinists, doctors who have healed, trumpeters in famous big bands, and even about a great man who won the Idaho state championship in baton twirling.