Parts Unknown

Parts Unknown Wrestling, Gimmicks and Other Works

Also by Michael Holmes Got No Flag at All Satellite Dishes from the Future Bakery james i wanted to ask you 21 Hotels Watermelon Row

Parts Unknown Wrestling, Gimmicks and Other Works

Michael Holmes

A4.A.M.BOOK

INSOMNIAC PRESS

Copyright © 2004 by Michael Holmes All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a license from Access Copyright, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M5E 1E5. Edited by Paul Vermeersch Copy edited by Emily Schultz Cover and interior design by Darren Holmes Author photo by Amy Holmes National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data Holmes, Michael, 1966Parts unknown : wrestling, gimmicks and other works / Michael Holmes. Poems. ISBN 1-894663-59-4 I. Title. PS8565.O6366P37 2004

C811'.54

C2003-907382-3

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Canada Council, the Ontario Arts Council and the Department of Canadian Heritage through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program. We acknowledge the support of the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporation's Ontario Book Initiative. Printed and bound in Canada Insomniac Press 192 Spadina Avenue, Suite 403 Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M5T 2G2 www.insomniacpress.com

for Darren and William Holmes

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Contents Parts Unknown Battle Royal

11 15

The Godlike Genius of Scotty Too Hotty They Live

17

18

A Man, Barely Alive Enter Sandman

19

20

An Oklahoma Fight Song at the Spanish Announce Table

21

Eat You Hart Out, Rick Springfield Lita and the Swanton

23

It's True, It's Damn True Slapnuts

22

24

25

The Walls of Jericho

26

The People's BBQ

27

The True Eventual Story of Badd Billy Gunn The Wrath of Kane

30

To Be the Man, You've Got to Beat the Man Socko's Bok

32

Mad Dog... Est Marie Shave Your Back

33

34

Stratusfaction (Can't Get No) The Goldberg Variations Got Wood

37

Real American You Can't See Me

28

38 39

36

35

31

The Execution of Excellence You Screwed Bret A Sick Note

41

42

Wrestling with Rhyme

43

The Muscles From Brussels Deadman Ink What?

40

44

45

46

The Three Faces of Mick Foley 10 Bell Salute Finishing Moves

47

49 61

Parts Unknown: A Selected Professional Wrestling Glossary Notes and Acknowledgements

83

75

There was always the "untaught" hold by which the master defeated the pupil who challenged him. —Michael Ondaatje

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Parts Unknown

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Locate Truth or Consequences to find the beginning, somewhere before all these wrong turns seize control or cease to matter— between Las Cruces and Albuquerque I was buried, killed by the masked shooter who exposes all works with canned heat and colour, cheap pops and chair shots, the boy's soap opera with brutality. As for so many it began with my own pop's strut. Doing Flair or Jesse for a laugh when he went for his OV and Cokes for me and my brother—the AWA cutting to commercial—he'd pretend to indulge us, choosing to waste a Saturday afternoon with this crap and bend TV rules while Mom wasn't home. But wasn't it real too, Dad, our bond? You knew wrestlers could be anything or anyone, even your boys could hail from parts unknown.

13

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Battle Royal

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The Godlike Genius of Scotty Too Hotly Jacques Brel and Scott Walker on his Discman, a bottle of Cuervo gold, a pillar of salt, this lime tree bower, my prison:

a secret history of trycyclics and laudanum pass through his head of McDonald's fries and lunatic grin. Stasis and dark odes, fear and doubt and loss, when the music stopped no one could blame him for being a step behind Sexay but even the most earnest preteen, heart-throbbing her way through Smackdown with Justin and Britney and Christina and A.J., caught something sepulchral when he could no longer follow Rikishi's mad Samoan cakewalk. An assclown without his Volkswagen is a sad assclown, goes the wit and wisdom of Y2J, and Scotty Too Hotty is too much alone. The Ramada walls close in when you can't party with the Hardys, when the house show crowd cuts you to the bone. No one knows how sick he can be, absorbing their pain, doing the worm.

17

They Live I came here to chew bubblegum and kick ass. And I'm all out ofbubblegum. —Roddy Piper in They Live The hateful things he's done in a kilt accrue. Every dark closet precarious with a Babel of treachery, attic seams popping with lunatic genius; after all these years, his vacuum's sick with coconut hair still, a junkyard of dog collar bits, Captain Lou elastics, particolour Lauper locks, unable to navigate even a single pass through the living room clutter. But who could negotiate the ugly deeds of Roderick Toombs? Fed to adolescence, chained to the CNR— Dawson Creek, The Pas, Saskatoon— he was lost to himself: it made the Canada of his mind, wound a black heart in Black Watch. Adopted by the business, the prodigal son of an abysmal push, like an Axe or Vachon (always making the deal, never taking The Deal), his atrocities mark self-righteous faces, reveal all our blushing demons—in us, they live on.

18

A Man, Barely Alive The Texas rattlesnake yawns, and the puppies, sleeping-soft twins, heave and sigh beside him; they've dozed off together, and now, momentarily disoriented, his head is a litter of serpents: Yo-Yo Ma, an excellent cabernet, DeLillo splayed (Libra) on his chest. He can feel Debra puttering in the garden, the metal in his knees singing a destroyed aria, convincing him, again, that in inertia lay grace; Austin 3:16: we have the sacred technology— whosoever believeth in him, should not perish, but have everlasting life. (I kicked your ass, Jake Roberts. No more piledrivers, ever, Owen Hart.) The Hollywood Blonde nightmare always leaves him like this, paralyzed by holy ghosts, whispering Flying Brian Pillman. Stone Cold, we cannot rebuild them. Remembering the bad old days, so many heel turns ago, so many towns and surgeries, so many hotels and unpublished elegies later, the Bionic Redneck weeps: a tag team of pink tongues thip away his tears.

