Leturgey Musings and Goings On

How Did Rudiak Win? Voters In A Little Hamlet Called Carrick

2009-05-20T21:46:00.000-07:00

Natalia Rudiak, 29, of Carrick, has received without question, the most fortiutous political victory in the city of Pittsburgh since at least Harry Readshaw's loss for city council in the early 1990's.

Readshaw, a Democrat with the fiscal conservative nature befitting the small businessman he continues to be, became one of the most well-respected members of the Pennsylvania Legislature, while City Council District 4 has been a non-stop revolving door of Cusicks, Divens and Motzniks.

How did she do it?

Because of voters in Carrick, one of the city's least recognized neighborhoods, and home to former Steeler running back Najeh Davenport, who comically had his warming-up 1970 Chevy Impala stolen from in front of his house.

Power brokers in the city's other “big neighborhoods” in the District, Brookline and Beechview, normally wage political war with their own annointed sons. This year it was “old hat” Anthony Coghill and “newbie” Patrick Reilly. A fourth guy—Richard Weaver—couldn't inspire 100 voters to push the button next to his name.

Yes, everyone involved are Democrats. Former Republican Governor Tom Ridge carried a couple of districts a few years ago in the area, but otherwise, the vast majority of voters there are blind to a two-party system.

In this corner, Coghill, a part-time roofer/part-time state Senator Wayne Fontana staffer, took on Patrick Reilly, a Wagner family disciple who also had the backing of Pittsburgh Mayor Luke Ravenstahl and Allegheny County Chief Executive Dan Onorato.

Those cliques have manhandled the 4th District forever; however, the often-forgotten Carrick neighborhood fielded an attractive, talented homegrown girl who obviously benefitted from the never-ending political infighting. Normally, Carrick would field a candidate who wasn't an attractive choice, couldn't raise money, or both. Until recently, those voters had to wait for scraps from the Wagner and Fontana camps.

It's widely believed that voters in Carrick saved former councilman Jim Motznik's hide when Coghill nearly beat him a handful of years ago. That race was an unexpected barn-burner, as Motznik was reeling from a minor controversy (he fled a television news cameraman and reporter as if the world was on fire). Motznik ultimately gave up the seat so he could run for District Justice (voters overwhelmingly gave him that job despite the fact the video showing him run like a Benny Hill day player is still available online).

Natalia Rudiak has stepped up her community profile in recent years and has established herself as a legitimate neighborhood activist (not in the ACORN “fraud” category, dear friends. The battlers of the status quo...I used to be one once upon a time).

Reports also indicated that city councilman Bill Peduto, the city's true lone revolutionist with a heart of gold, was helpful in getting Rudiak a decent war chest. Peduto should be mayor of Pittsburgh, but isn't related to the backroom deal-makers, so his road has been tough. His endorsement of Rudiak is enough for me.

Congratulations Natalia Rudiak on the most shocking win in local politics since Bob Cranmer beat Coleen Vuono for the third County Commissioner seat.

That win wrecked the entire system.

That whole governing body was thrown out as a result of that disasterous turn of events. (Long story short: Republicans won the majority for the first time in forever and didn't know what to do with the power. Everyone involved in that improbable election watched as their political lifes imploded in front of their eyes, Democrat and Republican.)

Something tells me that Rudiak, with Peduto and a couple of other potential “movers and shakers,” could be good for my former haunt. She absolutely, positively couldn't do worse...unless another job opens up in the next few years...then it's back to square one all over again.

An Open Letter to Virgil (And Other Payday Meddlers, To Boot)

2009-05-07T14:37:00.001-07:00

by Trapper Tom, Indy Wrestling Personality

Let me preface my remarks by saying that none of us has worked Andre the Giant, Ted Dibiase and the Heartbreak Kid Shawn Michaels. We’ve never held the Million Dollar Belt or lagged behind a leather-jacket-clad Eric Bischoff and a rag-tag menagerie of New World Order cast-offs, either.
You’ve been to “The Show” and we haven’t.
However, there might not be a more fortuitous “D-List” career in the history of sports entertainment. Sorry to say that while you’ve enjoyed an interesting, inauspicious 23 years in the biz, the Hall of Fame push isn’t coming.
Stop pricing yourself out of work and “give back” to the industry.
How that “out of the blue” pairing with Dibiase all those years ago parlayed itself into a lengthy career is quite metaphorically “anyone’s guess.”
In the Million Dollar Man’s first memoir, which was so bland that it spawned a second that no one read, you may not have even been mentioned at all.
When your character finally went rogue after years of degrading servitude and rebelled against Dibiase, the action spawned yawns.
When Hulk Hogan called you to join WCW and the NWO, it’s been well documented that the conversation took place because Bischoff and the boys were over-spending Ted Turner’s money on anyone and everyone ever associated with Vince McMahon’s WWF.
In actuality, you are Mike Jones, an athletically-gifted collegiate wrestler from the near outskirts of Pittsburgh. The wrestling name given to you—Virgil—was meant as a rub against Virgil Runnels. When you arrived in NWO land, copy write infringement forced a change to Vincent—another not-so-subtle jab aimed at Vincent Kennedy McMahon. Vince must have been so amused by the honor that he’s never brought you back in any capacity, despite the fact that most “name” members of the NWO have since been used in some capacity. It appears that you and Horace Hogan remain on the sidelines together.
In fact—and interestingly enough—the real-life Virgil collects a check from the real-life Vincent to this very day.
Meanwhile, Curly Joe hocks his wares anywhere he can.
All that being noted and declared, your situation remains an enigma. You’re generous with your time with workers and fans alike. You are friendly without forcing it. Your stories are entertaining, albeit they all end with information regarding what a guy takes home in his wallet.
Pittsburgh relishes professional wrestling like few other regions in the country. Had the brains behind Studio Wrestling had the foresight to not tape-over each and every episode of the beloved spectacle, someone would have scored a nice honorarium.
In some circles, Bruno Sammartino ranks second only to Jesus Christ in terms of heroics. Jesus could sell out The Garden more than anyone, if only he tried. Bruno is held, by some, in higher regard than Terry Bradshaw, Mario Lemieux and Roberto Clemente.
Lots of people need to be reminded that Virgil still lives here.
There’s an infamous autograph convention picture of Virgil sitting alone at a table, his gimmick printed behind him. The rest of the convention hall is empty, as if abandoned. The image is that of a solitary figure sitting at a table with nary a soul in the vast hall. The pic exhibiting widespread apathy for the guy, who wore his black NWO t-shirt everywhere he went until just recently, has been circulated as a joke. He was one of the last “official” members in 1999.
Truth be told, you show up early. You show up way earlier than most “names.” Chances are you opened that exhibition center with the janitorial crew, in hopes of chatting your way into a $15 headshot sale.
Virgil, in the arena, your excitement and enthusiasm is palatable. You’ve climbed into the ring with a green rookie and shared tips on throwing punches and running the ropes. The next “legend”—and that term is thrown around WAAAAY too loosely—who hooks a collar-and-elbow tie-up with a rookie two hours before an event might well be the first.
But it does come at a cost. All of your road stories are punctuated with dollar signs instead of exclamation points. In today’s era of economic hardships (auto companies are getting pinned to the matt), there isn’t a wrestling fan alive that wants to know what Honkey Tonk Man was paid in Middle America.
Practically no one outside of Vince or Dixie Carter’s employ makes a living at our craft these days. For most, wrestling is a terrific diversion from the mundane, every day toil that otherwise defines our existence.
Myths regarding finances of fable are gone. Only an egomaniacal lunatic would pay $750 for a 10-minute dance with anyone who cannot draw fannies into seats.
Only a moron would toss $500, $400, or $300 at someone whose mere presence cannot or will not pay for itself.
There’s a scene early in “The Wrestler” in which Randy “The Ram” is handed a slightly-less-than-expected wad of cash. “I thought the draw would be bigger” is the paraphrased answer given by Frank from 30 Rock.
Selling tickets is the name of the game. “Virgil” didn’t sell tickets in the day, nor does that brand mean gold at the box office now. Perhaps that’s why Virgil isn’t prominently displayed in any of the 8x10’s you sell at various venues. In one pic, Virgil is just a little more than a shadowy figure two steps behind Dennis Rodman or some other schlub in a bizarro NWO.
It says something that Virgil doesn’t sell tickets in his home town. There weren’t any Virgil sightings behind the scenes at the latest Smackdown taping.
My only advice, albeit it’s from someone who sometimes feels guilty about collecting a few shekels for being involved in the world’s greatest entertainment venture, is to cease and desist with the money talk. And maybe tone down the cascade of vulgarities.
Perhaps it’s time to “give back” to the wrestling community and its fans with some matches, regardless of the bottom line. How about $200 and $2 for every scalp that walks through the doors. Take the deal. You’ll be on shows in no time. At 48 and in apparently decent shape, you’re in far better straights than Randy “The Ram.”
All you have to do is ask yourself it’s in about the business, or the buck.

