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| Size… Matters? |
Richard Luck |
WWE has a big man fetish, but how long can – and should – its infatuation with inhuman physiques continue?
When it comes to wrestling, there are those who believe that any wrestler can get over and make money. No matter how saggy the abs, no matter how fat the ass and regardless of whether there’s a keg instead of a six-pack, many people feel that if a performer is sufficiently athletic, has a sure enough understanding of ring psychology or has more charisma than Robert Downey Jr on a coke binge, he can make it to the industry’s upper echelons.
Then there is Vince McMahon, emperor of WWE, who has long held that he and, by extension, his audience want to see in-ring performers with bodies that would shame Masters Of The Universe action figures. Of course, Vince also has a thing for his boys being the size of Watusi warriors, but regardless of whether you’re a seven-footer or a shade over 5’2”, it’s a sculpted physique that really gets the big man’s engine running.
The McMahon clan’s body fascism has come at quite a cost. During the early Nineties, Vince was caught up in a steroid scandal that nearly cost him his company and his freedom. Then there have been the deaths, the injuries generated by excess drug use and the smell of impropriety that has long denied McMahon the mainstream acceptance he craves. And now, with a host of fresh performers fighting accusations of steroid misuse, the bad times are back. Of course, they could have gone away forever if only WWE could accept that mortal men aren’t meant to look like Greek gods. Then again, if you can’t convince Vinnie Mac that rape and necrophilia aren’t suitable subjects for family entertainment, you’ve little to no hope of curing him of his core belief – that big muscly men equal bumper box office.
If McMahon’s flesh fetish is rather laughable, it does at least have a solid basis in fact. For when WWE first began to make it big, it was on the back of a man with 24-inch Pythons and a ripped bodybuilder’s torso. No, Terry Gene Bollea didn’t look like an everyday guy but he had a pretty regular name – so Vince re-christened him Hulk Hogan and both the industry in general and the look of its performers were changed forever.
BIG MAC’S WHOPPERS
With Hogan helping to make WrestleMania more phenomena than flop, and his over-the-top image allowing WWE to access new markets like music television, a style-over-substance coup occurred that saw the hard-as-nails pros of old giving up their places to a new breed of musclemen. Often this move misfired, with McMahon finding himself lumbered with Ray “Hercules” Fernandez, Dino Bravo and a bunch of other guys who couldn’t fit into a Mini, let alone stage a convincing fight. But a quick look at the biggest money draws of the era – Hogan, Randy Savage, The Ultimate Warrior – goes some way towards justifying Vince McMahon’s decision to substitute legitimate athleticism for gym-built bodies.
Then the 1994 steroid scandal broke and, for a while at least, everything changed. With one of his giants, Kevin “Nailz” Wacholz, having testified against him and his golden (oh, alright, orange) boy Hogan in disgrace, Vince McMahon had little choice other than to de-emphasise the hard bodies and push bona fide athletes. Which was good news for Shawn Michaels, Bret and Owen Hart and a host of other performers who had been held back simply for failing to live by Vince’s “big is beautiful” maxim.
And so, for a short while at least, WWE started to resemble the World Of Sport wrestling upon which British fans had been raised. While UK audiences had seen a lot of remarkable things since commercial television started carrying wrestling, something they’d been starved of was Charles Atlas clones. Indeed, there were very few muscle-bound athletes, the most famous being “Strongman” Alan Dennison and Tommy England, who channelled his success in physical culture contests into an effective heel persona.
But when ITV started dividing its wrestling coverage between WWE content and British programming, you could be forgiven for thinking that the shows were being broadcast from different universes – one a drab place where stout chaps sporting leotards brawled in front of OAPs, the other an exotic paradise where bronzed behemoths with biceps the size of Bournemouth traded power moves in front of sold-out stadiums.
What made the American shows even more bizarre was the fact that they showcased the talents of Davey Boy Smith and Tommy “Dynamite Kid” Billington – two Northern boys who’d competed in the UK as welterweights but now looked like reincarnations of Conan The Barbarian. With the early Nineties rise of the Harts and HBK, WWE’s wrestling product began to take on a leaner, more familiar look. Unfortunately, the svelter presentation extended to dwindling attendances, a fact that led Vince to return once more to the land of the giants – which is where he’s resided ever since.
THE PHAT LEAN PERIOD
Okay, so his hand has been forced by the odd misfortune and occasional investigation but for the most part, Vince McMahon has put his faith in muscled mastodons, regardless of how inept they might be in the ring. Indeed, it’s hard to imagine who else would have given jobs to the utterly useless Andrew Test Martin, ultra green Gene Snitsky, the immobile Matt Morgan or the lactating ex-bank robber Nathan Jones, and harder still to conceive of another head of a wrestling federation who’d put a belt on someone with as limited a repertoire as Dave Batista. And if you thought Vince was proud when he became a grandfather, imagine how chuffed he was when he found out that his future son-in-law had given The Clique the flick and decided to spend more time with his new best friend, gym.