19

Enter Sandman

With one eye open, that's how he finds himself on the interstate, the radio off, smoke dangled, window cracked to let in as much cold night air as his bluing hands can take, trying to stay on the good side of the white lines weaving DNA samples between him and the dire consequences also testing his vision's limitations, another NWA-TNA bloodbath receding with the wild January dominion of Kendo sticks, dim memories of a scaffold swaying, momentary grace, and the slow return of consciousness: a day's work like nothing else in Tennessee or early post-concussion syndrome— either way, pray he's too tired for sleep, that between the lights ahead he keeps centred safe; pray he's guided home.

20

An Oklahoma Fight Song at the Spanish Announce Table

Good God, almighty business is about to pick up this is gonna be a slobberknocker the kid's got a lot of heart my God, he's broken in half He's been busted wide open wearing the proverbial crimson mask running like a scalded dog crazier than a pet coon whipped like a government mule He's on dream street out of his damn mind an incredible athlete, I'll give you that a haemorrhoid on the ass of life Have you ever seen anything like this, King? It looks like a goddamn car wreck a vile, detestable act but someway, somehow, he kicked out good God, that killed him somebody stop the damn match

21

Eat Your Hart Out, Rick Springfield The Vanderbilt kids have moved pub night to the Holiday Inn lounge for big screen ESPN and cheap suds. (Virtual sports vids require too much coordination for anyone's good—server, coed and management alike.) Steve Borden and Lawrence Pfohl leave their gimmicks in their suites, eat something unbearably deep-fried and reminisce about their salad days, long runs and money up front. Recognition flirts too close for comfort. The Mouth of the South drops his guard in the cherry dark eatery next door— the TV's turned off, the cell phones too. He's tired, humming "Wild World" the Gentrys way and drifting, not saying anything for the first time in days. The pay-per-view's over, the pasta just so: On me, baby, please.

22

Lita and the Swanton Another sudden blow: my heart broken, still Below the staggering Hardy. My thighs bruised By his ragged mesh bondage, his reckless will— I'm pinned, helpless. Collapsed upon my breast Like this Matt terrifies me, too. I want to push The gory mess away while the marks lose their minds— I knew Jeff's body as it was before the white rush Had tagged him, before we began telling lies To survive our own extremes. Now his dareDevil high spots, the splintered tables and ladder Stunts have killed the team. Being so caught up, So mastered by the brute blood of the air, There's only one turn left. Brother over brother, And my indifference, as the Swanton Bombs drop.

23

It's True, It's Damn True

Torn cartilage, sprained medial collateral ligament; a flag of skin and 3/4-inch flesh divot, profuse bleeding; 3-month course, intramuscular injection (Rhabdoviridae); grave MRI results—vertebra cracked, 2 discs pinning spinal cord, 4 pulled muscles (another broken neck): wrestling is fake, it's true. It's true, your Olympic hero has bladed and shattered ankles that were shoes. It's damn true—crybaby, angel with a Flair gimmick (Nature Boy Whoos), he's worn pyrite medals and tiny Stetsons, he's played avenger, the turncoat, the fool. Haunting these Steeltown dives now, he's one of the lost boys, the blue collar around his size-24 neck a familiar noosehigh school ball, fast cars and bar fights, the ghosts in the concrete and girders that make a man fatherless, twice. The undead are everywhere, it's true. An America of workplace tragedy and murder, all the accusations he's heard, of juice and perversions, make him unreal, under God, too, as impossible and spectral as grace, or the millionaire lunatic, screaming: Angle, if you don't get out of my walls I'm gonna shoot.

24

Slapnuts

The pickup tricked out, chrome firing blue as he merges with morning traffic, visor down and radio on, loud. Hendersonville recedes, an old fairground rises; the boys secure the ring and count out companies of steel chairs. On the edge of another Wednesday rush hour, the Chosen One fights lawyers, admen and MBAs for parking, calculates the complex of angles and buy-rates, walks toward the sandblasted warehouse reclamation balancing coffee, briefcase and dry cleaning with a brace of breakaway guitars. He does not see the roadblocks going up, the parade mustering vets with stout B-squad majorettes. Instead, bobble-head travesties seed quicksilver doubts, boardrooms loom: choke on that, slapnuts. Interest came cheap, once, outrage easier: he was the champ, he'd simply deliver.

25

The Walls of Jericho Dungeons, dragons, death metal and a city of sin tempered the volatile desires of the sexy beast, the Ayatollah of Rock 'n' Rollah, King of BlingBling—a little bit Broadway, a little bit Portage and Main—Fozzy, Lion Heart, Gorazon de Leon. Nothing beats an education—the Hart school's basement and the Red River journalism program will do—into you, separates everyday jackass from serious assclown, like the cold. No one fools or suffers themselves after being stretched by grim extremes like the Chicago Manual of Style and Stu. Mexico City, Tokyo, Atlanta, Stamford: Y2J leaves them like New York, like Winnipeg, too vulnerable to embrace him. Every seventh day his faith tries disobedience, another Monday Night Jericho courtesy of the Human Highlight Reel, another wave of aftershocks and liquefaction for non-believer, fence-sitter and Jericholic alike: defence mechanisms, like walls, fall, crash down upon his judgement; in their ruin, still, he's won.