Goldilocks, the Rat and the Rabid Raccoon

2009-04-16T18:13:00.000-07:00

The knee looked like it was going to hold up. It has been popping and cracking like a Def Poetry Jam. It doesn't really hurt, but it is swollen and stiff, as if I temporarily had someone else's leg attached to mine, but the long jaunt down the mountainside from the place I sleep was beginning to loosen it up. Just about then, I saw something scuttle across the street.

No, it didn't belong to the nearby scruffy Latino gentleman who assuredly lays his head down at the stately Kingsley apartment complex up the street, or in the bed of a pickup truck outside of Home Depot. I'm not judging; I may have given the Kingsley a look had I been looking for a hovel, and certainly living a life on the lamb in a distant country continues to look enticing. But I digress. The creature walked kinda sideways, like Marty Feldman might have had he been in a Raccoon costume.

Behind those two strode a 6' tall, 120 lb. blonde damsel with the legs of Stacey Keibler. Her black jeans scissored her way down the boulevard, with a rat-sized pooch on a leash, intermittently darting ahead or falling back. With the instincts and subtlety of a coal truck idling in front of a daycare center, I yelled at the looker from across the busy, thoroughfare. “Miss, watch out for the raccoon.” She glanced over, saw the mis-colored sweat suit ensemble across the street, then just as quickly looked away. Then it registered. You could see her understand what I said, then look back to me, a little less concerned that I was a guy with a mugshot on Dateline. I pointed up the hill. The raccoon was looking directly at me, a if to say, “Really? You've broken the ice with the hottie because I'm 35 feet away on a hillside?”

She did realize that I was trying to be helpful and not, I repeat NOT, attempting a lame pickup.

[Editor's note: the storyteller assures us that he only pointed out the raccoon because the girl's legs were approximately 40-inches long. Had she looked like the girl who played in “Hairspray,” or like the local girls available on “Craigslist,” he would have quietly and inconspicuously watched as the rabid raccoon quickly and violently descended on the unsuspecting tissue-box-sized canine.]

The Latino gentleman was now within earshot. She pointed out the mangy beast that was absolutely out-of-place at 7:15 p.m. in suburbia (not me, mind you). I continued to walk, now a little ashamed because my heroics went for naught. The Latino gentleman didn't even seem interested in raccoon stew.

Goldilocks continued to race up the boulevard, faster and faster than my stubby legs. I found it interesting that she was flying at Mach speed, while I was visibly working harder at my pace. A ten-inch stride advantage will do that. She stopped for quite awhile in front of the stately Kingsley apartment complex because the tissue box decided to make a deposit. I took the opportunity to catch up. She was across the street, but I wouldn't have said anything more to her if we had been pounding the same pavement. As the great social commentator Bill Burr recently said, “In Pittsburgh, any girl with blonde hair thinks she's a 10.” Those girls bore the stiffness out of my knee.

I wasn't quite sure if she was picking up the Kingsley deposit or grinding it in for residents to slip on later. I didn't pay that much attention. A few minutes later, I'm hoofing away, the knee feels good, and she zips by with rat-pooch's paws-a-blazin'. At the intersection, we go different ways. She wings north, I south. Never to lay eyes on each other again.

I should go back later to see if the Latino gentleman and the raccoon are still around. They might like a ride to Home Depot.

Carmen Robinson: Should Be Pittsburgh's Next Mayor

2009-01-13T20:19:00.000-08:00

If I lived in the city any more, and someone gave me $500,000 cash under the table to switch parties to Democrat, I'd vote for Carmen Robinson for Mayor.Consider this the first endorsement of the new election cycle.According to her website, Carmen was born and raised in the City of Pittsburgh, by blue collar parents Alfred and Linda Robinson. Carmen’s father was drafted during Vietnam, worked at J & L Steel and last employed by the Pittsburgh Fire Department for 31 years. Unfortunately, he has passed on. Carmen’s Mother, a laborer, is retired from H. J. Heinz.Carmen is a graduate of the University of Pittsburgh where she earned a Bachelor of Arts degree with a specialization in the Administration of Criminal Justice.Carmen was a police officer, who was promoted to sergeant in 1995. She later became an attorney. She met Pope John Paul II when she was in Vatican City studying Canon and Roman law.Carmen is a member of NOW, attends Baptist Church and is a loving and devoted family woman.Credentials scare the crap out of Democrats in the city of Pittsburgh. This is clearly the most decorated woman the city has run for any position in decades. Oh yea, she's African American and gorgeous.She doesn't stand a chance. That's why I support her. Go Carmen!

