GCW on July 27th, 2002
by Tanvir Raquib
Posted: 07/28/02
I apologize for my absence. I'll make it up to all my rabid fans right about now. I sent this out to my good friends, David Meltzer and Wade Keller, but I think it's fair to have Cubs use it, too. I promise to write more stuff, because I need to work on my writing; I'm graduating pretty soon with a degree in Journalism. I don't use consistent tense, so it's good to just write, write, write. Have fun reading, niggas.
It was a pleasant evening on July 27th in Astoria, Queens, New York. The winds were present, but not distracting. Yet, there was something in the air that night - it was the smell of professional wrestling.
I was driven out of my apartment earlier than I would have liked, because of my mother inviting guests that did not need to be invited. So, I bid adieu to my friends on the Internet and went on my way to the Astoria Sports Complex.
Upon arriving at the Sports Complex, I noticed the fair amount of females who apparently had breast augmentations and well sculpted males who could easily tear me limb from limb. There were also around twenty fine men and women of the New York Police Department. Obviously, they were afraid that Dusty Rhodes' appearance this evening would cause a riot the likes of the aftermath of Rodney King's first trial.
I bought my tickets before the doors were supposed to open - at 7. Like I said, "supposed to open." Because, no, sir, they didn't open at 7:00 this evening. The long line of people had to wait an extra hour. People did several things - either complain and grouse about the inexcusable wait or harass the Metal Maniac while he put on makeup in his car.
And, hey, it was pretty cool to see wrestlers like Hawk acknowledge the long-suffering fans with his trademark cry, "Weeeeeell!" after he popped out of a limo with K-Kwick, Little Louie and, hey, a man that was actually Hercules Hernandez many years ago. I say that because this man looked rather old - greyed, bald hair and a sizable gut! Also, he needed dentures. I'm sure some of your older readers could advise him on a reasonable dental plan.
When we finally got inside the building, we were told to keep going up, I think. Actually, I just followed everyone else, because my personality is a frail and rather disillusioned one. When we finally got to the site of the wrestling show, we realized that, yes, it was on the roof of the actual building! I recall looking in part-amazement and part-disgust, because I felt a few raindrops outside while I was waiting.
I took my seat and decided to wait for the show to start. Unfortunately, the wait was a rather unbearable one. Someone decided to hire a jazz band to play before the start and intermission of the show. A jazz band at a wrestling show in Astoria, Queens? That's just ridiculous. I entertained thoughts of suicide while this band, aptly named Boxlunch, butchered through classics like "All Around the Watchtower."
At around 47 minutes past the hour, the audience was asked to stand for the national anthem. We stood and paid our respects to this great country. Unfortunately, none of the 200 or so people sang or knew the words. Being the patriot I am, I sang aloud.
Dusty Rhodes was introduced to the crowd. The only transcibable phrase I can recall was "get funky like a monkey." Well, my arms were flailing all evening. Luckily, I wore my Old Spice deodorant before the show! Guess I couldn't get as funky as I could have been.
Ah, yes, the first match of the evening started soon after the conclusion. Ricky Vega had a rather long and plodding match with Matt Stryker. Stryker kept trying to hit Elix Skipper's finisher - and finally, hit it during his third opportunity. However, he still could not pin him. Vega tried emulating Chris Benoit with the rolling german suplexes. The match was very back and forth and ended with a Vega pin with some move. Honestly, I was fighting with a bout of pure ecstacy just as part of the crowd popped for Stryker's headlock.
The ring announcer, a dead ringer for Harley Race, introduced the two young lasses who would escort the wrestlers to the ring. Tara and Jennifer are probably very intelligent, well-read women who read Chaucer nightly, but the crowd seemed to be caring for several of their other, more obvious features.
A tag match was next on the card. Rocko Rock and a non-descript young man with the word "Keith" on the back of his singlet faced off against Doink the Clown and a rather spritely Jimmy Snuka! The euphoria of the evening continued as just the aura of Jimmy Snuka, who might quite possibly be a murderer, seemed to engulf the audience. Jimmy and Doink did prevail this evening, but alas, no Whoopie Cushion.
With the festivities in full swing, it appeared all was joyous. Sadly, things were headed in a vaudeville direction rather quickly. The dreaded midget match followed. Little Louie and King Queasy offered little wrestling in favor of "comedy" aplenty. I think comic greats like Lenny Bruce are rolling over in their grave when they see comedians try to play off the same joke for what seems like an eternity. Well, that's what this match was all about. Is nine minutes of this worth driving in the obvious point that, yes, these two competitors are short and, yes, we should laugh heartily at all of this? Absolutely not. Excuse me while I report all of this to the ASPCA.