26

The People's BBQ Between agents, first class confirmations and a stone cold reading of next Monday's Raw bits The Rock disappears for beers; animated ire breaches the grill, mesquite or Brahma bull. Summer might wind down around them but the Cali sun Angle-slams the people's backyard, the Olympic-sized pool a million miles from late November and 1817 Crowchild Trail, Ivor Wynne Stadium, Taylor Field, or the Big O. Jabroni showbiz types don't know how bitterly frigid Canada really was (how good his cooking really is), lines of scrimmage better, and worse, than Leno and cheesehead Lambeau: a simpler and more difficult game. Now, all the stadiums are McMahon's and the Pacific Salmon hisses into motion as exotic, for them, as the XFL's backfield or basting with imported Molson's (the way his eyebrow arches, suspecting such specious noses).

27

The True Eventual Story of Badd Billy Gunn this is the true eventual story of billy. . . . eventually all other stories will appear untrue beside this one.

—bpNichol

I. Mr. Ass

Billy was born with a wonderful, perfect ass but they didn't call him Mr. Perfect or Mr. Wonderful. Curt Hennig and Paul Orndorff were already those Misters. Billy grew up in Austin, Texas and that matters: outlaws and 8-time tag champs can come from there. He's been a Rockabilly and Smoking Gunn. Owns trunks that say Mr. Ass. 2. History History says Billy Gunn was a cowboy kid, has a brother, Bart. Plays George Strait when courting. The Net says he's a midcarder, an underachiever in the singles ranks. The true eventual story is that Billy's gotten pops and singles gold and would like to Fame-Ass-er history and the Net through the mat. They're jealous and can kiss his perfect ass.

3. The Town Minneapolis, Summerslam 1999. The town in which Mr. Ass hit rock-bottom and died the death of all great heel angles. By 10: 12 it was over and Badd Billy was under the People's Champion. The true eventual story is it was a Kiss My Ass match. These things affect wrestlers eventually, he became "The One."

28

4. Why His fans wanted to know why he became "The One" Billy Gunn. He said sorry, but try being called Ass every night, kissing Rocky's butt. He hated the questions so he closed his eyes and called Mr. McMahon. Billy said he was more than just an ass, he could be a face, too. Vince knew this sucked. Everyone says it's too badd, Billy's perfect ass.

29

The Wrath of Kane He arrives like Apollo, a big red machine with a mouthful of Novocaine and serious self-image issues. After the pyro clears, what else needs to be said? Yada yada, childhood trauma. Blah blah blah, fratricidal urges. Take a look at his kisser, the marshmallow-creepy mouthpiece and stinky leather headgear— part fallguy Hodder, part clingy kid brother— damn right, he's pissed. But this new bad hair day angle? Now he's mixing Uncle Fester with a runny pink eye chaser, feeling punchy. Set up. And no, it doesn't sit well. That's why the indignation-thing chafes: a monster's first words are always Go to hell.

30

To Be the Man, You've Got to Beat the Man All the stylin', profilin' and limousine ridin', the wheelin', dealin' and kiss stealin' come easy. He's the 60-minute man and all night long. Still, the Lear jet fly in' (son of a gun) is a revelation: (His head and his hair were white like wool, as white as snow; his eyes were like a flame), a ton overgross, critically low on fuel in the headwinds short of Wilmington engines die and for 4,000 feet a plane is all horsepower, untamed and out of control. Lucky enough not to cartwheel, cutting through treetops, coming to rest in a railroad embankment, 220mph nailed to the dashboard, you might survive, but nobody's strutting into Legion Stadium. You'll remember the medic saying We're going to lose this one, back broken, the autumnal fire in the evening sky, but always wonder how a clean pinfall could seem like a loss.

31

Socko's Bok for Cowboy Bob Orion

Socko's hobby? To boost pomo works on non-stops from Oslo to Moscow or Compton from Toronto; hotshot, gold shod, lord, Socko's cold, coolly loots (won't kow-tow or cop to who jobs for who). So coy Socko scowls, shoots: fops, fools, tools, boobs— dolts pop for Holy sock-rot. Socko rocks how Bon Scott shook: long howls, growls—prowls Soho poolrooms, gloms onto Snoop Dogg (hos go for Socko, from fro to dong), zooms on bowls, bongs or tons of bold schrooms. Gods? Gotch or Rowdy Roddy, Zybysko or "Body." Worth tons, Socko concocts plots: mothy shock troops or oblong wormwood box. No-sold spots grow: wow, now socks won't job, don't clown. Soon Socko stoops to no good, mocks LOD's old school holds, cold-cocks Scotty Too Hotty; Snowplows poor Snow (oh, Molly Holly sobs); robs Rock's Rock Bottom to con Rock. Yobbos gob, mojo bolts—no sock shocks Rocky, goofs don't boot top dogs. Crowds go poof, Socko's stock drops. No post show glory, no GLOW—loss follows loss. Blown-off, only words drown sock sorrow, so hobo-low Socko KO's Bok's boon, scoops O's form to toot woolly horns. (No, Socko, not cool.) Hollow kooks, book boys, bold coots root (Go Socko Go), mobs throng. Gosh, tons of books sold OK old wrongs. Now folks lobby for Socko's own book show: Cloth on Cloth.

