Monday Night Raw
October 28th, 1996
War Memorial Coliseum, Fort Wayne, Indiana
We are back once again ladies and gentlemen with another exciting, riveting, amusing edition of MONDAY NIGHT RAW! Our show emanates once again from the War Memorial Coliseum in Fort Wayne, Indiana (this show was taped on October 21st, 1996, which is why they’re back in the same stadium). The show opens up with a recap from Superstars where Vince McMahon tells us how Stone Cold Steve brutally attacked his best friend Brian Pillman and broke his ankle (which in reality is because Pillman broke his leg in an auto-accident and still wasn’t clear to wrestle). We also get a highlight of Bret Hart in his home in Calgary, and Austin at WWF Studios in Stanford, Connecticut. Not to mention that Shawn Michaels vs. British Bulldog is tonight and it’s time to go!
“The Real Double J” Jesse James vs. Salvatore Sincere
Out comes “The Real Double J” Jesse James to his song, “With My Baby Tonight”. He’s got a fluorescent blue sleeveless cowboy jacket. Vince McMahon shows off some photographs with Jesse James during Desert Storm (they are in fact legitimate photographs of Brad Armstrong in the service). Salvatore Sincere, or better known as Tom Brandi, gets the first bit of offense on the match as he pokes JJ in the eyes. Jesse James bounces back and throws Sincere out of the ring. My question is if WWF is trying to push Jesse James as a moderately decent mid-card wrestler, why is he having trouble in the early going against Sincere?
There’s a hilarious spot where Sal Sincere gets in the ropes, signally for the ref to get James away from him. Jesse James looks up at the entrance and points to distract the ref, punching Sincere and continuing his offense. The in-a-year-to-be Road Dogg is pretty good, not gonna lie. His eldest brother Brad Armstrong he is not; but I’d say he’s probably the third or fourth best worker of the Armstrong family. Sal taunts after getting a little offense, and JJ just tosses him off the apron by running the ropes. This match is so weird. Sal Sincere and Jesse James are good workers, but nobody gives two flying flips about this match. The finish of the match sees Sal Sincere get a full-nelson on “The Real Double J”, but James gets out of it and hits a surprise Pump-handle slam for the victory. A short, sweet, and to the point match.
Alright, we got a Survivor Series promotion package with Dox Hendrix. He starts to plug the program, but who is that coming in the rain on everyone’s parade!? It’s Stone Cold Steve Austin, that’s who! He comes in and says that nobody cares about the WWF Hall of Fame; he yells at Dox to hurry up and talk about Stone Cold Steve Austin. Dox hypes up the matches of Survivor Series, such as Shawn Michaels vs. Sycho Sid for the WWF Championship, and classic Survivor Series match between Triple H, Crush, Goldust, and Jerry Lawler vs. Barry Windham, Marc Mero, Rocky Maivia (The Rock), and Mark Henry. He also mentions The Undertaker vs. Mankind with Paul Bearer in a shark cage above the ring! Finally, we get to Stone Cold Steve Austin vs. Bret Hart– Dox mentions that Stone Cold is in the studios while Bret Hart is at home in Calgary…
Now just wait a damn second; Stone Cold is hot and angry. He goes on a tirade about WWF letting Bret Hart stay at home while they drag the greatest wrestler in the world, Steve Austin, all the way to Connecticut from Texas for this stuff. He mentions, “stuff like this is why someone’s gonna get their a** kicked, Dox”. He then shouts that that’s exactly what’s gonna happen to Bret at Survivor Series. Stone Cold Steve Austin is a gold-mine, folks.
Crush w/ Clarence Mason vs. Aldo Montoya
We’re back in action after the commercial break, because Crush is coming to the ring with his lawyer Clarence Mason! On the phone is Wild-Man Marc Mero who is very angry over what happened last week. He mentions that if he sees Mr. Perfect out in public, he’s gonna whoop his a**. He also mentions that Hunter is now the hunted; Marc Mero is surprisingly underrated on the mic.
Now we have to watch the match. Fantastic; Jim Ross joins us on the commentary, and he mentions that this match is as predictable as watching paint dry; something to that effect. The major point is that Ross says that Farooq will have Clarence Mason’s services. Jim Ross just buried this squash match between Crush and Aldo Montoya. Crush dominates Montoya and win’s in just a few minutes. There’s this whole storyline that Crush was apparently in jail and now fans call him “jail-bird” and it makes him angry. After the match he just starts beating down a “fan”.
A few times during our oddly moderate winter, I noticed Pam’s Toyota had a slight slug when I started it. If you are a northerner, you notice those things. I was suspicious of the six-year-old battery.
Our winter is no longer “moderate.” Sure enough, after the car sat in below-zero temps, I went to start it Sunday and got a “ruhr, ruhr, ruh.” It was the sound of a car that had no intention of starting. A short time on a battery charger got it going. But now my concerns about that battery were less hypothetical. It couldn’t be trusted. Trust is essential in relationships, whether between man and woman, or man and machine.
Pam had to work Monday morning in New Ulm, so I lay in bed that night thinking of options. She could take the older vehicle that doesn’t really warm up and think unfriendly thoughts about her husband. Or she could take her Toyota that might start after sitting out all day. Or it might not, and she would think even unfriendlier thoughts about her husband. Neither of those sounded good. I have to live with this woman.
I decided on Plan C. Plan C was to get the old battery out with cold tools in the dim morning light, run to town when NAPA opened at 8:00, and try to get a new one installed before Pam had to leave at 8:30. Every part of the plan had to work well. I can’t remember the last time every part of a plan worked well. But with frosty fingers, I was able to get her off by 9:00. Frosty fingers being preferable to a frosty marriage.
Cars and trucks that start on deeply cold winter mornings are a blessing. A bowed head and a “Thank you God!” are called for. The Catholic Church has patron saints for all manner of difficult situations. We don’t have a patron saint of starting vehicles in bitter cold. That seems a void in the saintly register. Perhaps when we have a Canadian pope. Or Siberian.
I’d be willing to offer the name “St. Randy” to that unfilled role since there is currently no St. Randy. I have spent many winters trying to start things, so would qualify. Getting some of the old vehicles we’ve had to start counts as a miracle. But apparently there are background checks done in the process of naming a new saint, and those could be problematic. We’ll have to find some other unused name to bless this worthy cause. Maybe a St. Russ or St. Jeff.
All Minnesotans have bad memories of working with jumper cables in dreadful conditions. Red dead to red live; black live to black dead. Lighting up a cigarette is discouraged. Cursing isn’t helpful, but at least won’t cause an explosion.
Speaking of cursing, who invented the tiny battery posts screwed into the side of the battery with a quarter inch bolthead? Did it ever occur to this genius that the battery might need jumping someday? I try not to think ill of my fellow man. But this guy gets barbed thoughts his direction every time I have to hook up one of those mini-terminals. I say “guy” because I assume a woman would never invent something so dumb.
