This being an absolutely frigid week in Los Angeles, I think we should turn our focus to the warm, summer months. Specifically, I am thinking about the month of August. That is the month for baseball, barbecues, swimming parties, and — oh yeah — WWF SummerSlam. Have I ever told you about the time I went to SummerSlam as a child? Well, why don’t we delve into my memory bank and I’ll try to recall as many details as I can about the most famous WWF event I ever attended as a child.
Let me being by saying, “I remember it like it was yesterday.” Of course, nearly twenty-years of hard partying and old-age-induced forgetfulness have ravaged my brain, so, on second thought, let me begin by saying, “I don’t remember a single fact other than there was a Dark Match before the real event began, in which Koko B. Ware was there.” I loved Koko B. Ware, and I was disheartened just one minute agp to read that he lost to somebody named Dino Bravo. Dino Bravo? Sounds made up to me!
The first official bout of SummerSlam ’89 was a tag team match featuring the Brain Busters and The Hart Foundation. This wrestling blog I’m reading right now because my memory is gone calls it one of the greatest tag team match-ups of all time! I don’t think I recall anything from the match, so you can imagine how intrigued I am by this review. I was a huge Bret “the Hit Man” Hart fan as a child, and I’m sure I was disappointed when he and his partner lost the match. Almost as disappointed as I feel reading about it again, right now! As a child I liked Jim “The Anvil” Neidhart’s goatee because it reminded me of my uncle Bob. Now…not so much. Then again I was a little queer as a child, which you’re probably not surprised to learn considering I was a fan of professional wrestling — a form of entertainment in which old men get sweaty from hugging each other for up to twenty minutes at a time.
In the next match, Dusty Rhodes defeated The Honky Tonk Man. I always kind of enjoyed the Honky Tonk Man. He dressed cool and played the guitar. Well, he carried a guitar to-and-from the wrestling ring. I don’t remember him ever strumming it. Dusty Rhodes, on the other hand, was such a fat bastard I couldn’t stand him. He wore a polka dotted spandex leotard (without the frills) and was fat and danced around the stage like an idiot. Who could possibly root for him? Anyway, he beat the Honky Tonk Man. Who gives a fuck?
The singles match that followed was Mr. Perfect versus the Red Rooster. The name “Red Rooster” sounds familiar to me, but I can’t remember who he was, or whether or not I supported him. I know I always hated Mr. Perfect, because he was such an arrogant douchebag. I’m pretty sure he won via “perfect-plex”, which was his word for a fancy suplex. The wrestling blog says something about Red Rooster injuring his knee mid-match, and that’s why it only lasted three minutes…but who knows if it’s true or not. Wrestling is all fake anyway. “Mr. Perfect” died a few years later. I guess perfection does not include immortality.
Every adolescent boy’s dream: A three-way tag team match between a bunch of muscled, hard-bodied males. Sign me up for two, please! The contestants in this one were Rick Martel and the Fabulous Rougeaus (which in today’s lingo translates to Rick Moranis and the Donkey Punches) versus Tito Santana and the Rockers. The Rockers (Marty Jannetty and Shawn Michaels) were my favorite tag-team, so I once again had my soul crushed when they lost. Probably. I don’t really remember anything because I smoked too much pot in high school and college. These pictures aren’t helping, either. Everybody looks so small. Anyway, I liked The Rockers. You might even say that as a little boy I dreamed about The Rockers “tag-teaming” me and shooting their steroids-enriched load all over my chin.
Through the first four matches of the night (plus the dark one, which makes five), all of my favorite wrestlers lost. Luckily, the tides were about to turn. If they hadn’t, six-year-old Evan would have turned to his mother and said, “Bitch, why did you wake up at five o’clock in the morning to get tickets for this thing, anyway? It’s a fucking fix, and it sucks!” Then the Ultimate Warrior beat “Ravishing” Rick Rude (my mother’s favorite wrestler; I think she has a thing for mustaches) to win the WWF Intercontinental Championship and my night instantly became better.
Look at the joy on my face. From left-to-right that’s me, my sister, my friend Matthew’s father Peter, and Matthew. Matthew and Peter accompanied my sister, my mother and I to SummerSlam. We had a blast. Anyway, back to the review!
Jim Duggan and Demolition (in hindsight this seems like one of the greatest three-way tag teams ever assembled) beat Andre The Giant and The Twin Towers (Akeem The African Dream and…who was the other one?) in a fucking-epic match. I wish I had a picture of this blessed event, because Andre The Giant…just…wow, man. I can’t believe I saw Andre The Giant wrestle and I don’t have a single picture of it! All I have is this lousy OBEY shirt!
Hercules (who?) defeated Greg Valentine (who?) in a match that somehow got a higher billing than any other match to that point. It ended in a disqualification, which is probably why I don’t remember it. Name one other wrestling match that ever ended in a DQ and I’ll buy you a Coke*.
Ted DiBiase beat another one of my favorite wrestlers, “Superfly” Jimmy Snuka — get this — by count-out. He was escorted to the ring by his black man-servent, Virgil. Was the WWF always this racist? They employed one guy named “Akeem the African Dream,” and made a mildly-retarded black man called Virgil escort a rich white scumbag to the ring every night? That’s horrible. So, to reiterate, the two matches directly leading up to the main event of SummerSlam ’89 were decided by disqualification and count-out respectively. Talk about a bore-fest!
The main event was a tag-team match between Hulk Hogan and Brutus “The Barber” Beefcake (accompanied by Miss Elizabeth) and “Macho Man” Randy Savage and Zeus (accompanied by Sensational Sherri). I don’t remember anything that happened other than the Hulk Hogan leg-drop and him pinning Zeus. I guess it was some kind of tie-in with that movie No Holds Bard, which I’m sure I watched no less than 100 times as a child. Brutus Beefcake later broke his face in some kind of accident. He might have died, too. I don’t remember.
So, did we squeal like children when it was all over? Probably. Did I sleep like a baby that night? Most likely. Do I honestly, truly, remember anything other than actually going to the event as I sit here writing this review 19.5 years later? No. Sorry mom. I know those tickets were expensive.
* I will not buy anyone a Coke.
Flying Saucer Attack – Chemicals
Dreamend – The Third Casket
The Incredible String Band – Womankind
Arab On Radar – 2-18-99