32

Mad Dog... Est Marie Before tenacious Zack Gowan beat cancer to be beaten down with his own leg, before Diesel attacked, and his own artificial limb figured in another Shawn Michaels comeback, here comes the pain had a more continental flavour— a monster reigned before Brock Lesnar, Monsieur Cole—les boys were paid very well when Maurice Vachon was cooking such delicious French bread. Ask the Portland PD or the Leducs about his bite, the dread his black beard, growl and razored skull inspired: Une vie de chien dans un monde de /bus. Un amant du calme, de la paix, before Des Moines it was a dog's life: Commonwealth gold and the Olympics, title runs and the success of Grand Prix, a man stood tall, loved his kid, his wife.

33

Shave Your Back The piercings, the Chinese buzzed into his thigh, the various claws Walter applied, the way ropes burned long after they rejected flesh: when you survived Killer's class nothing surprised you anymore, not even the poetry. To Albert, Levesque and that Lauer kid hooking up was just B-horror, The Misfits meet Ed Wood, creepy but fuzzy too (Vampira offscreen, drenched in pink angora and dreaming of Tor's manly chest). Bittersweet, a they deserved each other kind of scene, like "A Game of Chess" in The Waste Land but too Liz and Dick for the beauty of it hot to feel right, and far too tragic for gossip. Just because you look like George Steele, it doesn't mean you're an animal.

34

Stratusfaction (Can't Get No) Patricia's ditching and she doesn't care that her T.A. watched her boots go up in front of the Snail's rearprojection monstrosity—he's a creepy little bastard anyway, and last Monday's Raw is laying the smack down in the VCR. She tolerates Stong's unique mix of sports med jarheads, cheerleaders and grad students to watch DeGeneration-X and Iron Mike Tyson one last time before Wrestlemania XIV; her York U knapsack packed with Miss Clairol and resolve, she's prepared to hitch a ride to Boston on a warm, late-March, north Toronto afternoon. Something primordial here—the beer and petty politics, the fear and smokerewrites DNA for the locker room. On the way out, she leaves a crotch-chop and two word farewell—to all the useless information that can not satisfy a fiery, Diva's imagination.

35

The Goldberg Variations Only the names change, the victims blurring underneath the jackhammer thump of canned heat and powerbomb, limbs twitching with the weight of Bill's dark whims, his sanften und etwas muntern character reinterpreted in G minor for tragic effect: Gold-berg, Gold-berg. Some works should not vary (no one believed the house would weary), but the endless refrain perturbed even him—-finally. He cursed his family's history then, a job that demands you repeat yourself, ruthlessly. Look alive, boys, you're next. Nitro after Nitro, Dline hijinks with his Dawgs, it all recedes into his own private Dresden, a hymn for harpsichord and the mortal soul of a poor relation—the match mit 173 Veranderungen dying with a pinfall and Scott Hall's tazer, the Count out, finished by his own sleeper.

36

Got Wood Bubba Ray: When attempting to complete a wood project be careful of your choice of wood. Species have different characteristics. All are composed of cellulose and lignin. D-Von: These substances make up the woody cell walls and are held together by cementing properties. Other characteristics arise from the way wood is cut or cured. Spike: Both hardwoods and softwoods have myriad uses. Mahogany: quality furniture, boats, facings, veneers, tables. Walnut: gunstocks, novelties, cabinetry, paneling, tables. Oak: trimming, framing, desks, flooring, tables. Maple: flooring, fine furniture, bowling alleys, tables. Cherry: cabinet making, trim, handles, turned projects, tables. Rosewood: musical instruments, piano cases, art projects, tables. Teak: doors, window framing, general construction, tables. Pine: house construction, trim, molding, boxes, tables. Hemlock: planks, boards, sub-flooring, crates, tables. Fir: plywood, general millwork, interior trim, tables. Redwood: outdoor furniture, fencing, siding, tables. Cedar: chest making, shingles, posts, blinds, tables. Spruce: masts and spars, aircraft, ladders, chairs, tables.

37

Real American Windham and Rotundo have fallen through dimmer rings, passing on their patriotic things to Haas and Benjamin, the second-hand track suits and You Suck chants of Team Angle. Derringer never became forgettable. No one remembers the most beloved entrance theme of the me-decade wasn't always the Hulkster's. The WWF All Stars lost their lustre while he fought for the rights of everyone else. The Ayatollah and Russian Bear, naturally, turned heel; but even Sgt. Slaughter deserted when the bandwagon rolled—and on and on and on it rolled. Because wherever his anthem sounded, a nation, wrestling, dutifully followed. New wars trumpet grave notes now, and still Hogan grapples with prayer and Taps, the real and the American.

38

You Can't See Me Word life the Cena kid seems untouchable like Eliot Ness, prototypical, unseen and unstressed another Loch Ness monster, monstrous invisible and old school like Eminem on a real bad day or an LA cop alone with NWA doing what he likes to somebody he hates a ghost like Casper, but two times as white and twice as great you be Mr. Friendly, he's Mr. Intimidate cutting promos, administering beatdowns talking smack while laying the smack down wearing chains and locks and Lugz beating Thugz with brains, brass knucks and bear hugs phatter than Mabel, another man on a mission now everyone's assuming the gorilla position like Lanny to Randy or Brando to Hopper too see the poet warrior, the ultimate show stopper making bones with old-timers, no longer headliners as forgettable as— Word life

39

The Execution of Excellence

The air alive with it, blue, horrible and frantic, stretched by the ducts' resonance; the buzzing Memorex screams fouler still, singed, awful with heat—the execution works as both kill-switch and deterrent when the Hitman reviews the tapes. Unusual and cruel, the current surges through every synapse, takes solace in the submission that makes him what he is—his father's son— the best there was, the best there ever will be, a child of the Hart's dungeon. Consider the toys, the electric chair in his own cellar, the expression of dread and excruciating pain that ground him still. Ambiguous torture satisfies nothing—the brain seizes upon agony to pulse, beyond all retribution, with loss.