Getting cars to start is one thing. Getting ourselves to start at twenty-below isn’t easy either. Some part of you will be exposed when you step out the door. Eyelids hurt if it’s cold enough. Lips and tongue jell up at thirty-below. Noses fall off at forty-below. Gloves are great if you don’t have to do anything with your hands. Then, if you didn’t have to do anything, you would have stayed inside.
Taking care of animals is another layer of misery. Working on an outdoor hog waterer with ungloved hands in February is not fun. Waterers never have problems in July.
A more pleasant memory of livestock in the winter is bedding with straw. Given shelter out of the wind and a straw bed, animals make themselves quite comfortable. We made oat straw after the grain was harvested in summer. Part of the warming effect of straw comes from the fact that we baled and stacked it in when it was 100 degrees and muggy. Making those bales in the heat and spreading them in the cold is living in the seasons.
A couple times a winter, I pull out my dad’s Knipco kerosene heater to unthaw something. I learned to take it apart before turning it on, because the round housing is ideal mouse development property. My Knipco is fifty years old. Fifty years ago, subtlety wasn’t a thing. When you turn that baby on, it roars and blasts enough hot air to melt a small iceberg.
I looked it up once, and the average temperature around here for the whole year is about 50 degrees. Fifty is okay. We could live comfortably at that temperature. But would we want to? Average would be like the Twins finishing every season with 81 wins and 81 losses. Sure, we’d avoid those ugly years when they’re 30 games out by Labor Day. But there wouldn’t be a 1987 or 1991 with those stacks of memories. I guess we’ll take this week of frigid and a week of sweltering in July to make life interesting.
Speaking of average, there comes the time to set the thermostat before bed. Pam would like it at 90 and I’d like it at 50, so we set it somewhere in the middle. I get up early and turn it up for her. I know she dreads pulling covers back and stepping into chill air. One of these days I’m going to put the Knipco up in our bedroom and turn that on when I get up. She’d like that.
Last time I stepped outside and felt the life-sucking cold on my face, I had this thought. What if this is all a hoax? What if this weather is really the construct of MSM, Mainstream Meteorology? After all, how many times has your weatherman lied to you? It’s possible this is the latest working of the Deep-Frozen State. Or even that shady anarchist group Antifafreeze? CoolAnon is working on pulling back the curtain on this fraudulent weather. Stop the Cold!
Then again, maybe my brain has frost bite.
Time goes by. Sometimes it flies by. I decided I would grab it as it went past. I mean a minute of it. 4:48 PM Sunday, January 24, 2021 to be exact.
I don’t mean stopping time. It’s silly to imagine I could do that. But I wanted to take a moment and put it in my mind. Like pickling it in a jar so it would keep for a while. Writing this is sealing the jar.
Let’s say you are blessed to live to be 80. It’s an impossible number to comprehend, but that’s around 42 million minutes above the ground. Most of those minutes are forgotten immediately after their passing. Some, a relative few, are saved in our personal mental museum. The museum is otherwise known as our memory.
I’m soon to be 65. That’s come to be an important birthday. Medicare, Social Security, retirement: all happen around then, give or take. Friends and I talk about how time goes by faster as you get older. That isn’t strictly true, and it doesn’t make sense. But we all agree. Time goes by faster as you get older.
All the more reason to grab a moment. The particular 4:48 that I picked, I was walking the long driveway by the Schoenstatt Shrine west of Sleepy Eye. That place is a gem, a favorite place. Today, I wasn’t going to pray in the beautiful chapel. Rather, I was interested in the bare driveway.
It had snowed, and I was looking for a clear place to walk. I’ve begun walking after my Achilles tendon surgery. At 4:48, I was about halfway out the driveway. It was 12 degrees, but pleasant enough, almost calm, with a setting sun gamely trying to warm things before falling below the horizon.
My immediate task was putting one foot ahead of the other while watching for icy patches. Walking is not taken for granted after a month being on one foot. In the minute I was claiming for posterity, my head was filled with the usual clutter. I was thinking of chores I needed to do, people in my life, and events of the world.
I am a speck in Creation, so my thoughts went out. How were others spending this moment that I plucked out of eternity? I had a fairly good idea Pam was watching the show she was watching when I left the house. Our three kids are in places east, west, and south of me. Knowing something of their lives, I could make a ballpark guess as to what they were doing. Same for my sister and brother.
Once I got to nephews and nieces and cousins, it was more a scattershot guess as to what they were doing at that exact moment. I thought of two newborns, Pam’s grandniece and my great grandniece. Willa and Raelynn are a few weeks old. They won’t remember this moment or any other for a while. But their little minds are gushing forth with new cells and synapses. That’s exciting, as I cling to the ones I have left.
There was a football game on; I figured some friends were watching that. If not for the virus, I might have been watching with some of them. Off to my left was Sleepy Eye. I could see a handful of houses, some other buildings, the empty Del Monte plant prominent among them, and trees. In my view if not exact eyesight, there were Sleepy Eye’s 3,401 people, plus some on farm sites as I looked around.
Given the time of day, I assume some were preparing food, some watching TV, some reading, maybe cleaning up. Kids were playing. In a rural town like mine, there are a lot of elderly, some of them maybe napping before supper. Being a Sunday, not a lot were working. A few were at places that were open: grocery store, convenience stores, the couple bars. There were probably more people home then than at 4:48, January 24, 2020. A year ago, we were just becoming aware of the virus that would alter our lives.
Of course, it was only 4:48 PM in this time zone. I thought of friends on the East coast where it was 5:48, close to dinner time, maybe happy hour. I thought of a friend in Arizona, 3:48, probably on the golf course.
It was this time of day in this longitude, going back to my junior high geography. I saw from fooling around with the clock on my phone that it was 4:48 in Mexico City, although the sun was higher there closer to the equator. We share a time zone with people in Canada, Mexico, and down into Central America. Otherwise, it’s the Arctic to the north and Pacific Ocean to the south.
There’s 7.6 billion of us humans living right now, so a rough guess might be a couple hundred million were living my moment at 4:48. Other places, people were early in their day, some in the middle of their night. Light to the west, dark to the east. In the words of the song writer John Prine, “That’s the way that the world goes round.”
When I tried to think about sharing this moment with all those fellow travelers on this planet it was a bit boggling. Who knows what we were all doing right then around the globe? A lot of mundane things no doubt. A few billion probably sleeping. A few billion working in factories, fields, roads, hospitals.
If I could see far enough and through the planet below my feet, there were likely loving and kind things going on. And I suppose some bad things. There are multiple armed conflicts around the globe, so it was possible right then, somebody somewhere was trying to kill someone.
A mischievous thought entered my mind. I wondered right then how many people were, well, you know. Those 7.6 billion people had to come from somewhere.
Then, just like that, it was 4:49. My minute was past. On to a new one, one I would soon forget. My pickled and jarred minute will probably fade, too. Maybe I’ll read this in ten years, and it will come back.