Sometimes Heroes Come In the Smallest Packages

2008-09-11T18:27:00.000-07:00

Heroes are sometimes in the smallest packages.
My niece Kasey, 8, is a lil’ fireplug. My sister has always said that if I had a daughter, it would be Kasey. You see, she likes monsters, is a scrambling little athlete (soccer’s her game…I could never get into it, so she’s one up on me), and she has an infectious personality. I’m thrilled any time my sister says Kasey reminds her of me or visa versa.
Kasey and I have a little game. She’ll grab my hands and walk up my legs and torso, kinda like when Batman and Robin scaled a wall in the 1960’s. She will giggle like a mad gal. Her little sister, Gabrielle, looks on and often breaks out into a big smile. Gabrielle and I have our own little game: she doesn’t like me much…or at least pretends to. However, when Kasey “climbs” up Uncle Trapper, Gabrielle, now smiling ear to ear, is next in line. Their other sister, Jacqui as she likes to spell it, sits nearby and shakes her head.
Last Friday, Kasey stumbled upon a young boy being bullied and physically attacked by a larger girl outside of their shared Catholic elementary school. Never one to let an injustice go by, Kasey strode up and attempted to break up the fight. In wrestling we call it a “run in.”
Never mind the fact that Kasey cracked a hairline fracture in her spine this summer, horsing around in the yard. The larger, obviously more elementary Fight Club experienced hooligan twisted the adorable sprite’s arm back. Despite the pain, I’m certain she didn’t second-guess her decision to help the young lad. It must have been reminiscent of when George McFly saved Calvin Klein’s “best girl” by coming to her aid against the much-bigger Biff in “Back to the Future.” Check back in 20 years to see if that lad pays Kasey back with her hand in matrimony.
When my son and I talked to Kasey the other day, she downplayed the whole skirmish. My sister tells me that Kasey’s exploits are now the talk of the Johnstown Diocese, or at least the buzz around the kid’s mothers. She should be interviewed on Channel 6. Their studios are directly across the street from my mom and step-dad’s house, so the reporters wouldn’t have to go far. They already interviewed my shoveling step-dad a couple of years ago after a big snow. Kasey can be in the driveway in 10 minutes thanks to side streets.
I thought of Kasey this week when I walked out of my office building. A twenty-something couple was having a heated discussion near a car. As I spoke with my son on our cell phones, I could overhear the young lady ranting about the guy’s presence. He leaned on a car, single-rose in hand. She wasn’t happy. He was letting her rant.
I listened for a few moments then, thinking about Kasey’s courage to help someone in need, I sauntered over and politely said, “Excuse me folks, is everything okay?” The woman stopped immediately, looked me dead in the eye and with some relief, said. “No sir, we’re fine. Thank you.” The young gentleman, maybe thankful to have her stop raving for a minute, turned and ‘we’re okay.’” I said, “have a nice day” and walked away.
Less than two minutes later, they were gone, perhaps their separate ways, perhaps together. Their mini-yet-to-spike quarrel over. Our sleepy lil’ parking lot quiet again.
A co-worker smile when he saw me try the duo. I didn’t want to risk the chance that the whole argument was set up on TV and I’d have to sign a waver to show my expansive posterior simply walk by like an ignoramus as two actors hammed it up for the camera ala 20/20 or Dateline.
But I also had the courage to try and help, bolstered because an incredible 8-year-old in Johnstown risked an arm muscle to stop a true beat-down.
Integrity, character and determination are big ideals if you ask me. Sometimes those lessons are learned, thanks to the smallest packages.

