I'm having a real tough time with this. I don't know why anymore than any other high profile murder-suicide case.
I've been a fan of pro wrestling since I was old enough to watch TV. When I was 7, a lady wrestler by the name of Betty Niccoli took me backstage to meet some of the biggest stars of the time. To this day, I've wanted to pass on my gratitude to her.
On Monday, the day of this tragic occurrence, WWE was scheduled to hold their flagship show, RAW, in Corpus. I had to deliver a suitcase to one of the "divas" that was at the arena. To my surprise, security let me in the backstage area. I delivered the bag and got to hang around for a few minutes and chat with some of the wrestlers. This brought back some real fond childhood memories. This was about 2:30pm, our time.
I think it was a little after five when I'd heard on the radio that the show had been postponed. At first, the word was that Benoit had been found dead. It was an hour later when I heard that his wife and son were also dead.
I don't think I've ever went from euphoria to depression so quick in all my life. I was just in that arena, talking with these guys. Not a one of them had any clue that one of their "brothers" was gone. I couldn't help but shed a tear for them.
A whole different situation...
When I first started watching wrestling in the late 60's the majority of the guys were little more than six-one or two and weighed not much more than 250 pounds. A guy over 275 was considered huge. Very few had the chiseled physiques that are commonplace nowadays.
Most of the action was "mat wrestling." You didn't see the high flying maneuvers other than a well placed dropkick now and then. Guys could easily have a 25 year plus career, just because injuries were few.
I don't think the average person understands the wear and tear on these "sports-entertainers'" bodies from a nightly of routine sick "bumps" they endure in just a regular match. Now throw in tables, chairs, ladders, metal trash cans and steel steps, and it's a wonder any of these guys survive a week.
Add to that the continuous pressure put on these guys to just look good. Guys with average at best wrestling talent are given a "push" solely on their physiques or charisma. Chris Benoit was a good example of this. Despite his incredible wrestling talent, his "mic skills" and, until recently, his build kept him mostly at upper mid-card status.
It's not uncommon for most of the guys on the WWE roster to be performing while in some form of chronic pain. The company has several doctors on staff capable of prescribing any number of pain pills and anti-inflammatories, including steroids. Benoit was only one of many that surely had (and have) a steady diet of these medications, just in order to keep performing.
So who's to blame here? Nobody other than Chris Benoit himself. May he burn in hell for his actions. Every one of these guys that performs in a WWE ring has endured the same pain as Benoit. Not a one of them have gone off the deep end like that. And while there is a long list of wrestlers who have died at an early age from complications of drug use or by committing suicide, to my knowledge, only two (Pillman and Guerrero) were under contract with WWE at the time of their death.
I miss the good old days of rasslin'. The action was in (or at least around) the ring. Not in some back lot with an exploding limousine. But that's not what sells tickets and pay-per-views. We push these guys to fly around the ring into immovable objects or each other. And when we go home, they hobble off to the next city and put their bodies on the line once again for our enjoyment.
Meanwhile, pundants and high brow intellectuals will dissect this senseless tragedy and blame the elements of an industry they know little to nothing about. One, that by their own admission is, beneath them.
And the bottom line is that this is no more or less horrific had it happened to a plumber's family. Let's try to pray for the Benoit family, and worry less about things we can only speculate on.
Before you go any further, read this...
Dictionary.com defines a redneck as:
1. an uneducated white farm laborer, esp. from the South.
2. a bigot or reactionary, esp. from the rural working class.
It goes on to say that redneck is A slang term, usually for a rural white southerner who is politically conservative, racist, and a religious fundamentalist. This term is generally considered offensive. It originated in reference to agricultural workers, alluding to how the back of a person's neck will be burned by the sun if he works long hours in the fields.
While I can't say all that fits me to a tee, a lot of it is pretty damn close.
You see, I lost both my parents before I turned 12 years old. I bounced around in a couple of foster homes before moving in with my uncle when I tuned 15. By age 17, I was on my own. I dropped out of school half way through 11th grade so I could go to work full time. Three months after my 18th birthday, I got behind the wheel of a cab for the first time.
I've learned more about life in 28 years in a hack than any philosopher ever could know. I've had multi-million dollar businessmen, celebrities and pro athletes as well as crack whores, drug dealers and murderers in my cab. I refuse to be an airport jockey or one of those guys that only stages at the hotels, so unfortunately, I have to deal with more of the bottom feeders of life than I do the upper crust.
It is the dealings that I've had the bad apples that has made me what I am today...
The Redneck Cabbie.
You see, to escape the madness of the city streets, my mind drifts off (not while I'm driving) to a quiet country town. A place where everyone knows everyone, and a man's handshake is as binding a contract as a person needs. A place where friends gather to down a couple of cold ones and listen to music that you can actually understand the words.
A place where young men don't walk around with their pants falling down over their ass, and young ladies don't have to dress like sluts to draw a man's attention.
I think you get the picture. I know, boring as whale shit to most city folks. I'd be living in a town just like that if it weren't for the fact that there's just not much demand for my line of work in most small towns.
This blog will reflect these feelings. If I seem a little bitter now and then, its just because that wonderful little town is nowhere in my near future, and because the life expectancy of someone in my line of work doesn't extend much past retirement age, all I can do is dream about it.
1. an uneducated white farm laborer, esp. from the South.
2. a bigot or reactionary, esp. from the rural working class.
It goes on to say that redneck is A slang term, usually for a rural white southerner who is politically conservative, racist, and a religious fundamentalist. This term is generally considered offensive. It originated in reference to agricultural workers, alluding to how the back of a person's neck will be burned by the sun if he works long hours in the fields.
While I can't say all that fits me to a tee, a lot of it is pretty damn close.
You see, I lost both my parents before I turned 12 years old. I bounced around in a couple of foster homes before moving in with my uncle when I tuned 15. By age 17, I was on my own. I dropped out of school half way through 11th grade so I could go to work full time. Three months after my 18th birthday, I got behind the wheel of a cab for the first time.
I've learned more about life in 28 years in a hack than any philosopher ever could know. I've had multi-million dollar businessmen, celebrities and pro athletes as well as crack whores, drug dealers and murderers in my cab. I refuse to be an airport jockey or one of those guys that only stages at the hotels, so unfortunately, I have to deal with more of the bottom feeders of life than I do the upper crust.
It is the dealings that I've had the bad apples that has made me what I am today...
The Redneck Cabbie.
You see, to escape the madness of the city streets, my mind drifts off (not while I'm driving) to a quiet country town. A place where everyone knows everyone, and a man's handshake is as binding a contract as a person needs. A place where friends gather to down a couple of cold ones and listen to music that you can actually understand the words.
A place where young men don't walk around with their pants falling down over their ass, and young ladies don't have to dress like sluts to draw a man's attention.
I think you get the picture. I know, boring as whale shit to most city folks. I'd be living in a town just like that if it weren't for the fact that there's just not much demand for my line of work in most small towns.
This blog will reflect these feelings. If I seem a little bitter now and then, its just because that wonderful little town is nowhere in my near future, and because the life expectancy of someone in my line of work doesn't extend much past retirement age, all I can do is dream about it.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
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