Thirty minutes later, it was 5:18, the sun had set, and I’d turned into the breeze. I was cold and didn’t really want to save that minute.
Here at soon-65, I’m as aware as ever that each of these moments is a gift: the forgettable ones and the few remembered. Feel free to grab one of your own. They’re going by fast.
The Minnesota Wild are somehow 5-3 to start the season and have a new and unique feel to them that I personally don’t think we’ve ever experienced on the team for years. There is a clear youth movement in the Minnesota Wild, and that is in part thanks to the work of one mastermind general manager: Bill Guerin. The team dynamic feels fast, loose, and for the first time since the days of Jacques Lemaire, fun.
Let’s first start with the youth movement. There’s clearly some big players still left from the old-guard, Ryan Suter and Zach Parise most noticeably, but there is Jared Spurgeon (who is on the wrong side of 30), Backup goalie Alex Stalock (33), Marcus Foligno (29), Jonas Brodin (27), and Matt Dumba (26). While Spurgeon and Foligno are continuing to play at a decent level, Suter and Parise’s ages are catching up to them at a creeping pace. Of the old guard, the few who definitely have a few solid years left are Spurgeon, Foligno, and Dumba.
The new guard brings much needed speed and skill to the team, including but not exclusively, Karill Kaprizov (23), Marco Rossi (19), Jordan Greenway (23), Joel Eriksson Ek (24), goaltender Kaapo Khäkönen (24), and Kevin Fiala (24). What makes them so unique is that they all seem to mesh together well, and are playing at a high level so early in their careers. Karill Kaprizov currently stands as the odds on favorite to become the winner of the coveted Calder Cup. Kaprizov was drafted by the Wild in 2015 and had been hyped by both the franchise and the fan-base for the coming years. With his incredible debut, it appears that the hype was bang-on. Unfortunately, Marco Rossi is unable to play due to injury and it may be likely he will be bumped down to the Iowa Wild for recuperation before coming back. Khakonen currently stands as the secondary backup to Cam Talbot and Stalock. That leaves Fiala, Ek, Greenway, and Nico Sturm (25). Sturm has shown flashes of excellence at times, and Fiala, Ek, and Greenway’s skills are fairly well known due to having been on the team the last few years.
The next best thing regarding the team is thanks in part to the head coach himself: Dean Evason. Evason is a clear difference from his predecessor, the bull-headed and futile Bruce Boudreau. Evason seems to have garnered the respect of his players and this may have to do with his style of coaching. When Boudreau was hired in 2016, his focus was on slow, safe, and defensive play with offensive flair. This could work with solid goaltending and with a lead, but was disastrous in other circumstances, such as being down several goals or when your goalie is tiring. This was most exacerbated in the 2019, with former goaltender Devan Dubnyk’s career nadir. Instead, Dean has focused nearly entirely on fast, quick paced offense with a notably defensive flair. With the addition of notably solid goalie Cam Talbot (who is likely a one year rental to set up Khäkönen), Minnesota’s defensive woes have seemingly disappeared. The play on the ice is notably faster paced, more exciting, and leads to more scoring opportunities than Boudreau’s old style.
While it is much too early to tell whether the 5-3 start is a fluke, I think in two year’s time, we will possibly get to understand the trajectory that this team is taking. Let’s hope for the best, and let us ride on the capes of Bill Geurin and Dean Evason that maybe someday Minnesota will crawl out of the pit of playoff futility.
By Tanner Hittesdorf
Well, we’re now several weeks past the year 2020 Common Era, and the after-effects are still somewhat present. COVID is still ravaging the United States and other parts of the world, politics have never been worse than since the American Civil War and the Roman Civil Wars of the 1st Century B.C.E, and it seems that things are simply getting worse. However, there are a few bright spots in this new year that should bring some comfort. Allow me to shed some light on them
Perhaps the biggest piece of comfort is the release of a vaccine for COVID-19, which for all intents and purposes, will hopefully end the pandemic by this summer. There are rumors of a worse strain being discovered in the United Kingdom, however, so who knows what COVID will bring for the year of 2020. However, with the government now more focused than ever on stemming the tide of the virus, perhaps the second strain will be defeated faster than the original. There is some time for optimism to linger through the dark clouds of the past before judgements are made.
The inauguration of Joseph Biden for President of the United States had also passed without much incident despite a lot of talk from the folks radicalized right-wing intent. Though both the extreme left and extreme right are disconcerted at the idea of a centrist President, Biden’s message is one of unification and reconciliation. Perhaps things will finally no longer be gridlocked within Congress. With a Democratic controlled House of Representatives and now Senate, perhaps policy will be able to be pushed through and finally new legislation will go into law. There is perhaps no better time for Bipartisan bills to pass than now with Biden, very much a Democratic centrist, in the White House.
Then of course, will be the end of politics being treated as “reality television”, and a joke for cheap ratings plugs of 24-hour news cycles like CNN and FOX. Perhaps politics will go back to a more respectful time when policy was debated and ad hominem was left at the door. Politicians will hopefully focus on healthy and meaningful debate, instead of the negligent dog and pony show of extremism. With time, perhaps cretins like Ted Cruz and Marjorie Taylor Greene (noted Sandy Hook & Parkland “truther” and QAnon member) will be removed from office for their part in stoking the fears and madness on January 6th, and the aftermath of it.
Maybe by the end of this year, fans will be able to go out in full force for their favorite sport without fear of infection. Sports have served as a somewhat serviceable distraction from the madness and horror of 2020, but perhaps with 2021, revived interest in being able to travel to see live events will spark an extra boost to the economy that is desperately needed. Perhaps things will finally go back to normal in a time where some sense of normalcy is wanted by the American public.
So here’s to 2021. May this year be less dreary, and finally have a glimmer of hope that has been missing for the last five years. Let’s hope your year is a good one. We all need a good one.
WWF
In Your House: Buried Alive
October 20, 1996
Market Square Arena, Indianapolis, Indiana
Attendance: 9,649
We arrive at our first Pay-Per-View on our journey through these retro wrestling reviews, and of course it is one of the more infamous WWF shows: In Your House: Buried Alive. The show took place at the old Market Square Arena in Indianapolis, Indiana. 9,649 fans were in attendance for this show, and on commentary we had the regular crew of Vince McMahon, Jerry “The King” Lawler, and Jim Ross. The show kicks off with a promo package for Mankind vs. The Undertaker in the Main Event: a Buried Alive match! We instantly start getting technical difficulties as Jim Ross’s microphone and headset just aren’t working… and I for the life of me cannot tell if this is a rib (a wrestling term for a practical joke) or a shoot (another wrestling term for legitimate).