Cuttin' and Struttin' with a Dick

2008-02-03T19:49:00.000-08:00

The Man with No Name stood at the top of the escalator, luggage in hand, tacky Blue Tooth blinking above his left ear.
My crudely-drawn "Mr. (Surname inserted here)" sign stopped him in his snake-skin booted tracks. The name card was a trick given to me by my last "assignment," Koko B. Ware. We had an awkward moment of "are you him," and "why are you looking at me?" I figured the placard would come in handy and it did.
I walked over, extended my hand, introduced myself and shook perhaps three of his right-hand fingers. Eddie Golden drops his brown rag-tag bag for no one.
Immediately I ascertained that this wasn't going to be as pleasant as meeting Koko and the other wrestling superstars I've either spoken to or had in the passenger seat of my gas-guzzlin' SUV. More on them later.
After picking up Zodiac's last sack at Gate K, we were off to the vehicle. Any numbers of topics were broached, from family to the upcoming Super Bowl (he lives outside Boston) to the current wrestling product on USA Network and Spike. Nothing really got him to utter more than a few grunts, but he was eager to serve as unofficial spokesman for (without peer) the most popular sports entertainer in the storied history of the business. Conversely, as long as the Disciple has been in the business, he's been regarded as nothing more than a sycophant to that big name. That will again be evident this Sunday when he accompanies the perpetual champion to the Mardi Gras parade.
The ride was a long one. Armed with Satellite radio, I offer my guests anything they'd like to hear, with the exception of Rap (I argue that no one really "wants" to hear Rap; in addition, I really have to draw a line somewhere). Dizzy said he'd like to hear "Classic Rock." I asked about his favorite artists so I could narrow my 170 channels, or pluck my ELO CD from the arm rest. "I like a lot of them," was the mumbled answer. After yet more awkward moments he ticked off the same old tired laundry list of baby-boomer favorites: Aerosmith, Led Zeppelin (the others quickly became nothing more than white noise in my head). "I've partied with Ozzie Osbourne and Steven Tyler," he said. That's when the name-dropping reached its apex. In opposition, I could have rambled off a list of genuine partygoers like Belsterling, Gutonski and Zygmuncik who easily out-class any of those jokers in the "friend" department.
But I digress.
From time to time his overall tone and attitude would alter from cold to rude to downright condescending. Perhaps I didn't meet him with an iced cooler of his favorite ale. I run the chauffer gimmick because I can be at the airport in about half an hour, I generally respect the superstars I retrieve, and I do a favor for the business. It's not about the money. I usually and gladly take a financial bath with gas and my own meal costs.
Unlike 20 years ago, Mr. Boulder doesn't exist entirely off of his marginal ability as a showman. "I work for a company," was his 1950's white-bread retort when I asked how he makes a living. Later I'd hear him tell someone that he used to manage a gymnasium before the state of Massachusetts shut them down. I didn't hear the rest.
I mistakenly took my guest on a scenic route to our destination, but soon decided that his overall unfriendly demeanor would be cause enough for no corrective measure.
There were long stretches of silence as Brother Brudi wasn't up for any stories from the road. He did not tell a single tale.
Almost nothing has been written about my extraordinary weekend with Lex Luger. From the second I introduced myself to the controversial figure to the moment he asked me for a hug farewell, I knew my life changed on an intrinsic, basic level. Never before had I met someone who has looked the devil in the eye only to soar so incredibly high. Lex, limited in September by crutches, exhibited boundless energy and zest for life when he was in town for his autograph and wrestling events.
I think often of the twentysomething fan at the chain steakhouse that recognized the legendary Lex. The young man worked in the kitchen. He asked the waitress to get a single autograph. Lex, impressed with his steak, requested the chef's presence. The average-looking youth was quickly reduced to an "awe-shucks" lad when Lex spent a few minutes getting to know him. To this day the kid still has to tell friends of the experience.
That scene played out wherever we went. People would recognize Lex, while others wouldn't. It didn't matter, he was beyond friendly to everyone he encountered, no matter how briefly.
There would be none of that with The Clipmaster.
When we arrived near the hotel it was approximately an hour and five minutes after our departure from the airport, or about what I told him the trip would take.
"It wasn't so bad, huh," I asked already knowing the answer. "Harrumph," was the agitated reaction in grunt form.
The one-time mid-carder asked for a Wal-Mart so he could buy Polaroid film. After an attempt to pry a Marlin-fishing story from this treasure trove of silence, I asked jokingly if he'd be doing some "Cuttin' and Struttin" for the shoppers who might be sold on his appearance a few towns south later in the evening. "I'm just gonna buy film, man," he moaned. "Just gonna buy film."
When I ushered Koko B. Ware to a McDonalds one late Friday evening some time ago, he sprung up a conversation with two twentysomething gals who also waited a millennium for their fast food (the computer system was down). Koko initiated the pedestrian small talk with people he encountered.
There would be none of that with The Butcher.
He dashed into the store. A quick phone call to a friend was the grounding I desperately needed. The friend, who I consider among my best, half-heartedly said I should leave the big man's bags in front of Wal-Mart and take off.
I almost did.
Instead I drove around the parking lot until he returned. Next up we stopped at a Steak n' Shake where he ordered three double burgers with all the trimmings and then some. Both Lex and Koko bought me lunch. In fact, Lex wouldn't hear of me spending a dime at the various steak restaurants we patronized the entire weekend. He was blown away when I bought him two Coke Zeros and refused his money.
Snake Skin Boots and I arrived at the hotel, then our respective rooms. The quarters, he complained, had close proximity to the heavily-traveled, two-lane roadway. In two previous trips to the motel, I never once considered the artery, let alone had the audacity to ache about the complimentary accommodations.
Hopefully an afternoon nap would perk up the so-far charisma-free egotist.
A siesta didn't help.
The lone highlight of the trip to an autograph session was when I asked if he had ever been to lovely Moundsville, West Virginia, before. "What," he bristled. "Did you have a lapse in memory as to who I am? I've wrestled for 30 years. I've been everywhere."
I laughed out loud and thought "what an ass" inside.
Totally disinterested, the Bootyman arrived at the autograph session unwilling to do anything more than the bare minimum. Most of the faithful were also in attendance at Luger's autograph session in September. Some of those autographs still adorn the walls and on T-shirts. Knowing that I brought Lex in, nearly everyone asked how he was doing since his health took a drastic turn for the worse a mere three weeks or so after his visit. Doctors initially called it a Spinal Stroke. At the moment and at least temporarily, Lex is a quadriplegic but in remarkable spirits as conditions improve.
The folks in the crowd at the autograph session were the quintessential representation of fans that "made" the Bootyman and hundreds of others who jerked curtains or kept fannies in seats before Main Eventers like Luger took the ring. Lex, unquestionably the bigger "star," used his swing through Ohio and West Virginia as a "Thank You" to loyal friends and fans. Ed Boulder was in town for the easy paycheck.
We got to the wrestling venue where I saw my grappling buddies. I hugged all of them and shouted how I was never happier to see them. I wanted to kiss the biggest worker on the cheek, but I ultimately thought better of it.
A few hours later and after his less-than-stellar appearance at the wrestling event in which he ignored all of the independent workers—unless he needed something—Dizzy, beer bottle in each hand, called the fans cheap. Coincidentally, he would later chuck both empty beer bottles out of my vehicle window and onto the landscape above Rt. 2.
I told him how another, younger, hungrier, more prized "with the boys" mid-card mainstay was in the locker room during intermission encouraging the workers, teaching them in-ring psychology and other aspects of the industry. The mentor was dropping names of well-respected Indy workers who continue to bust their humps in small venues around the country. The spirited speech received a hearty ovation from everyone in the locker room. All the while Brute Force was in the ring trying to sway $10 from the house DJ for a picture with his own personal camera.
There's a misconception that this former card-filler is a Born-Again Christian. In no way did he carry himself as anything other than an elitist and opportunist. Not a single kind word was ever overheard. Vulgarities flew freely and often. Not that even the best Christian doesn't float a four-letter hum dinger from time-to-time, but most at least attempt to temper their language and/or apologize for it. I am take tentative baby steps in my Christianity (buoyed by the effervescent Luger), but I'm light years ahead of Stuart Healey.
In the middle of the night, I raced to the Pittsburgh Airport through snowy conditions, eager to deposit this follower. It was only when we said goodbye did I see the smile you might remember from 1989 TV and merchandise.
He was already licking his lips, thinking about his next paycheck. Fans in St. Louis would later assuredly ask aloud if the toady was okay. Dicks choose to be Dicks.
Good riddance.

What if a candidacy raised a zillion dollars and no one voted?

2008-01-21T21:30:00.001-08:00

The Ron Paul Internet phenomenon is unlike anything else in recent elections. There have been incredible spikes in fundraising for the Good Doctor and an eclectic mix of supporters continues to look just like the cast of a Federico Fellini film.
What is amazing to a Conservative voter is that Dr. Paul’s supporters are not Republicans, but a mismatch of political ideologues who oftentimes simply act the picked upon, bullied victim.
A quick scan of Paul’s political beliefs ticks off like a conservative Republican’s wish list. No tax hikes, repealing the IRS, withdrawal from the United Nations, a strong stance of gun owners’ rights; however, the oldest candidate in the race boasts a charisma-free resume that will never garner wide, mainstream appeal.
In some ways, the elderly, yet spry Paul is the quintessential Don Knotts of the Presidential race. He seems easy with the pre-written jokes and sharp on the stump. Paul, like Knotts before him, does not command an authoritative presence. He’s the bookish anti-cowboy during a time in which John Wayne is needed. Or Chuck Norris.
Religion is always a sticking point in Presidential elections, especially when the “Religious Right” is still considered a major voting block. Paul’s religious affiliation is as checkered as his supporters. Married in a Presbyterian Church, Mr. and Mrs. Paul raised their children in the Episcopalian Church, while Ron’s religion (on Wikipedia) is listed as Baptist, despite the notation that he considered becoming a Lutheran minister. Needless to say, since Paul practically “tried out” every religion, voters who value faith in a candidate won’t be clamoring for the devoutly fickle Paul.
The fact is, there isn’t a true front runner on either side of the aisle. Mitt Romney (two separate Presidential compatibility tests says he’s by far my candidate, yet I cannot wrap my arms around him) is from Central Casting. Fred Thompson, who came in second in one of my online tests, watched his campaign peak when he announced his candidacy on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno (Leah Thompson has more of a shot of being the GOP nominee now). Thompson, an actor by trade, tall and rough-looking by genetics, was touted by some to be the most Reagan-esque. But he’ll drop out soon.
Mike Huckabee isn’t much more convincing than Paul, in spite of the fact that wrestling legend Ric Flair endorsed him. If elected, Huckabee might be the only world leader able to make Kim Jung Il tap out to the Figure Four Leg Lock.
On the other side, Barry Hussein Obama is the “cool kid” to support, despite a legislative resume that’s lightly more impressive than mine (and I’ve so far turned down the various offers to run for public office—yes there have been three or four). The “Smartest Women in the World” talk has been silenced in the Hillary “I already have the drapes measured” Clinton camp. American Gladiators has made resurgence, Clinton says, perhaps she can insult women’s characters again for four or eight years. Jebus help us all if Hillary shrieks her way back to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
Since Ron Paul isn’t ever going to come close to earning true Republican votes in the Primary process, he would best be served in someone else’s Cabinet. Perhaps he could serve his country as Secretary of the Treasury or in a post that would best utilize his intellectual mastery of the Constitution.
What’s ironic is Ron Paul’s candidacy could possibly translate into some sort of Independent run. That would be a disaster for those who share in his “Leave Us Alone” philosophy. This mishmash of supporters would vacuum enough votes from the ultimate Republican candidate to open the White House doors to a “Big Government” Democrat who will most assuredly squash all of the “freedoms” Paul’s followers espouse.