40

You Screwed Bret They are a mean, spiteful people and it's a barren, hateful place— it's always November and Montreal here, where matters of survival matter little—a bloodthirsty race of drunks and whiners, these Canadians; a veritable hell on earth, their home and native land. When humiliation gets the best of Earl Hebner, Christian fellowship sometimes flags. He doesn't blame them, not really—and he counts to 10 to make his rage submit, then does up his pantsbut he thinks Customs and Immigration could be a little more bipartisan after all these years. Anyway, the chant's unnecessary, he's had to live with it, stalking him, making him doubt every friendship he thinks he can believe in. He had no choice—and that will haunt him, always, too. Sure, it was Bret he screwed.

41

A Sick Note from "Dr. Death" Williams re: the patient Wolverine , Rabid This is just to say Chris has broken Sabu's neck in two places and now probably he'll need some time for himself

Forgive him it was delicate so soft so much like his own

42

Wrestling with Rhyme

He was always the bookish one, a quiet, sensitive younger brother for Spider, Destroyer, Executioner and Bonesaw. While Randy's Macho Man bullied "Pomp and Circumstance" from Elgar and commencements everywhere, he was fitted for a lifelong cap and gown. But there was no Pulitzer for Wrestling with Rhyme. Savage won the world title six times while The Poet jobbed for everyone but Leaping Lanny Poffo. Like any geek, he knew how much he'd bleed when the merch guys made Frisbee broadsides his swag—the crowds are cruel enough, there's no need to arm them. As good at dodging gimmicks as firing off anti-smoking limericks, he's kept his mortar in the ring: the small press fairs and photocopiers, the spot shows and Indies, he still grapples with the best— going Haiku on wannabe Hakus and drop-kicking slam kids like filthy habits.

43

The Muscles From Brussels He's been dragged to this flick by a friend, preferring chick movies and their anonymity when he can stomach the snack bar wait at all. Even with abs of steel he's vulnerable to indifferent minimum wage. That The Mummy Returns might be educational is the one thing keeping his pallor in the black, but he's a nice guy, who only toys with ego, so shyly queue-surfing, eyeing a pyramid of Junior Mints, his Madame Tussaud-perfect ears begin to burn. Whispers of misrecognition are worse than the few true fans, now that he's over and The Whole Dam Show shirts have hit WalMart—at least there's shit to sign. The mistaken say: I loved you in the one where you saved the world and got the girl. That was Arnold, he thinks, jackass, sinking into the threadbare pile of another hideous multiplex, grabbing for golden topping splotches like life buoys, like a lucky blind tag. Besides, he likes it hardcore, but he's no Jean-Claude, not freakydeaky at all. Nah, he says, thumbs up. I'm RVD. 'Rob'. 'Van'. 'Dam'.

44

Deadmcm Ink Old-school, like Harley Davidson or Death Valley, NASCAR, heart punch or guillotine choke; the open road, from Fred Durst to Aretha Franklin by way of Chopin, Sonata for Piano no. 2 in B-flat Minor. All the work done, a decade of destruction—going on two—a legacy marked out in big red evil. As with any addiction, there's a superior intelligence underwritten by the spectacle, how much has been invested in pain. Once, he even tried to make his name a canvas. But so much passed through Mean Mark Callous that it had to stay, as all the other marks have stayed—dead man and Punisher, American Badass or, simply, 'taker— the execution, indelible. Still, a tattoo peels, bells funereal, and skin heals as a man earns scars and character, learns to respect himself—as others one day will.

45

What? Take a look at the blue guy drinking that Haterade you sanctimonious son of a bitch my Hurrisense is tingling funky like a monkey, if you will Excuse me, excuse me, Intercontinental Champion here gonna hit him so hard he's gonna grow hair don't blame Canada, blame yourselves so, for the benefit of those with flash photography somebody call my momma, because I'm about to hurt somebody Gene Mean, you sick freak I'm not a fish, I'm a man Big Poppa Pump is your hookup, holler if you hear me I'm the beer-drinkingest, cigarette-smokingest, cane-swingingest, kick-ass son of a bitch in ECW but I'm not telling you anything you don't already know We snack on danger and dine on death we're gonna kick your stinking teeth in be on you like a stinking pot of neckbone Orale, arriba la raza—where my dogs at? He didn't say that, tell me he did not say that

46

The Three Faces of Mick Foley

Under Mrs. Foley's baby boy's flannel the C-4 burns have healed (thumbtacks burst from tender flesh like adolescent acne); the tooth that wiggled free of sinus flotsam to pearl like snot on a crimson mask has joined the half-ear in his family trophy case. Hardcore legend, king of the death match— Hell in a Cell, the Tokyodome, the boiler room, Philly—he's survived. Still, nothing prepared him, psychologically, for his first bad review. The time has come to relieve that pain. Which will be good for Mick, but not so enjoyable for all of you. At least that's what he tells them, what they tell themselves. Bang bang. Groovy Daddy-O. Have a nice day. And so the trio hits the high lonesome; OK work—for a wrestler haunting each of them, godawful. From New Mexico to Long Island, the pencil-necks get a gobful of crow, a DDT, Love Handle or Mandible Claw stew. Foley is good, then. The ugliness lives inside all of you.

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10 Bell Salute When asked what the acronym "DDT" meant, Jake Roberts simply said, "The End."