Out comes Hunter Hearst Helmsley for the first match of the night, and who is it against? Well it’s Steve Austin of course! Wasn’t he supposed to be facing off against Savio Vega!? Apparently Savio got injured, so Hunter is inserted into this match instead. That’s not the only match that’s been messed up on the card. Apparently Ahmed Johnson injured Farooq so now the Intercontinental Championship match is Marc Mero vs. Goldust.
We get a quick backstage promo between Kevin Kelly and “Stone Cold” Steve Austin. Austin is asked if his game plan has changed, to which he states he has a list, and everyone’s on it, so it doesn’t change “a damn bit”. He then declares that Savio Vega isn’t actually hurt, and that he knows it for a fact. He gives Hunter some credit for being a man and stepping up to challenge Stone Cold; Austin then pivots to Bret Hart coming onto RAW tomorrow night. He hopes it’s Bret’s retirement announcement, because if not, Austin is going to retire him then — and that’s the bottom line. Austin also has an amazing jab at people who, at this time, were getting pretty persnickety with some of the language he was using, and in his own words, “they can just kiss my a**”. I love Steve Austin; he is, in fact, the best thing going in wrestling at this time (unless you’re into the nWo).
Steve Austin vs. Hunter Hearst Helmsley w/ His Valet
The match starts off pretty slowly for the most part, quite a bit of stalling and slight wrestling holds for no apparent reason. Austin does flip Hunter the double bird to a pretty remarkable reaction following a takeover hold, and God bless this crowd, even with nothing happening, they start chanting “Perfect” in reference to Mr. Perfect’s problems with Hunter. I actually think the stalling makes a bit of sense, considering they are two heels that nobody likes (except for Austin, everyone likes Austin, even if the WWF doesn’t want you to yet). A great spot is when Hunter slaps Austin, whom immediately slaps the pi** out of Hunter’s face in response. Once the match gets going, it gets good. It actually starts to turn into a pretty solid technical match and this crowd is all into it. Obviously, Hunter is the bigger heel of the match as he cheats constantly to gain an advantage. The middle of the match saw a nice sleeper hold battle where each guy would irish whip each other to prevent being knocked out, ending in Austin hitting a modified Stunner. Austin only got a two count, though. A good sequence in my opinion and I’m actually all for this match. Austin is extremely giving to the future Triple H.
Out comes Mr. Perfect and this crowd goes nuts. He distracts Triple H yet again, who gets attacked from behind by Austin. Austin, unsurprisingly, gets in the face of Perfect, who yells, “Don’t you ever get in my face!”. The cojones of Mr. Perfect is not lost on Austin or anyone else, ladies and gentlemen, because Perfect grabs Austin’s tights and starts jaw-jacking with him. Austin backs off, and like a heel, throws a cup of water on him when he has his back turned. Perfect is hot and tries to go after Austin, but Austin gets into the ring and eats some punches by Hunter. Hunter has the match won as he’s about to hit the Pedigree, but dag-nabbit, he’s still miffed about Perfect stealing his lady and goes after him. Austin attacks Hunter from behind and Perfect still wants a piece of Austin. Look at all of this storytelling (that will inevitably be rendered useless in the very near future)!
Austin has a suplex countered and he takes a bump on the solid concrete, which is ouch, ouch, ouch. The finish sees Austin missing his attack on the ropes, but recovering while Hunter doesn’t realize. Austin hits the Stone Cold Stunner and bada bing, bada boom, Austin wins this match in a pretty scant 15 minutes. This was a good match and a pretty solid opener. I think this is much better than what any Austin/Vega match could have been.
(Action in Motion)
So following the match we got ourselves a video package for the Smoking Gunns vs. Owen Hart & Davey Boy Smith. It essentially recaps the troubles between the Smoking Gunns, with Bart Gunn focused on the tag-team championships, and Billy Gunn more focused on manager Sunny. It all comes to a head when Owen Hart & Davey Boy Smith win the WWF Tag Team Championships from the Gunns, causing Sunny to quit on them. It’s now about the Smoking Gunns fighting to not only win back the WWF Tag Team Championships, but Sunny as well. After the video package we get a Michael P.S. Hayes (until further notice to be referred to as Dox Hendrix) interview with the Smoking Gunns. Hendrix throws right to Billy and asks about Sunny and his obsession with her, and whether Billy can refocus on the championships without her. Billy Gunn mentions that she’s probably still around somewhere and when *he* beats the Bulldog and Owen, *he’ll* get Sunny back. Bart is flustered and tries to spell out that they’re a tag team and thus it’s “*we*”, but Billy just steamrolls over him.
WWF World Tag Team Championships
The Smoking Gunns vs. The British Bulldog and Owen Hart (c) w/ Clarence Mason
We get the WWF Tag Team Championships between The Smoking Gunns and the champions Owen Hart and Davey Boy Smith. Billy Gunn is clearly heeling it up for the crowd, being overly confident and arrogant. Owen and Bulldog are a great tag team in all honesty. This is an okay match in all fairness. Sunny watches backstage, if for no other reason than just to get Sunny involved in the show; she is wearing like a beautiful red evening gown. A major spot is Bart Gunn fighting out of a sleeper hold, and running into the ropes, but look out!
Billy Gunn is in the middle of the apron jaw-jacking with Bulldog and eats the brunt of Bart running into the ropes. Billy goes flying and Bart looks distraught! Billy and Bart are arguing and this is where the story of the match comes in. The Smoking Gunns are just unable to work together as they are just on two different wavelengths. I will say this about Billy Gunn though, he is a great tag-team worker, but a bad singles performer. Once Smoking Gunns start controlling the match though, they find a way to just do enough to stay on the same page. But the finish of the match is actually pretty great. The Smoking Gunns are just about to hit their finishing move on Owen, but in comes Bulldog, who pulls Bart away, causing Billy to miss Owen entirely; Bulldog drags Bart out of the ring, Owen hits the flying side kick on Billy, and gets the 1-2-3 for the victory. An okay match, but it’s obvious Owen and Bulldog dragged Bart to a good match.
After the match in comes Jim Ross who has had enough of these shenanigans and “technical difficulties” which I now believe is a total work. And Jim Ross cuts a damned scathing promo on Vince McMahon and tells everyone that Bret “Hitman” Hart will be in Fort Wayne, Indiana for tomorrow night’s RAW. He takes credit for bringing back Hart, as well. Ross tells everyone that Hart may be bringing a shovel because he’s going to bury some folks. He finally says that since Vince McMahon talks out of both sides of his mouth, he can have two mics. JR leaves in a huff.
Up next is a WWF Free For All interview from earlier in the night with Farooq and Ahmad. We now understand why Farooq is no longer challenging for the WWF Intercontinental Championship against Marc Mero. Ahmed had attacked him with a 2×4 and injured him. Classy, Ahmed, classy. Out next comes Mr. Perfect who is chatting with Jim Ross. He joins the commentary table and I’m all hype. It’s now very clear that the broken mic was just a gimmick; which I’m personally not cool with. Why distract from the matches for this silly cr**? Perfect is so good on commentary.