Bet On It: Had Carlisle Been Mayor, She Would Have Still Won Election

2007-11-13T21:29:00.000-08:00

When new Pittsburgh Mayor Bob O’Connor was sworn into office in January, 2006, city council was a flutter with controversy as to who would be the next council President. Former President Eugene Ricciardi had won election to a District Justice post, thus leaving that position open.
Had experience meant anything, councilman Bill Peduto would have been a “no-brainer” to succeed Ricciardi and lead council; however, qualifications have almost never meant anything on Grant Street. More than anything—perhaps on planet Earth—Pittsburgh politics is about who you know, who you’re related to, and above all else, you’re a union-shilling, economics-be-damned Democrat.
Peduto would not be President of Pittsburgh City Council because he dared oppose O’Connor for Pittsburgh’s top job (we’ll exclude Steelers Coach), despite the King maker’s “next-in-line” designation. O’Connor’s long-term right-hand man Doug Shields had orders from above that prohibited Peduto from being council chief. Shields reportedly wanted the job for himself back then, but at the time was unable to muster the votes, especially with a ticked Peduto holding a salvo or three. [Shields now serves as Council President.]
Councilman Jim Motznik was the self-appointed front-runner for the Presidency. Motznik assumed he had the post locked up, but years before the former Public Works muck-raker quite spryly bolted from a television reporter’s camera over some rather routine questions of the day, and promised to resign from Council to assist Hillary Clinton’s Presidential campaign (the clock still ticks on that vow). With assertions like those, Motznik’s growing political irrelevance made his ascension impossible (to Motznik’s credit, he did narrowly win re-election after those gaffes).
A quick scan of the remaining Council members from the time proved nearly all others to be “too new” or privy to political alienation for one reason or another.
At the same time there were quiet whispers that Twanda Carlisle wanted the largely ceremonial engagement. She would have been an aesthetically-pleasing choice: youthful for a Pittsburgh politician (despite the fact it’s difficult to find anything about her age: we’ll guess she’s 46), attractive in that “looking beyond you into the abyss” sort of way, and African American.
For at least one second, Carlisle was being considered for President of Pittsburgh City Council.
Instead, an even younger upstart—who was born up-to-his-neck in Pittsburgh political lineage—was ultimately considered a “safe choice,” albeit hand-picked from the flock by O’Connor. North Side resident Luke Ravenstahl was selected for Pittsburgh City Council President only because no one else had the necessary votes.
Then tragically, O’Connor was effectively out of the Mayor’s post before the first pitch of the MLB All-Star Game at PNC Park on July 11, 2006.
The waiting game was on. As days became weeks, it was clear that something was not right with the hospitalized Bob O’Connor. He passed away on September 1, 2006.
Ravenstahl was jettisoned to national prominence almost immediately and he quickly proved to be the epitome of the none-too-worldly-wise 26-year-old who was far more interested in trips to the Late Show with David Letterman (where Luke admitted on television that city police looked the other way when it came to ticketing Ben Roethlisberger after the infamous motorcycle accident) and crashing parties with the elite of the elite (he drove a Homeland Security SUV to visit Tiger Woods at the suburban Oakmont for the U.S. Open). Ravenstahl was also photographed with Sienna Miller, the 25-year-old actress with a face of a Pop Culture Godess and mind of mushy quid when she risked ire of Cleveland Browns-fan proportions by calling the city a bad name.
The city’s fortunes could have been far more interesting had Twanda Carlisle been handed the role that—at the time—was a harmless license to appear on one of the public access channels and crow about being perhaps the city’s highest-ranking African American female city official EVER. Her predecessor, Valerie McDonald Roberts never made it to council President, largely because O’Connor held the post when she was in office. Roberts, who previously served on the Pittsburgh School Board, eventually moved to a lower-profile Allegheny County post. That was too bad because she would have been an ideal standard bearer had she received the chance.
Imagine Carlisle had the opportunity to serve as council President when O’Connor was prominently shown hanging Wi-Fi equipment downtown, in a ceremonious photo op that ultimately would become his final public appearance.
Instead of a frightened Luke Ravenstahl being sworn in as Mayor that late summer evening, it was “that close” to being the glassy eyed Carlisle (did she ever have any other expression?), hand on Bible, accepting the reigns of running the Commonwealth’s only interesting major market city.
Pretend for a mili-second that Twanda Carlisle was the Mayor.
Somewhere along Carlisle’s employ, she decided that the city’s bloated coffers were in fact a secret slush fund for anyone of her acquaintance.
Reports leaked with Carlisle purchasing books of questionable political merit, then escalated to an expensive fur coat and vacations abroad. Worst of all, Carlisle’s mother’s boyfriend received $29,000 to brazenly plagiarize a University of Pittsburgh study and shoehorn it around his own rinky-dink, narrow-minded, quasi-idiotic ideas. Assuredly, no one would read the examination of healthcare, religion and politics in Twanda’s 9th Council District, but the story of fraudulent intrigue had already spread. Local media eagerly awaited the tome’s release. It didn’t disappoint. The “study” turned out to be a hodge-podge of mystification that made the CBS News’ “Memo-Gate” that dethroned news hierarchy Dan Rather look Einsteinian in comparison.
That and other crackpot expenditures quickly drew the attention of the federal government, namely United States Attorney for the Western District of Pennsylvania Mary Beth Buchanan.
What would have occurred had Carlisle been Mayor when the stories of misappropriation of funds been made public?
It depends on when the story broke.
If Carlisle had been Mayor, certainly up for election, it would have been interesting to see if Bill Peduto would have waged a challenge. The city’s only real “Reform Democrat” with fiscal-conservative leanings, Peduto remains Pittsburgh’s best choice to remain relevant; nevertheless, he’s not subservient to the Special Interest Groups (a.k.a. public sector unions) that control the city with the most selfish of Socialist contentions. Keep in mind, even an elementary understanding of real-world economics has almost never been a strong suit of Pittsburgh City Council in 70 years.
A thinking man’s candidate—even a Rust Belt Democrat—has no chance against a free-spending, Devil-Wears-Prada-on-public-dime empty power suit.
Fact is, those who dominate the voting block in the city probably wouldn’t sweat had there been pending federal action against the “supposed” Mayor Carlisle administration with Republican Mark DeSantis in the race.
All Carlisle’s handlers would need to do is parrot DeSantis’ Republican registration over and over again and punctuate the proof that Buchanan is also a member of the Grand Old Party.
Carlisle could have bested DeSantis by an even larger margin than Ravenstahl because of her gender, ethnicity, willingness to sign big checks to the unions and simplistic party affiliation.
The “Sheep” would continue to pull the party line, the donkeys would assuredly bray. Carlisle will need to pay back more than $40,000 in embezzled taxpayer cash.
That being noted, there’s little double that the city’s naïve voting electorate would still endorse a convicted felon to Mayor of Pittsburgh over a Republican, regardless of his or her qualifications. Lynn Swann, one of the most beloved Pittsburgh Steelers of all time wasn’t given a fair shot by Pittsburgh voters in his race for Governor because of his voter registration.
In 2007, it’s plainly that dire on Grant Street. With DeSantis dispatched and Peduto quiet on the sidelines, all of the great potential leaders on the current landscape have been vanquished.
At least Carlisle won’t be governing with an ankle bracelet anytime soon.