After that abombination, I wondered if spending the small fortune of twenty five dollars was worth it or not. The competitors in the next match, K-Krush and Julio Deniro, had a lot to prove, it seemed. This match was also of the back and forth variety - with Deniro generating quite a bit of heat. I'd suppose some of this heat was due to his lack of any remarkable wrestling manuevers. Also, he looked like X-Pac's cousin. People took to K-Krush much better, with smattering of "come on, Truth" coming from different parts of the crowd. Indeed, that NWA TNA is sure catching on here in Astoria! K-Krush did prevail over evil tonight and all was good.
After the match, intermission was called. I proceeded to travel many lands in search of change, including finding the most dreadful vending machine ever constructed. I did get to speak to my brother, though, so I was sure not to deal with any verbal abuse if I came home late. Along the way, I saw a fine young lass readying herself to walk up to Jimmy Snuka, who was about to drive off. I hope she didn't get murdered.
Intermission ended and all was right with the world. There were no rain drops falling on our head. I only got ripped off for three dollars for bottled water and a Hershey's Bar. I was truly soaking in the true fan experience. I was trying to overhear Lil' Jeannie's conversation with some guy in a Rey Mysterio tee shirt, but, hey, if the Internet has thought me one thing, then it's to be as disrespectful as possible to the fine men and women who embark in the sport of professional wrestling.
As the crowd filed back in their seats, the next match started - Crowbar, with his valet, Serena, battled Thunderbolt, a man who looked like he could have played for the 1993 Philadelphia Phillies. This was yet another back and forth match up, but with one slight twist - there was the use of a chair. Yes, the object used for people to sit on was used to engage in warfare this evening. I would be remiss if I did not note the ref bump, as well. Through the shenanigans, Crowbar persevered to win.
But it wasn't the end for Serena, as she had to contest Lil Jeannie in a match that would shake the core of women's professional wrestling. The crowd hurled quite a few rude words at both contestants, especially when Serena's leather thong seemed to be catching a little more than just nightlight. She also has no right to be in the ring when she throws a punch that Steve Austin would wince at. She might have taken lessons from Kevin Nash, as I've heard he's quite the master of this style of combat. Lil' Jeannie was able to prevail tonight, even if the match was overshadowed by the crowd's reaction to it all. This was a little short of being a travesty.
I needed a little respite from all the commotion going on, but there was a Championship match to see, and, by golly, I could not miss a duel of champions! If you were a fan of the 1980's, then this match was a classic. Two overweight men battled it out this evening. The challenger, Metal Maniac, garnered quite a reaction from the fans who had harassed him earlier this evening. The champion, Romanian Warrior, may have lacked in charisma, but was hard to overlook, due to his ever-present belly. Warrior brought an entourage down to ringside with him, so he might have been a little self conscious this evening. Also, it seemed painfully obvious he was the man who brought this promotion to Astoria. This match was short and painless with Warrior shockingly keeping his title. We were all the better for it this evening.
The evening wasn't over yet. We had a main event that would have packed quite a few seats fifteen years ago than it did tonight. In one corner, two withered former superstars, Hawk and Animal, tried in vain to get the crowd on their side, however, a chant of "O-L-D" did reach my ears. In the other corner, King Kong Bundy and Hercules looked more interested in talking about their children than sending the fans into a state of euphoria. Two things about this match stood out to me - Hawk getting off the canvas to get in a fan's face after he screamed that taboo of a word, "Steroids," at him and Hawk hitting a top rope clothesline for the win. It wasn't even a Doomsday Device, which saddened me to a level that I can't even bear discussing. I realized that watching these men, who weren't the same as they were in my childhood, just wasn't very entertaining. I'd like to know if any of those men also felt the same way, as well.
What lacked in thrilling action did not take away from the unique experience I had. I can only hope the reader understands why this show meant so much to my tired soul. It was completely different than anything going on in my life. When you're working fourty hours a week and living in a fairly unexciting community, something as unique as professional wrestling can be quite the release from all the stress and discomfort that comes from everything else about life. I will probably have to suffer through another month of depression before being entertained by the men and women who performed in front of me on Saturday. I just can't believe the Romanian Warrior impacted my life as much as he has. I can't wait to name my first-born after him.
That's my report. Hope you had as much reading about it as I did watching the show.
Tanvir Raquib
grandhassan@yahoo.com