In the back we get Marc Mero whom Jerry Lawler talks directly to. He asks if Marc Mero is getting cold feet after learning he has to face off against the “Bizarre One” Goldust. Mero mentions he’s too focused on the match. Lawler says that every time Mero and Goldust have faced off, Mero has lost, to which Mero responds with “I’m the champ, and you’re the chump, buddy!” Mero is not the greatest on the mic, but this was pretty funny.
WWF Intercontinental Championship
Goldust w/ Marlena vs. Marc Mero (c) w/ Sable
We start off this match with Goldust playing his usual mind games, but Mero having none of it. Man, when Marc Mero was younger he could fly around the ring was actually a pretty good wrestler. One annoying thing is Goldust’s glitter being all over the damn ring. Goldust sucked in the ring though at this time in his life. He sure could bump like a boss though. There’s actually not much to actually say about this match, it isn’t bad but it’s just so mediocre. It’s actually pretty sad that the Intercontinental Championship was held by Goldust for most of the year outside of short runs by Ahmed Johnson and Marc Mero. A few years ago you had guys like Mr. Perfect, Bret Hart, Shawn Michaels, and Razor Ramon holding it. At least the Intercontinental Championship would see better days real soon.
There is one sequence I will concede was good though, and that was when both Goldust and Mero were running the ropes, Mero hits a big crossbody on Goldust, only gets a two, and then eats a clothesline from Goldust. Immediately afterwards, Goldust gets on the mic and tells the crowd to “shut the hell up”. He then says if the crowd doesn’t be quiet he’s gonna go out there and stick his thong… somewhere. That was a bad strategy as Marc Mero recovers immediately and hits an amazing backflip crossbody onto Goldust. It was a legitimately great spot in this otherwise boring match. I will say the second half of this match is great. Mr. Perfect is having none of what referee Mike Chioda is doing, and goes out to help get Marc Mero in the ring when he’s dumped outside.
Out comes Hunter Hearst Helmsley. Hunter and Perfect jaw-jack for a bit and while Goldust tries to blindside Perfect; it doesn’t work, Perfect knocks his teeth out, and since the ref didn’t see, it’s not a DQ. Mero hits the Samoan Drop on Goldust and it’s time for the finish. Marc Mero hits the Wild Thing and Marc Mero has successfully defended the Intercontinental Championship. Perfect, Sable, and Mero celebrate in the ring.
Up next we get a video package for the biggest hoss fight ever seen this side of 1996: Sycho Sid vs. Vader. The whole story is Vader claims Sid stole Vader’s powerbomb so the two are duking it out for the #1 Contender’s spot against Shawn Michaels at Survivor Series. Out comes Sycho Sid with his awesome theme, and this man is over like Elvis came back from the dead. Sycho Sid is one of those guys who is so awesome despite being so bad at wrestling. He is indeed the master and ruler of the world.
Sycho Sid vs. Vader w/ Jim Cornette
Right before the match, Shawn Michaels comes out to a thunderous applause. He shakes hands with Sid, but talks smack with Vader and Jim Cornette, then kicks Corny in the butt. Aaaaand we’re off! This hoss match has both big men attacking each other with big power moves and I love it. Shawn Michaels joins us on commentary and he essentially spends all match hyping up Sid. Jim Cornette absolutely whacks Sid over the back with his trademark tennis racket, and right away, it is Vader’s match to win. Sid had one of the funniest moves of the entire match: a sunset flip to Vader… a sunset. flip. For reference, that is diving over the top rope and over your opponent while holding their waist to get a pinfall. It was hilarious, to say the least. For reference, Sycho Sid is 6’9″, and Vader is over 400 pounds. It looked hideous, which is why I’m laughing at this.
There’s an amazing spot where Vader eats a big boot from Sid, and Sid tries to do a diving crossbody off the top rope… That didn’t work out the way Sid wanted it to, as he gets caught by Vader, who slams him down like he was nothing. I love this match. It’s not a stellar display of technical ability, but it’s just two big dudes beating the the sh** out of each other, and I’m all for it. Vader goes for the Vader bomb and eats some knees to the stomach. Now comes Sid’s big comeback. Shawn is going absolutely nuts on the mic.
Sid tries to go for the powerbomb, but notices Jim Cornette sneaking into the ring, he lifts the ropes violently to hurt Jimmy’s crown jewels. Turnabout is fair play though as Vader low-blows Sid while the ref is tending to Cornette. Vader goes for a powerbomb of his own, but Sid powers his way out and hits a chokeslam for the win! Sycho Sid just beat Vader! Shawn Michaels and Sycho Sid will be facing off against each other at Survivor Series! Shawn and Sid exchange words but shake hands and part as friends… for now.
Backstage we get Dox Hendrix interviewing Sycho Sid. Out comes Jim Ross to take over the entire interview. Poor Dox, man got cut in by both JR and Vince McMahon. JR asks the tough question: Is Sycho Sid willing to do anything it takes, including injuring Shawn Michaels, to become the WWF Champion. Of course Sid is willing to, he’s the master and ruler of the world of course. Sycho Sid stumbles and mumbles his way through this promo but he gets the point across.
We finally come to the main event of the evening. A video package displays the entirety of Undertaker vs. Mankind. We get some pretty violent clips from between the post-WrestleMania XII RAW, and up until In Your House: Mind Games intermixed with The Undertaker and Mankind cutting promos. This was a pretty good video and honestly, WWF is great at doing videos.
Buried Alive Match
Mankind w/ Paul Bearer vs. The Undertaker
So the premise for the match is pretty simple, the objective is to bury your opponent alive. These kinds of matches could literally only work with someone like The Undertaker. Now this is less like a big hoss match and more a straight up brawl. Mankind and Taker beat the ever-loving pi** out of one another. The first bump of the match is Mankind falling head first into the guard rails, which is ouchies. Mick Foley has probably taken more bumps to the head than anyone in wrestling history. Taker dives off the top rope to the outside and lands on Mankind. This match is okay. They have a giant set placed in the entrance way with the open grave where they start brawling at and trying to throw each other into. Mankind uses a shovel to attack Taker.
They begin fighting their way back to the ring after Taker recovers from the shovel attack quickly, and if you haven’t noticed, there’s a lot of brawling in this match. Just brawling all day long. For over 18 God-forsaken minutes these two men beat the absolute crud out of one another. I was honestly surprised neither man was busted open by the end of it. So they’re back at ringside, and Taker is utterly killing poor Mick. Undertaker is choking Mankind with microphone cords; Jerry Lawler quips “I haven’t seen this much choking since the Cardinals played the Braves”. Timely joke Lawler! They go into the crowd they go, and Taker has an awesome spot where he dives over the guard-rail to attack Mankind. He just barely makes it over the rail because his foot absolutely caught the bottom of it.