Steel City Derby Demons Destroy Cleveland's Burning River Gals

2007-11-04T19:22:00.001-08:00

I've been promising my pal "Mel Practice" that I would show up to see the Steel City Derby Demons in action all season. You see, "Mel" has been a tremendous supporter of the KSWA for as long as I've known her, and all she's ever asked from me was to watch her and the rest of her gang.

A couple of months ago the Demons concluded the last match of their inaugural, intramural season and she worked hard to get me some comp tickets. I ended up bagging, as I wasn't "in a good place" at the time. Luckily my ability to do more adventurous things has returned.

Saturday the All-Stars of the Steel City Derby Demons took on the Burning River Roller Girls, straight from Cleveland in the "Big Stink On The Rink" extravaganza.

Friday after work, I met Mel at her superbly eclectic place of employment on the South Side. She saved me a few bucks by selling a ticket early. She also informed me that one of the All Stars broke her ankle in practice and was in the hospital. It turns out the injured athlete was Busty Brawler, a dark-haired Demon I met when she visited the KSWA. We've since talked about the fact that "Busty," or Natalie as her birth certificate reads, is from Lancaster County, around the same place where my father and his family resides.

I've met a handful of the Demons and believe Busty and Mel would be among the only ones to remember me. As it turns out, neither was going to play Saturday, as Mel was a "stand-by" skater who probably wouldn't be allowed to play in the weekend game on such short notice.

Friday I spent some time with Mel, bought a trinket from the store in which she works, and talked a variety of issues in an hour. I'll gladly note that the happily and newly-married Mel is an incredible beauty inside and out. Her care for friends and impressive intellect make her a winner. I'm happy that she seems to have a tight-knit family. I also stopped to get Natalie a Get Well card, which I later found out she enjoyed.

Fast forward to Saturday night, where it first looked like Mel was going to get to participate. Bad news was, she didn't. However, she cheered on and retrieved towels for her teammates during breaks.

The glossy program featured the history of Roller Derby and included a picture of the mustached sport founder, eyes wide open, mouth agape in true 1970's hyped fashion. Individual pictures from both teams could also be found. This isn't your grandfather's Derby, with female behemoths and Farrah Fawcett look-alikes. Today's Roller Derby embraces athletic women of all shapes and sizes, many like Mel with tattoos galore. The good news is there isn't a dog in the entire Steel City Roller Derby Demon All-Star roster.

Regardless of what type of girl you like, there's someone for you to embrace as a fan. From the aptly named Betty Bonecrusher to the sprite-like Cheeseburger, the Demons come in all shapes and sizes. But they are all exciting athletes in their own right. They also come with colorful names like The Crippler (in the picture, she's as "girl next door as you can ever imagine), Snot Rocket (who could be your best friend's adorable sister), Ally McKill (the girl you should have asked to the Prom) and the still "un- P.C." Scary Schiavo (there's an enchanting, yet nefarious look in those eyes) that would make any professional wrestling promoter proud.

The home team announcer was the spitting image of 80's TV icon Harry Anderson, flush with fedora and snazzy suit. Who knows if he had suspenders and string bean arms like Anderson's "Harry the Hat" character from Cheers that served as a spring board to Night Court. He didn't dazzle throughout the night and the crowd didn't really seem to respond to his timing.

There was an announcer from Cleveland who did a better job capitalizing on the role of the "hip" modern derby announcer. The bad part was, no one really taught him how to use the microphone, so he gave it the "fist on the top" technique which only made him sound like a human beat box all night long. Late in the contest—fearing my hearing was going—I asked a couple of younger guys standing around me if they understood anything the "cool guy" was saying and they just shrugged in agreement.

A third announcer, a Pittsburgh skater named "Sharon Fluids" happened to wear Cleveland's colors. She started strong but by the end of the evening she was overshadowed by Mr. Over Modulation.

The event was well put together. The match resembled professional hockey with three periods. For 20 minutes, the teams went at it tooth and nail. The Steel City Derby Demons took an early lead and never looked back.

During the first break in the action, two youngsters performed break dancing routines for the remarkable crowd. Break Dancing! The "kids" today may call it Hip Hop, and it may be featured in a Nick Cannon, Nickelodeon-produced movie, but it is still break dancing.

The second intermission included a well-done performance by a Rock-A-Billy trio. Their short set was just about right time-wise.

The fan base was astoundingly familiar with a lot of the Derby Demons and the rules. When a "Jammer," most notably "Hurricane Heather" was able to break free and score points, men and women alike took note and cheered. In the last period, Heather dominated by racing around the pack over and over again. Toward the end of the run, she hooted it up with the fans between spurts of point accumulation.

The crowd, which was quiet for much of the night, sprang to its feet as Heather pulled the Derby Demons further away from their Cleveland counterparts. The match ended in a blowout, with the Pittsburgh gals collecting the victory.

Afterwards, Demons posed for pictures, signed autographs and met with friends and fans. The plan was for the Demons to have an after party of the South Side. By that time, my lower back was in agony from standing on the hard track. It was time to head on out and see how bad I looked in the pictures with the striking Mel Practice. As usual, I looked like a dunce.

When you get a chance, check out the Steel City Derby Demons. Learn more by going to http://www.steelcityderbydemons.com/. You won't be disappointed.

Pittsburgh’s Peerless Prodigal Son Of Politics Has Resurfaced

2007-11-03T08:08:00.000-07:00

What an absolute treat to unfold Saturday’s Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and see the most unique “politician” ever in Pittsburgh, “sniffing” snacks of $2 bills he used to pay his entry fee into New Hampshire’s Democratic presidential primary.

Richard E. “Mad Dog” Caligiuri is the “Philosophical Outlaw,” the one-time, perennial Congressional candidate who oftentimes took on former Congressman Bill Coyne (the antithesis of thoughtful deliberation and verve). The quintessential Pittsburgh Libertarian, Caligiuri made his biggest splash in the mid 90’s when he posed nude, strategically positioned as “The Thinker,” on the back cover of one of Pittsburgh’s weekly liberal odes to all things unconventional.