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1

At the gorilla position something's gone horribly wrong the jobber and job undone by the work itself, the ring emptied of submission and failure of a body broken or pinned the spectacle too lurid now, too much heat, it needs to end for the marks' sake, for mine I can't be trusted with the mic

51

2 Blame last-minute booking cheap shots, even cheaper pops the bling'bling of buy rates and title belts of all that's left to wrestle with demon or shadow selfishness or self the heel turn of an ego that won't sell for the face it most fears to face

52

3 Vitamins taken, prayers said expected to work stiff when you dare work at all, redfaced and blown-up, always too sick to answer the bell, the stuff for go time's hard on your head more cerebral assassin than screwjob blow-off, the outcome decided going home has gotten very tough you're too far gone, not tough enough

53

4 Blame the fans, the business indict the road and internet the day kayfabe died or the stress on family life (I've never met a gimmick I didn't like, except the one I'm living, except me) fault bad dialogue, or the high spot human frailty, or the economy's because old feuds become new again it's all fake, right, like the pain?

54

5 Because it's fake it's not real— tell me again because I'm too dumb to understand, too unreal to rail against what numbed one town into this town derailed my train of— it's not easy to own up to this thoughtlessness, my love the one apology I still need to make (it's real because it's not fake)

55

6 Jake the Snake Roberts juice glasses cornered in the kitchen tiered with concern, not kitsch—just as Jake tears, missing Damien, the hiss and creeping flesh of what wrestlers call a "personal demon" in that flick where he's such a mess bringing him broken, empty, home I've wept at this display, your yellow-blue yellow-green way of making me you

56

7 The porch-light beacon for ghosts that are and those still becoming hoarfrost settling spring's dust-up snows as screams stretch far on prairie winds I've been out back before but never down in the dungeon so I can leave an Anvil or Davey Boy to share a rib with Owen unable to move a Hart weight with my own tell-tale heart

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8 Crash Wednesday: new ink for Scott Levy's skin beneath "The Battle of Evermore" Zep silkscreen (quoth the Raven nevermore) Tuesday's wake for Johnny Cash still tattooing Printer's Row with hymn and heartache, but it's Jimmy Hart and Kid Kash not Sheryl Crow and Kid Rock recalling him I love—"Hurt" was always the grappler's elegy but tonight it's done the hard way—for Mad Mikey

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9 Heaven's Gate should have gone over but the territory was buried the heat killed; sure, the promoter absorbs the bump while the pencils feed the same tired swerve to the sheets too many superstar egos, no jobronis cowboys in sweat pants and Nikes even so, the bull's apostles collect receipts the upstairs office can be a mean, hard place you pay dues forever, and then they make you wait

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10 Out of gas anyway, the ref whispers go home Rude Awakening, Curtain Call, Scorpion Death Drop—variations on a theme I got myself into this DDT arid now 10 seems like an eternity because it is hitting headfirst this hard there's no Dusty Finish, no hope spot or false comeback for man or gimmick, from the concrete you ask for grace and pray for the count out

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Finishing Moves

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i. Sky Low Low/Little Beaver SPF

Whammy Bar Rings of Saturn Norman Conquest

Death Lake Driver

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ii. The Armpit of... The Claw

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iii. Robaxacet Gorry Special Cancellation Torture Rack Write Off Dragon Suplex The Hangman Vader Bomb Sidewalk Slam Jackhammer Perfectplex Trash Compactor

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iv. Gooey Cannonball Polish Hammer Superfly Smash Frog Splash Heat Seeker Bunny Hop Heart Punch 747 Atlantic City Avalanche The Bionic Elbow Air Kamala Hip Hop Drop Money Shot

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v. Plastic Surgeries

Love Handle Sweet Chin Music Stone Cold Stunner Acid Drop Stevie Kick The Whippersnapper Camel Clutch Atomic Arabian Facebuster The Iron Claw Crippler Crossface Diamond Cutter Ghetto Blaster Hawaiian Crush The Paralyzer

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vi. Low Blows

Shattered Dreams

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vii. Stacy Keibler

Lion Tamer Quebec Crab Powerlock Figure Four Texas Cloverleaf Tequila Sunrise Indian Deathlock Sharpshooter

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viii. Miscellaneous Phenomena, Condiments and Potables Jalapeno Roll Sudanese Meat Cleaver Polka Dot Drop The Shitty Elbow Bolo Punch Tutti Frutti Flying Burrito Super Frankensteiner Marvelocity "It's the Big Foot!" Alabama Slammer Veg-o-matic Towering Inferno Snake Eyes Niagara Driver Razor's Edge Pearl River Plunge Honour Roll Human Frisbee Northern Lights NO Laughing Matter Shooting Star Press Sky High Seven Year Itch

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ix. Noggin Nail In The Coffin Pimpdrop Gatorbreaker Wallapalooza Flapjack Atomic Noogie Attitude Adjustment Tombstone Slop Drop Whoopee Cushion Coco Butt Violent Green Hold Gourdbuster The Cure Big Dick Driver

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x. Pencil-Necked Geeks

Tazmission Ice Pick Guillotine Doomsday Device The Axe Double Goozle Shake, Rattle and Roll Death Penalty

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xi. Stubbies

Regal Stretch

Spidernest

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xii. A Bubble Shy of Plumb Emerald City Twister Castro Sleeper The Cobra Million Dollar Dream Goodnight Irene

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Parts Unknown: A Selected Professional Wrestling Glossary