Undertaker prepares for his Old School move (walking on the ropes), but Paul Bearer shakes the ropes and poor Taker falls right on the family jewels. It’s here that Mankind takes over the match, trying desperately to disfigure Taker. A reminder that Mankind has a victory over Undertaker at SummerSlam just this year. Taker mounts a comeback but Paul Bearer hands Mankind a foreign object and of course Taker takes the brunt of it. It honestly looks like a taped up pencil or something.
Turnabout is fair play because Taker gives him a taste of his own medicine. Jerry Lawler is such a heel that he says it’s okay if Mankind uses the foreign object in a No DQ match but isn’t okay if Taker is. Taker starts to go after Paul Bearer, and Mankind sneaks up behind him, but Taker sees it coming! Mankind goes down, so Bearer hits Taker with the urn… Taker turns around and looks madder than a pack of rabid dogs. He starts going after Bearer again but he finally eats a chair to the head from Mankind.
Mankind drags Taker back to the site of the grave and now the two begin yet another brawl at the grave site. Into the grave goes Taker… Mankind starts to dig, but Taker drags him in! The two are now fighting in the grave, with Mankind doing everything in his power to stop Taker from coming back. Another great spot is Undertaker hip-tossing Mankind off the set and down to the floor below. Mick Foley, I love you, but this is why you can barely walk in 2020.
Back to the ring they go. Is this getting repetitive? I’m glad you agree. It’s not like it’s a bad match though. Mankind hits a sweet looking piledriver and tries to pin Taker… in a match where pinfall doesn’t count. Taker mounts a comeback here but Mankind is one step ahead. Paul Bearer gives him a chair and DDT’s Taker into the chair. Taker sells it like death… before he of course sits up and begins thwacking the crud out of Mick Foley’s back and face. It is not pretty, ladies and gentlemen.
Mankind tries next to pile drive Taker onto concrete, but Taker backdrops him right onto the “steel” steps. Mankind has to be feeling a lot of pain, because Taker heaves those steps as hard as he can at Mick Foley’s face. Undertaker lands the Tombstone Piledriver, and it is all over for Mankind. Taker literally carries him to the grave. Mankind lands the Mandible Claw right on Taker to get a last minute grasp of strength. Paul Bearer tosses Mankind the urn, and he’s just about to hit Taker with it, when Undertaker grasps Mankind on the throat and hits the chokeslam right into the grave! Mankind is dead, folks. Taker wins the match, thankfully. What a long, long match. At least it was a nice brawl between the two.
After the match, Undertaker tosses refs off the set and continues burying Mankind. From behind comes the debuting Executioner (really just Terry Gordy in a mask, but don’t ask, long story) from behind with a shovel and cracks Taker over the head with it. Ouch. They dig out Mankind and toss Taker in, starting to bury him themselves. This is a painfully long segment and funnily enough several heels from the back hop on out to help bury Taker as “thunder and lightning” strike in the background or whatever. This literally, I kid you not, goes on for over eight minutes. Good God. Crush, Hunter Hearst Helmsley, Goldust, Bradshaw… Why are these guys helping out? Who cares, get that grave filled as fast as possible darn it! Honestly, a nice visual is the fans throwing trash because of the preposterous situation before them.
Eventually the thunder and lightning scare away the peanut gallery as well as Mankind, The Executioner, and Paul Bearer. Everyone thinks Taker is dead… when suddenly lightning strikes a shovel etched in the grave and a hand pops out from the grave (oh how obvious they were gonna do something like this. Thus ends In Your House: Buried Alive. Unironically this is a good show that is kinda underrated. Hunter vs. Austin is probably my favorite match of the night, Smoking Gunns vs. Bulldog & Owen is okay, standard tag-team affair for the time, Mero vs. Goldust is arguably the worst match of the night, and even it wasn’t bad. Sid vs. Vader was a fun hoss-fight that had so many hilarious and awesome spots, and the main event was just one long brawl with big spot after spot. So yeah, for our first Pay-Per-View being covered, pretty darn good. We’ll check up on RAW next time we come together.
I have noticed listening to music and praying occupy the same space in my head. Use of either is a good sign, meaning my life has balance and harmony to it. Less time in prayer and music means I am caught up in the world and it’s immediate concerns, of which there are many.
I thought about music when I noticed our box of record albums in the basement. These are the 33rpm records that Pam and I collected in the Sixties and Seventies, our teen to young adult years. Mine go from pop, Beatles and Beach Boys, to dorm-room, Queen and Zappa, to folk/country, Prine and Kristofferson. I can relive 30 years of my life flipping through those.
Further back in the basement is a box of 45 rpms. These are smaller diameter, a hit song on one side and something forgotten on the other. If Pam hasn’t thrown them away, there are also some 78 rpms down there that belonged to my parents: Six Fat Dutchman and Fezz Fritsche. When I was a kid, we had a phonograph that still turned at 78 rotations per minute.
I have written about my father and the changes he saw in farming. Sylvester’s career began when all power came from animals and himself. When my dad quit, machines ran across the fields and technology was integral. That arc of history is impressive. It occurred to me that listening to music has undergone quite an arc, too.
Since the beginning of time, music was what you sang or played. It was here and now, in the moment, and then gone. Early last century, records became available. When music didn’t have to come from here and now, but rather from a spinning disc, that had to be an amazing thing. That sound in the parlor room on your farm could have been recorded in a studio in a big city far away.
About 100 years ago, radios also appeared in homes. Music came from these, too. There wasn’t even something you watched go around and set a needle on. Sound came from the radio was as if magically taken from the air. It was taken from the air, but it wasn’t magic. It was airwaves, although it might as well be magic to simple folk like me.
The radio of my youth was AM. We had a barn radio and a kitchen radio. both set to KNUJ. KNUJ was the Polka Station of the Nation and had an absolute monopoly on our farm.
Eventually I learned there were choices on the dial. But “choice” did not extend to the barn. Whenever I changed the radio to WCCO for a Twins game or WDGY for music-that-was-not-polka, I would find it put back to 860. The barn was not a democracy; my vote mattered none.
Up in the house, there was the record player. My mom and dad had too much to do to put on a record, so brother Dean and I controlled that. My earliest dancing was to a 45rpm record of the Hokey Pokey. It stands out in my memory because it was blue. Thanks to Google, I found that was recorded by Ray Anthony and his Orchestra in 1953. {By coincidence, Ray turns 99 today, January 20. He’s the last living member of the Glen Miller Orchestra.}
As I got older, the car became the primary place for music. In our teen years we didn’t have to be going anywhere. Driving around was an end in itself. That also was AM radio at first. After dark, booming clear channel stations could be heard literally across America. WLS from Chicago was favored. If you were of a certain age out past a certain hour, you tuned in Beaker Street from Little Rock, Arkansas, of all places.