“Mad Dog” had arrived. As the editor of an advertiser-supported every-other-weekly ode to all things Block Watch, Community News and feature-happy odes to all things small town, U.S.A., I was excited to meet him. We became fast friends, but alas, a family-member’s health was encompassing more and more of his time, so I knew that Caligiuri’s time in the “alternative candidate’s” spotlight was waning.

Of course, the throngs of public sympathizers and fans of unthinking, unblinking Coyne-dom voted Sleepy Socialist Willie into office one last time. Shortly thereafter, Fidel Castro’s poster boy for all things crazier-than-a-loon retired and gerrymandering allowed for the one-time middle-of-the-road-thinking Mike Doyle assumed the city of Pittsburgh. Thusly, Doyle accepted the lunatic-fringe of lefty liberalism, but before that had to face Caligiuri one last time.

Doyle and I had a good working relationship, as I did with virtually everyone in public office. One Bill Peduto guided former Congressman Dan Cohen’s political ship into an everyman’s quagmire of Congressional hopefulness. No one quite realized the inexplicable power of the Sleepy Socialist and Cohen’s political future was sunk. The shock of that outcome still resonates to this day.

Caligiuri ran against Coyne and I broke the story. Doyle informed the rest of Pittsburgh’s media that I had the scoop, that indeed he had an opponent that fall.

Doyle won then, and has raced to the left faster than his idol, John Murtha fell from grace in the opinions of 95% of career service men and women.

Caligiuri disappeared off the political map just about the time in which he should have shined.

In his prime, Caligiuri would have been the Internet’s political darling, a daring thinker who’s “out of the box” ideas have been copied but never duplicated.

Mark Rauterkus has picked up Caligiuri’s reigns perhaps better than anyone might have dreamt. However, Caligiuri always kept his eyes only on Congress. He became folklore to us political junkies, perhaps not as oddly as the late sandwich-board guy who despised Coyne and once ran for Mayor, but in a city with so few real “colorful” politicians who didn’t make a career out of cashing city council paychecks, Caligiuri was a hero.

Until now.

According to the Concord Monitor, Caligiuri drove to New England to enter the crowded Democratic field. He still maintains a true Libertarian philosophy, but that only makes him closer to being a John F. Kennedy Democrat than a Hillary Clinton Democrat.

New Hampshire voters were also reported to be waiting for TV funnyman Stephen Colbert to show up. Colbert had announced his candidacy for the South Carolina primary a few weeks ago, but those staunch intolerants decided to leave him off the ballot. It’s still uncertain whether Dennis Kucinich is on that ballot, but one joke shouldn’t necessarily disqualify another.
From time to time, I’ve thought of Caligiuri, but lost his phone number eons ago. Print says he continues to maintain his family’s fast food and ice cream restaurant in Wilkinsburg.
Back in the day, he routinely shuttled from that hamlet to a kraal in Westmoreland County, where he presumably drank wine and waited for the next Congressional go-round.

Had I had a vote in New Hampshire, I would consider crossing party lines to plunk the Mad Dog.

It’s great to see an old friend once again.

Kaitlin Olson Makes "Philadelphia" One Of The Funniest Shows On TV

2007-09-21T05:30:00.000-07:00

Jerry Seinfeld once said that he knew that his self-titled sitcom was stepping on new ground when his character was successfully able to steal a loaf of Rye Bread from an elderly woman and the audience still tuned in.
That great comedy was also hailed because it was the number one show on television and was anchored by characters that were largely self-obsessed and even "mean."
"It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia," is the heir apparent to Seinfeld, and chances are you've never seen it.
I vaguely remember being blown away by this little show that's on FX in its first season, but it quickly and inexplicable fell through the cracks of my television landscape.
Most people, including me, think that Curb Your Enthusiasm in the modern-day Seinfeld, what with co-creator Larry David serving as the equal combination of Jerry Seinfeld and George Constanza from the heyday of NBC Thursday Night's "Must See TV."
In many ways, that excellent show is the "Seinfeld" of today. That being noted, the "Gang" in "Philadelphia" is the funniest ensemble on the tube. And that includes the group from "How I Met Your Mother," who are funny but far more sitcom traditional.
What makes "Sunny" really stand out from other comedic collections is Kaitlin Olson, who plays "Sweet" Dee Reynolds, twin sister of Dennis Reynolds, played by Glenn Howerton. Normally, the primary woman on the show is either a ditz or far more intelligent than the boyfriend, husband, or "dude." On "Sunny," Dee is just as obtuse, rude, mean and sophomoric as the boys. Olson might have the richest female comedic role on modern television. Only Julia Louis-Dreyfus' Elaine Benes could be equal parts "hot chick" and world-class jerk. On FX, Dee can drop a few expletives.
One immediate drawback of the show is that the three main male leads look too much alike. Howerton and co-stars Rob McElhenney and Charlie Day all have dark hair and have similar builds. If you're new to the show, it will take several episodes to tell them apart. Conversely, Charlie has one of the funniest voices on television, network or cable.
The excellent Danny DeVito plays "Frank Reynolds," a "wealthy" character who was originally written in as Dee and Dennis' father until it was determined he wasn't. Now he may have sired Day's Charlie Kelly. The Reynolds' twin biological father was revealed to be the guesting Stephen Collins of 7th Heaven fame. Their mother was portrayed by Anne Archer, believe it or not. In the story, mama hamstrung Reynolds with the twins because of his bank account. Network sitcoms simply don't take those kind of chances.
The third season of the hysterical sitcom just started with an episode about "The Gang" as they are collectively called, finding a "Dumpster Baby," they subsequently call "D.B." Dee, Dennis and Mac are innocently walking through a garbage-strewn alley when one of the guys…still not sure who…opens a dumpster lid only to find a Caucasian lad in pajamas.
Later, Frank and Charlie find interesting things at the city dump. Next thing you know, they have an apartment filled with other people's broken belongings, and they are sleeping on a sewer grate in the rain. Not much on TV is funnier than watching DeVito lunge for a bouncing, empty water cooler bottle while pushing a shopping cart full of trash down the sidewalk.
Dee and Dennis or Mac become convinced that "D.B." could be the next well-adjusted, Latino child sensation (see aforementioned reference to the baby being white), so they attempt to get the baby a "base coat" at the local tanning salon.
That's about when my mistimed DVR stopped recording the Gang's shenanigans. It will re-run later in the week.
I've also seen the "Gang Gets Invincible" episode that, with DeVito's unglamorous turn as an acid-dropping, gun-toting idiot stuck in a Winnebago toilet-turned garbage can, is probably the most creative half hour I've seen in quite some time.