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Angle: 1. An event or series of events, usually a confrontation between two or more wrestlers, which intensifies a feud. 2. A wrestling "plot" which may involve only one match or may continue over several matches. 3. The reason behind a feud or a turn. Babyface: The fan favourite or good guy. Blade: When a wrestler takes a small piece of razor blade, usually secured in tape on his finger, hand or wrist, and runs it along his skin to produce "controlled" bleeding. Blow-off: To end a feud. Blow Up: To suffer cardiovascular exhaustion. Book: To schedule a wrestler or set up an angle. Booker: Person in a professional wrestling organization who books and hires wrestlers, plans angles and the long term direction of the company, and decides who wins and loses. Bounce: The move that leads to the finishing move and pin. Bozark: A female wrestler. Brass: Management. Broadway: A draw. Bull: Promoter. Bump: When a wrestler falls to the mat after receiving a blow or manoeuvre from his opponent; a wrestler's reaction to such a blow or manoeuvre. Bury: I . To attempt to defame or criticize another wrestler. 2. To diminish someone in the eyes of the fans or promoter. Business, The: A term used to describe the wrestling industry. Call a Match: To inform opponent of upcoming moves or spots throughout the match. Canned Heat: Crowd noise that is played through the sound system, or mixed into a pre-taped TV show during post-production. Card: The lineup of matches for a scheduled wrestling event. Carry: 1. To call a match. 2. To make a green opponent look good in the fans' eyes. Chair Shot: To strike, or be struck, with a closed folding metal chair (the forehead and back are the usual targets). Cheap Heat: Often referred to as heel heat; when the heel swears, insults, or makes obscene gestures toward the fans in order to get himself over. Colour: Blood. Comeback: The point in the match where the babyface returns to the offensive after the heel has been dominating.

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Cut a Promo: 1. To do an interview. 2. To demean someone skilfully. Dagger: A piece of razor blade with more of the cutting edge exposed than necessary. Dark Match: A match that is not taped for broadcast. Deal, The: Sometimes a title belt is referred to as The Deal. Do Business: To do the job. Doing Business on the Way Out: A wrestler who is on his way out of a promotion is expected to job for the talent that is staying—in order to get them over. Double Juice: When both wrestlers blade. Draw: 1. A time limit tie; a match with no clear winner. 2. A cash payment on the night of a show which serves as an advance on a negotiated salary. 3. A wrestler who commands an audience. Dusty Finish: A three-part swerve finish. First, the original referee is knocked down, incapacitated or rendered unconscious. Next, a second referee (of course) enters the match to make the 3-count for a pinfall. Finally, the original ref regains his faculties and overrules the decision. Though by no means invented by the legendary Dusty Rhodes, this finish was used so often in matches he booked that it took on his name. Face: A babyface. Fall (Pinfall): The referee's count of three when the losing wrestler's shoulders are on the mat. False Comeback: The point in a match where the face returns to the offensive after a heel has dominated for several minutes, only to be thwarted by the heel once more. Feud: A series of battles between two or more wrestlers. Finish: The conclusion of a match. Finisher (Finishing Move): Move that leads to the win. Foreign Object: An object that is illegal, according to the terms of the match, such as a metal chair, garbage can or brass knuckles. In the late 1980s, Ted Turner established a policy on his networks which instructed all news commentators to refrain from using the word "foreign." The word "international" was suggested in its place. TBS wrestling announcers picked up on the directive, and a foreign object is still occasionally called an "international object" in jest. Gas: Steroids, drugs. Gate: Amount of money generated from ticket sales. Geek: To cut yourself. Gimmick: 1. A wrestler's persona. 2. A foreign object.

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Glob: To stiff someone. Go Home: When a wrestler says this to his opponent, it means to go to the finish of the match. Go Over: To beat someone. Also known as to "put over." Gorilla Position: Named for the legendary Gorilla Monsoon, this is essentially the place where backstage and spotlight meet, the curtain or entranceway which separates the wrestlers from the crowd before and after a match. The individual who works the "gorilla position" is in effect a gatekeeper—the stage manager who is responsible for the talents' appearance. Go Through: A time limit draw. Green: An inexperienced wrestler. Hard Way: A cut that is (usually) unintentional, achieved without blading. Heat: 1. The crowd reaction to a wrestler. 2. To "have heat" with someone else in the promotion, however, is not good. This is a real feud or conflict. Heavy: A wrestler that is hard to lift, usually one who does not want to cooperate with his opponent. Heel: The bad guy or rule breaker. High Spot: A move that is perceived to be, and often is, high risk. Hood: A masked wrestler. Hope Spot: Essentially a false comeback. However, in most cases the hope spot occurs just minutes before the face makes a full-fledged comeback. House: Number of fans in the building for a wrestling event. House Show: A show not taped for TV. Job: A planned loss. Jobber: A wrestler who loses in order to put over a pushed wrestler. Jobroni (Jabroni): 1. Another term for jobber. 2. An all-purpose insult, popularized by The Rock. Juice: 1. Another term for blading. 2. Steroids. Kayfabe: I. Generally referring to the protection of industry secrets from the fans. 2. Of or related to inside information about the business. The term originates in carnival slang, a kind of pig-Latin for "be fake." Kill: Diminish or eliminate heat or drawing power. There are a variety of ways to "kill," but most often it occurs when a wrestler does too many jobs. A house can also be killed (for example, by too many screw-job endings).