Music eventually moved from AM to FM on the car radio. But around that time, came a great leap forward. We could choose what we wanted to listen to while we drove around aimlessly. 8-track tape players were a great revelation and cutting-edge technology. Looking back on how clunky they were, it’s difficult to remember that having one in your car was the height of cool.
I remember installing an eight-track player in a 1970 Chevy Impala with the aid of buddy Bill Moran. Neither of us was mechanical, so getting that to work was a grand accomplishment for our 16-year-old selves. One problem. After paying for that and necessities like French fries at the Tastee Freeze, we didn’t have money for tapes. We had Paul McCartney’s Band on the Run and played that poor tape to a premature death.
Eight-tracks weren’t around long. By the time I went to college, cassette tapes had displaced them. Cassette players were not only meant for the dashboard. They also came in the house, where they co-existed with record players for a while. The stereo I bought in college, the big purchase of my life at the time, had turntable and cassette deck.
In time, the records ended up in the box in the basement, and cassettes were king. You could sort of play the song you wanted, after rewinding and forwarding and rewinding some more. They also had a lifespan. After so many plays, problems could be expected. The little tape would crinkle or even tear. I became proficient at repairing family favorites, using a pencil to turn the tiny spindles.
Cassettes, too, became yesterday’s technology. Compact discs, CDs, were the new sheriff in town by the Nineties. Finally, you could play the song you wanted, over and over and over if you had kids.
Alas, now the CDs are in the basement. Music comes through my phone or computer. It plays on a tiny speaker, probably a hundredth of the size of the speakers I bought in college. Now I can choose from any song ever recorded. I’m probably as amazed by that as my ancestors were first hearing sound come from a record player.
From phonograph to radio to 8-track to cassette to CD to internet-download, music has taken quite a journey. It makes me want to do the Hokey Pokey and turn myself around.
by Tanner Hittesdorf
There are no two ways about it. Last Wednesday’s blatant attack on the United States Capitol was abhorrent, ill-conceived, and drenched in seditious rhetoric. It was a clear attempt by an extremely vocal minority that they do not care for the democratic process of the United States of America. This attack on the Capitol is one of the most shocking events to have come during the tenure of one of the most divisive Presidents in United States history; let us not mistake nor lie to ourselves however, he was at the forefront of this callous and shallow attempt of a citizen coup.
For months, the President of the United States has made several claims of voter fraud within several states, all of which he was defeated by Joe Biden within. In court Donald Trump’s lawyers failed to frame any evidence based on realistic facts or convincing theses; instead, they utilized rhetoric as their weapon for a small minority of extremist supporters. Occam’s Razor dictates that, “Of many explanations, the simplest one is likely to be correct.” As such, without proper or decisive evidence, there are two possible explanations of Joe Biden’s successful bid for the President of the United States. One is that voter fraud was rampant in the election and was paramount to his victory. The other was that more people in the United States voted (be that in the booth, by mail, or by absentee ballot) for Biden than Trump. All things being equal, the simplest answer is the likeliest. Therefore, without any evidence to prove otherwise, the realest answer is that Joe Biden won the election fair and justly.
Two other philosophical and logical razors used in debate are the Sagan Standard (named after Carl Sagan) and the Hitchen’s Razor (named after Christopher Hitchens). The Sagan Standard states that, “extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence” whereas Hitchen’s Razor is similar in scope, “that which is asserted without evidence, can be dismissed without evidence.” Both principles are based in similar logic, as is Russell’s teapot, which are all based on burden of proof. The claim that the 2020 United States election was mired in voter fraud perpetrated by the Democratic party is an incredible claim. It comes with a high burden of proof. However, little to no proof has actually been presented when given the opportunity to by several members of the Republican party. Without any evidence, the logical conclusion should be to dismiss the claim without needing to disprove it oneself.
It is terrifying that such events are happening in part to a delusional minority that wishes to destroy democracy as we currently know it. I have no wishes to associate with anyone that truly believes these unfounded, foolish, and seditious beliefs in earnest. I said months ago that it was a time for coming together and looking forward to the future. Several members of society have made me disappointed in their failure to do so, and thus I cannot sit idly by and let them poison the well with horrifying rhetoric. We cannot let domestic terrorists continue to destroy our great nation any longer.
(I completed this Wednesday morning. The events of that afternoon give everything a “before and after” quality, so we delayed running it. Pictures from the Capitol were the type we have seen of places far away or long ago, places where society has broken down. To see them here is beyond disturbing.
Much will be written of that day. I wish I felt optimistic, but I don’t right now. There is no proof in history that a democracy such as ours is anything but fragile. The guard rails of an essential media, an independent judiciary, and basic standards of decency have all been damaged. There is work to be done. If today you hate someone, try to not.)
I like money, but maybe you should quit sending it to me. By “you” I mean the taxpayers of the United States. Really, stop for a while.
A second COVID relief bill passed recently after the usual White House histrionics we’ve come to expect. The bill does some helpful things to get us closer to the end of this pandemic. Like all compromises, it came out of the meatgrinder with a little of this and a little of that. A case can be made for much of it.
But wait. Tucked in among the 5,000 pages, there is another $5 billion for crop farmers. I say “another” because farmers received over $50 billion in 2020 in federal subsidies, fully one third of net farm income.
Some of that 50 billion was in response to a downward spike in commodity prices that followed the March quarantine. Some was additional balm for damage done by ongoing trade wars, trade wars that have done more damage to our country than any other.
I decided to list the payments we received last year for our little piece of Earth. These are typical of most farms, although the amounts vary greatly. When I started to assemble these, I was surprised how many there were. I had forgotten a couple.
I thought of showing the dollar amounts of my payments. Somewhere or another it is a public record. Suffice it to say I could buy a car. Maybe a truck. And if me-of-small-acres could buy a car, farmers with much larger acres could buy a house. And a garage and a car and a truck to park in it. Or maybe a farm.
January: A small crop insurance payment for the 2019 crop. I pay a premium for that insurance, but it is subsidized by the USDA. That’s always seemed a good use of public dollars, alleviating some risk from farming. But there should be limits to acres subsidized. It has facilitated large operations’ expansion beyond what they might have on their own.
February: The third payment from the Market Facilitation Program that began in 2019. This was from the administration without congressional approval. Ten per cent of recipients got two thirds of the money the administration gave to “our great farmers.” Again, some limits would have made sense.
May: The Paycheck Protection Program. This was money meant for small businesses to pay salaries. Farmers were allowed in, even if the employee we were paying was ourselves. I won’t have to pay that back. I also received an Economic Injury Disaster Loan that I will have to pay back. Darn.
May: The Economic Impact Payment, or Stimulus Payment. Sure. Why not?
June: The first part of our Coronavirus Food Assistance Program (CFAP) payment. That was funded in the CARES act that Congress passed.
August: The second part of CFAP.
October: The CFAP2 payment. While the House and Senate were debating another pandemic relief package, the White House was able to find $16 billion more in the seat cushions to send to farmers. There are cynics who look at the timing of this, noting that much of it went to presidential battleground states in the Midwest and see it as a bribe before the election. Such cynicism.
