Monday, April 11, 2011
The Tower of Power, Too Sweet To Be Sour
Something about myself: I often imagine what it would be like to be a Pro Wrestler in the 80's-90's. To be more specific, I think about being the Macho Man.
I think the most impressive thing about this video is that, for something that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, he doesn't stumble over his words once. That means that to him, there is no doubt that whatever comes out of his mouth is the gospel. A total and complete level of commitment that can only be reached by "becoming" your on-camera persona. More than any wrestler, it is impossible for me to imagine Randy Savage behaving in any other way besides how he does when wrestling. I depend on beliefs like that. If I saw Savage filling out his taxes with eye glasses and boat shoes on, my entire perception of reality would shatter around me.
I get the feeling as Mean Gene was introducing him he was off-camera snorting the purest cocaine one can find. Notice I didn't say the purest cocaine that money can buy. I'm talking the kind that can only be obtained through some seedy deal where weapons-or even human beings are exchanged for drugs with the necessary level of purity able to jack up a World Heavyweight Champion. It's almost like he instantly goes from snort to mic without allowing himself to exhale first, to take a breath. Macho Madness exists within the moment and man, was the 80's ever the perfect time for a persona like Savage to shine. It's impossible to comprehend a wrestling personality the size of Macho Man's in 2011, he'd practically be from another planet. I can picture today's youth staring with blank confusion at Savage (Even without the wardrobe, Savage just looks different than any other wrestler today) while their fathers stand up so fast they knock their beer over as they punch the air above them, not unlike how they used to punch the ceiling of their Camaro while blaring Van Halen and hauling ass down the highway toward the local sportsplex, ready to see Randy Savage wrestle the shit out of somebody.
The drugs aren't even the point. The coolest part of it all is that we live in a world where "Macho Madness" even exists. When I was in elementary school, "Macho Madness" just meant "time to go crazy." It was only when I reached my mid-twenties that I realized "Macho Madness" really means to bury your face in a mountain of coke, snort as hard as you can, run out to a fight wearing a neon green trench coat with streamers on the sleeves and a cowboy hat that has "Slim Jim" spelled out in rhinestones and elbow drop dudes, then go home and do more drugs, a cycle of roids, bang Miss Elizabeth til dawn, wear your Championship belt to go get gas and make everyone's day brighter just by screaming "OH YEAH" and pointing in their face. And that's the fucking life.