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Mark: 1. A person who believes that wrestling gimmicks, matches and angles are real. 2. A fan of or participant in the wrestling industry who believes that a part of any aspect of the industry is more important than making money. Mark Out: When a smart fan gets wrapped up in an angle or a match and enjoys it as if he or she were a mark. Mouthpiece: An on-camera manager. No Sell: When a wrestler stops selling moves for a moment to give the fans the impression that he is invincible. Over: To be popular with the audience. Paper: To give away tickets to an event, often done for TV tapings. Paying Dues: Term for gaining experience and showing respect to other wrestlers. Pencil: A hooker or promoter. Pop: A big rise out of the crowd, usually cheering, chanting or booing. Post: To ram the head of one's opponent into the turnbuckle or steel ring post. Potato: Whether accidentally or intentionally, to legitimately hit or apply a move upon one's opponent with full force. Program: The matches, interviews and angles which make up a feud. Promoter: The head of the wrestling organization. Promotion: 1. The wrestling company. 2. The hype for an event. Push: The process of promoting a wrestler, with a succession of victories (and through other means), in order to get that wrestler over. Put Over: To be "put over" is to get the win. To "put over" is to do the job. Receipt: The act of getting revenge. Red: Blood. Ref Bump: When the referee takes a bump, or is apparently injured or incapacitated at a specific point in the match. A "ref bump" occurs in order for a wrestler, usually the heel, to freely commit an illegal act. Rest Hold: A lightly applied, or stationary move which gives wrestlers time to breathe or rest between high spots. Rib: A practical joke or prank. Ring Rat: A wrestling groupie. Run-in: Interference by a non-participant in a match. Save: A run-in which protects a wrestler from being beaten after the conclusion of a match. Screw-job: A finish with a controversial ending, often upsetting to the fans. 80

Sell: To act as if you were on the receiving end of a legitimate wrestling move; to make a move appear painful. Sheets: Slang for newsletters, journals and Internet sites that break kayfabe. Shoot: 1. A work that becomes a legitimate fight. 2. To hit or hurt an opponent on purpose during the course of the match. 3. A comment with some truth behind it. Shooter: One who legitimately uses the skills of an amateur wrestler or martial arts expert. Showing Light: To unintentionally expose that a move is not legitimately dangerous. Smark: A fan who believes he is smart to the business, but is actually less informed than he thinks he is. Smart: A person who has the knowledge of the inner workings of the wrestling industry. Smoz (Schmoz; Schmozzle): Group of wrestlers involved in a pull-apart brawl. Sports Entertainment: Wrestling. Spot: A wrestling move, or a series of moves. Squash: A match that is designed to put over a pushed wrestler by having him thoroughly dominate a jobber. Stiff: To hit or execute holds or moves with more force than necessary. Strap: Championship belt. Stretch: 1. To use a legitimate amateur wrestling hold on an opponent. 2. A form of shoot where one wrestler dominates, rather than injures, the other as a proof of personal superiority. Stretched: To be injured, sometimes intentionally, by one's opponent. Submission Hold: A hold that is used by a wrestler to incapacitate another, and which often leads to an opponent "tapping out" or giving up. Superman Comeback: When a wrestler no sells an opponent's moves during his comeback. Swerve: 1. A joke or prank. 2. A false report leaked to the press by a wrestler, hooker or promoter. 3. When a finish is changed so that fans and industry insiders alike are shocked. Switch the Heat: To pass the blame. Tap (Tap Out): To submit or give up. Territory: The area in which a promotion runs its shows and airs its television programs. Turn: When a wrestler changes from a heel to a face, or from a face to a heel. 81

Tweener: A wrestler who is neither face nor heel, but in the process of turning from one into the other. Work: 1. Predetermined outcome. 2. To wrestle skilfully. Worker: A wrestler. Workrate: The pace of a match, and the skill level exhibited throughout the match by the wrestlers.

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Notes and Acknowledgements

Mad Dog... Est Marie: lines 15 and 16 come from the title of Vachon's biography and a 70s publicity still respectively. The French means, roughly, "The life of a dog in a world of crazies" and "A lover of calm and peace." The Goldberg Variations: the German in line 5 means "quiet and somewhat cheerful"; while line 18 plays on Bach's title for his composition, "Aria with 32 variations." Parts Unknown: A Selected Professional Wrestling Glossary was built upon the foundation offered by Aaron Solomon's wonderful Glossary of Insider Terminology. The original can be found at: http://www.onlineonslaught.com/reference/glossary.shtml Some of these poems first appeared in Queen Street Quarterly. Special thanks to Paul Vermeersch, my editor and fellow mark, for knowing all the angles and always shooting straight; and to my brother, Darren, for more selfless, beautiful work: the two of you are responsible for this monster. And to my wife, Amy. Your insight, patience and support made me do my part—I owe you, big time. Thanks also to Jack David, Greg Oliver, Jimmy "The Mouth of the South" Hart, the workers at NWA-TNA in Nashville, and WWE talent worldwide, for making professional wrestling even more real and important to me. And to R.M. Vaughan for his keen ear, shoulder to cry on, and remarkable ability to unearth obscure WWF memorabilia. Thanks as well to Mike O'Connor, Adrienne Weiss, Emily Schultz and Marijke Friesen—you've been awesome, and it's an honour to work with Insomniac again. Gil Adamson, Christian Bok, Kevin Connolly, Steven Heighten, Bill Kennedy, Nathaniel Moore, Darren Wershler-Henry and Alana Wilcox—whether they realize it or not—all helped me find my way to Parts Unknown.

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Finally, thanks to all my co-workers at ECW. For keeping it alive, when Paul Heyman couldn't—and for putting up with me and my obsessions.

I am also grateful to the citizens of Ontario for their generosity through the Ontario Arts Council.

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