October: The regular Farm Program payment. These are the ARC and PLC programs that no one understands. ARC and PLC payments are apparently based on low prices of the previous year, so give them credit for trying to have a purpose.
These October payments came during harvest, when I cross paths with farmers at the elevator and parts store. We were asking each other with a confused look, “Did you get more money? What was that for?” This was coming as we were harvesting nice crops and prices were beginning to rise. Here’s where it started to get a little embarrassing.
December: the Wildfire and Hurricane Indemnity Program payment. You’re probably wondering when I had a wildfire or a hurricane. You think you would have heard about such an occurrence in western Brown County.
Turns out Congress meant to pay people who had suffered from those catastrophes. Then the USDA nosed in on that for planting problems in 2018 and 2019 caused by excessive rains. Here again we can thank an administration that loves farmers for pushing this “interpretation” of the bill.
These are the same farmers who, coincidentally, voted 80% for the president. Meanwhile, the same administration has made ongoing attempts to reduce funding for nutrition and school lunch programs. Beneficiaries of those programs didn’t vote 80% for the president.
Some of this $50 billion made sense. I continue to believe government spending on agriculture, with a focus on securing a safe food supply and protecting the environment, is a good use of tax dollars. But there aren’t excuses for the slipshod and slapdash ways it is often spent. And another $5 billion during a price rally when so many businesses are hurting? C’mon.
This is made more pertinent amid all the fear and dread about “socialism.” As for government reaching into the realm of private enterprise, there is no better example of socialism than the billions given to farmers.
In hoping to bring common sense to this, it doesn’t help that Collin Peterson was defeated for reelection to Congress from western Minnesota. Peterson knows more about farming than anyone in Congress; it’s not even close. It’s hard to understand why the conservative pro-life congressman wasn’t good enough for the conservative pro-life district he has represented for 30 years. Could be proof of a unique craziness in the air.
In the amazing and glamorous world of professional wrestling, and in the rough-and-tumble world of amateur wrestling, the loss of Daniel “Danny” Hodge at age 88 on Christmas Eve, 2020, marks the end to one of the most iconic legends in wrestling history. Hodge simply is the benchmark of wrestling in both styles. The greatest amateur wrestler to ever live, full stop, and one of the most respected, technical, and incredible talents of the 20th century inside the squared circle, Danny Hodge was a force to be reckoned with. He was someone I personally looked up to as someone who accomplished all he wanted in life and did it with grace and dignity.
Hodge was born on May 13th, 1932, in Perry Oklahoma. Growing up, it was apparent that Hodge would be destined for greatness; he was born with double tendons in his hands, which was responsible for his legendary grip strength. He won the Oklahoma High School Wrestling Championship in 1951 at 165-pounds. Danny would go on to join the University of Oklahoma’s wrestling squad; it was there that a legend was born and the greatest amateur wrestler of all time became famous.
Danny became notorious for being unbeatable at the University of Oklahoma. Hodge went an astonishing 46-0; thirty-six of these wins came with a pinfall, and in all of those wins, Hodge was reportedly never taken off his feet. He would not only win the Big-Seven conference championship three years in a row, but the NCAA Division I Championship in those same years, in 1955, 1956, and 1957. Hodge was the only other man to achieve this incredible feat; the other being Earl McCready in 1928 to 1930. Hodge is also the only amateur wrestler to ever appear on the cover of the luminous sports magazine “Sports Illustrated”.
During college career, Danny Hodge was also a continual Olympic contender. The highlight of his Olympic career was winning the silver medal in middleweight freestyle wrestling in the 1956 Melbourne Olympic. Though he never achieved much success afterwards, it never really bothered Hodge. Hodge was his own man, after all, and he knew he could do whatever he pleased.
When Hodge finally ended his tenure at the University of Oklahoma, the legend had already been etched. Hodge, however, wanted to do more. He became an amateur boxer in 1958, and astonishingly, won the Golden Gloves Championship that same year. He would have a fairly impressive amateur and professional career in boxing, going 17-0 (12 KO) and reportedly 8-2 (7 wins were documented), respectively. Boxing didn’t make Danny feel at home though. He wanted to do more; he wanted to become a professional wrestler.
When Danny Hodge retired from boxing in July of 1959, he started getting trained by professional wrestling legends Leroy McGuirk and Ed “The Strangler” Lewis. His professional wrestling debut would be in October of that same year. Hodge and fellow mat-master Angelo Savoldi had a heated rivalry that led to one of the most bizarre events in the history of that stage of slams. On May 27th, 1960, during a masterful boxing match between the two men, Danny Hodge’s father– William E. Hodge– had interrupted the match and stabbed Angelo Savoldi with a pen-knife. Savoldi required 70 stitches, while the elder Hodge was arrested and charged with “assault with a deadly weapon”.
Danny Hodge’s rivalry with Savoldi culminated in winning the NWA World Junior Heavyweight Championship on July 22, 1960. By 1962, the masterful artist was making close to $80,000 a year; in 2020, that is equivalent to $689,348.34. Hodge’s collective reigns with the Junior Heavyweight Championship would last over 10 years between eight reigns, more than anyone else in the history of the championship.
Hodge’s career was abruptly ended in 1976 after an automobile accident nearly cost him his life. The story of the accident is as incredible as it is fantastical, but truth is stranger than fiction. On March 17th, 1976, Daniel Hodge fell asleep at the wheel of his Volkswagen and crashed off a bridge into a creek in Louisiana. Submerging in over nine feet of water, and with a broken neck, the fearless Hodge used the incredible apple-crushing strength of his hands to save his own life. With one hand holding his broken neck in place, and the other to punch out the driver’s side window of his submerged vehicle, Hodge gathered his strength, leaving the vehicle behind, and walking up the hill to safety. Despite the self-heroics of Hodge’s hands, the broken neck would end his career as a professional wrestler.
The forcible retirement for Hodge never bothered him that much, after all, Hodge was his own man, and could do what he wanted. He remained within the professional wrestling business for the rest of his life, as an agent, advisor, and respected servant of the community of slam-masters. Danny Hodge’s accolades would be recognized as the pinnacle of greatness, when in 1995, the NCAA named the award for the best amateur wrestler of the year after him: the Dan Hodge Trophy; it was amateur wrestling’s equivalent to the Heisman Trophy of collegiate football.
Hodge had remained quietly retired and was content with life in his later years. His grip-strength had never waned, and he could still crush apples well into his eighties. Hodge was named in several wrestling halls of fame, both amateur and professional, throughout the 90’s and 2000’s. In the end, Danny Hodge lived a full life of excitement. He was someone that I think many people should look up to. He did what he wanted, and he did it in his own style. He was someone who never gave up, but decided when he wanted to do something else that interested him. Daniel Hodge is the legend that will live on forever and ever.