But while the big boss sees beef as the gateway to ticket sales, he’s clearly forgetting that when the WWE was at its hottest, his marquee talents were anything but cookie-cutter colossuses. Sure, The Rock was a helluva physical specimen but he was anything but the Schwarzenegger-style “condom full of walnuts”. And while he measured a touch less than 6’5”, Dwayne Johnson’s physical presence was still dwarfed by his personality. Likewise, Stone Cold Steve Austin was a big man whose charisma swelled his dimensions. A muscular athlete in his younger years, Austin’s catalogue of injuries meant that he was in pretty terrible shape throughout his WWE title runs. But as long as he was strong enough to raise his middle fingers and summon “Hell yeah!”, the crowd couldn’t have been happier.
And then there was Mick Foley. A man large enough to require his own postcode, the three-time champ was the antithesis of the WWE superstar. But thanks to great mic skills, a strong understanding of ring craft and a generous attitude towards putting others over, the three-time, three-time, three-time New York Times bestselling author was loved by crowds and locker rooms alike. For years, Vince McMahon scoffed at the idea that anyone with an arse the size of Alabama could sell out arenas. But at the height of the Monday Night Wars, a combination of daring and desperation took a man to the top of the WWE mountain that didn’t look like an athlete – instead, he resembled the people who paid money to see him pull a sock out of his jock.
ATHLETES IN ACTION
If Vince McMahon has selective amnesia about the era when mortal men made him a multi-millionaire, others have more readily seized upon the appeal of the ordinary athlete. Take TNA – a quick look at the organisation’s roster reveals a shortage of goliaths and a surplus of supreme performers. None of which is to suggest that AJ Styles, Christian Cage or Chrises Harris, Daniels and Sabin aren’t well put together. However, their physiques are plausible in a way that, say, Chris Masters’ simply isn’t.
As for the big men in TNA, it’s neatly ironic that most of them have enhancement roles. Scott Steiner and Travis Tomko are in no danger of holding major honours, whatever Mrs Rechsteiner’s little boy might think; rather, their job is to lend credence to the badass credentials of Samoa Joe and Abyss. And speaking of these gentlemen, it’s incredibly refreshing to see a brace of monsters that don’t look like statues made flesh. Although it’s obvious that neither man is afraid of the buffet table, Joe’s belly and Abyss’ absent muscle definition in no way detract from their standing as legitimate destroyers.
Joe’s relatively everyday appearance is almost to his advantage; after all, if a 20-stoner like Joel Seanoa can pull off the Muscle Buster, what price your local comic book guy sticking you in the Coquina Clutch? But Joe and co aren’t the only men in the broader fight game who don’t need devastating abs to be absolutely devastating. While there’s a lot to be said about the rise of the UFC and MMA, there’s no denying that both have changed the general public’s concept of what ass-kickers actually look like.
Back in the late Eighties, one look at Lex Luger’s perfect pecs was enough to put people off the idea of crossing Larry Pfohl. Some 20 years later, it’s widely recognised that truly lethal fighters don’t look like World’s Strongest Man contenders, they look like Chuck Liddell, Tito Ortiz, Mirko Cro Cop, Michael Bisping or even crumbly old Kazushi Sakuraba – guys who clearly know what to do with a dumbbell but who are better skilled at setting about a punch bag. And while there is size-enhancing drug use in the ultimate fight game, the athletes are more intent on becoming better fighters than walking Nutrimax ads.
THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME
Speaking of lean ‘n’ lethal competitors, WWE isn’t without its strong, undersized superstars. Whatever his ex-wife might say, Edge carries off his kayfabed 240 pounds pretty convincingly and there are also things to be said for MVP, Paul London, Brian Kendrick, Dave Finlay and the host of other performers who don’t look to have taken the Boots shortcut to success.
That said, there are a number of examples where better booking could have halved the number of hours spent in the gym. When Rey Misterio Jr first appeared in WCW, he was a small bloke with a skinny physique and an amazing moveset. Now, in 2007, Rey Mysterio is a small bloke with a body that’s so overdeveloped it’s no wonder that his knees keep giving way. The thing is, while his muscularity is amazing, Rey is still only a tad over five feet tall and even with decent abs, he doesn’t seem much of a match for Mark Henry, The Great Khali or any of the other guys he was fed to during his disastrous World Title run.
Now imagine how different things might have been had WWE taken a leaf out of ECW’s book when it came to putting belts on Mikey Whipwreck. Although he might have had a few inches on Rey, James Watson’s puppy fat and baby face made him an even less likely candidate for major honours. But by booking Whipwreck as an underdog who scored fluke wins after bumping like a madman, Paul Heyman got his boy over big time. Admittedly, such a gimmick doesn’t have the longest of legs, but you can’t help thinking it would have benefited Rey far more than six weeks of emphatic defeats. That is, unless Vince wanted to book the champ into oblivion in order to prove that little blokes can’t get the job done…
For the rest of this feature, check out issue 16 of FIGHTING SPIRIT – available at WH Smith and all good retailers. (For US readers we are now carried at Borders, so check for local availability or click here to subscribe.)
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