Thursday's "Gang Gets Held Hostage" featured the rival McPoyle brothers and their possibly incestuous sister holding everyone except Frank Reynolds, who was stuck in the bar's strangely expansive duct work, at gunpoint. The episode was fun, but not as guttural laugh inducing as some, but Olson again excelled.
Rumor has it that the guys made the pilot for $85 a couple of years ago. A whole season was paid for with what it cost David Schwimmer to play Ross Gellar for 13 minutes in the last season of Cheers.
"It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" is worth your time. It is a show you should also catch up on…I will soon…because the first two seasons are just now out on DVD.
It's not like stealing a loaf of Rye Bread, but "Sunny" is like waving a discarded sword on the top of a garbage dump. And that's funny.

Jake "The Snake" RobertsSummer 2007

2007-06-25T09:43:00.000-07:00

Aurelian Jake Smith Jr. answered the question with ease. It came too quickly and too easily. The answer may have already “scripted,” but for a split second, it was also sincere and honest.
“The toughest opponent I ever had was in the mirror,” was the paraphrased answer in the interview segment. It was hard to make out every word Jake “The Snake” Roberts uttered in the middle of the ring. From time to time is was difficult to recognize what he was saying into a WWF microphone in the 1980’s, when he was at the top of his professional game. This was the second day of summer, 2007. Jake was not at the top of his game.
Much has been made of Jake Roberts’ private demons. No long-time fan of the industry is unfamiliar with Beyond the Mat, the 1999 documentary that depicted Roberts whizzing into a garbage can and allegedly smoking an illegal substance after a heartbreaking meeting with his daughter. That same year, Jake cut what was described as a rambling, incoherent promo on an Independent PPV event. He followed that up by staggering to the ring and flailing away at Jim Neidhart.
Since that time, Jake Roberts has reportedly found religion, and then lost it again. From time to time, Jake would even show up on religion-based television programs like the suburban Pittsburgh “His Place” diner and talk about faith with his wife at the time. It would be too easy to bury Jake “The Snake” Roberts with negative thoughts and ideas today. The fact of the matter is Jake “The Snake” Roberts needs the best wishes and hopes and prayers all of his fans more in the summer of 2007 than ever before.
I personally wasn’t the greatest fan of the “heel” Jake in the 1980’s, but I always understood why others flocked to him. His “mat psychology” was amongst the best of all time. Perhaps he was able to funnel that personal tragedy into those intense promos and historic battles. Jake was in Main Events for a reason. He was good, one of the finest. In the past decade, rumors of drug use and alcoholism have drastically changed Jake’s legacy, conceivably increasing his legend. Really, who would even notice Jake anymore if he were a Bible-thumping babyface? Another Jesus-inspired, now-converted heel from the same era like Ted DiBiase doesn’t get nearly the Internet ink. Instead, promoters all over the country don’t know what they’re getting when they put cash into Roberts’ hands.
During the second day of summer 2007, about 150 fans looked for Jake Roberts at intermission. Jake, wearing a black “Size Matters” T-shirt was under the weather and wasn’t coming out. The fans were polite and accepting of the merchandise table of miscellaneous trinkets and assorted rubbish. Some of the Indy workers sold their own T-shirts and signed autographs for fans. One middle-aged fan with questionable mental capacities repeatedly pleaded to see Jake. He would have to wait for the in-ring action just like everyone else, promoters included.
From time to time Jake, who remains a good 6’6” or more, would wander from the Men’s Room back to the locker room area. Workers had trouble understanding his growl. One expert wrestler would later say that he was hurt, not from the bumps or the awkward suplex that his opponent didn’t know how to execute, but in the chest. He pointed to his heart. Jake cut a fan-friendly promo later in the night. The standing-room-only throng was delirious in delight of seeing their hero. One athlete’s mother made an hour-and-a-half drive with her son just to see the wrestler she cheered 20 years ago.
In the Main Event, Jake seemingly came alive. The best he could actually. He called the match as he went. For a battered and overly paunchy (he did expose his belly to some fans at ringside) 52 years of age (going on 62), Roberts did pull off some spots and the crowd was electrified just to see him. When tagged in to the six-man tag contest, Jake spent most of his time on his back. There was a comical moment in which heels and his babyface tag partners pulled at Jake like a wishbone. The fans howled in laughter and approval. While rolling around on the mat, sinking into the corner, or being helped to his feet on the outside, Jake Roberts can still master the crowd. The DDT came out of nowhere, after a severe beat-down before and during the match. The recipient of the legendary move took it with aplomb and professionalism. For that moment it was 1987 all over again.
The fans knew Damian was coming out. The professional wrestler took the “snake bath” in classic fashion. His mother, who rode all that way, nearly teared up when she realized her son was in pretty elite company, under the boa constrictor. A minute or so later, she was again elated with Jake picked her out of the crowd for a gigantic hug. Jake smiled broadly whenever he was out amongst his fans. After the match he was also joyful, scribbling wildly on photographs at $10 a pop. He met with workers and took a few pictures, middle finger proudly extended, teeth grinning, with wild hair exploding.
Who knows what Jake did following the successful event. His handlers did their best to collect money as he sold the photographs. One worker helped him out of his snakeskin boots. It would have been easy to destroy Jake “the Snake” Roberts for not spending much time with all those fans who came far away to see him, or for not sharing legendary stories in the locker room with the guys who romanticized his famous feats. Most of their greetings were met with Tourettes-like vulgarities or simple Stone Mountain-quality slurred speech. They did perhaps learn about the darker side of professional wrestling and personal demons.
In the ring, Jake Roberts was exciting and entertaining. He has surrounded himself with a talented team that supports him with bookings, and they do their best to keep his legend at the top of everyone’s wrestling memory banks. I personally gave Jake money for a scribbled 8x10 featuring him being stretched out by Andre the Giant. I asked for a quick autograph, personalized for a friend. You can see the first letter of Dennis’ name and little else. I shook his hand and told Jake to “Take Care of Yourself.” It is a familiar parting phrase for me, sometimes lazy. However, I instantly meant it for Jake.
God Bless you Jake Roberts. Please, take care of yourself.

DeSantis on Ballot: The Next Jason Altmire?

2007-05-30T06:24:00.000-07:00

It was reported today that Mark DeSantis, a last-minute write-in Republican candidate for Mayor, received far more votes than needed for the November ballot.

DeSantis reminds me of another little-known candidate who was tapped for potential greatness: freshman Congressman Jason Altmire (D-North Hills). Altmire was swept into office over one-time political juggernaut Melissa Hart.

Hart was seemingly tapped by the GOP kingmakers a few years ago. Instead, she was derailed by a candidate few people knew of months before the General Election. Could the same happen for DeSantis, if there's a definitive "Anti-Luke" sentiment that comes about sometime in this summer?

The position of "Independent Candidate who could draw Money" was originally earmarked for Bill Peduto; however, he apparently decided that sitting on the sideline for the next decade with Ravenstahl won't be that bad. Peduto would only be 52 when Ravenstahl moves onto a bigger statewide or Congressional post, and that's plenty of time to run the city his way.

There might be "niche" candidates like Mark Rauterkus, but only DeSantis will be in a position to raise funds. Don't go crazy now, I don't expect it.

That being noted, DeSantis has been described in some circles as "left of Ravenstahl." With incredibly strong ties to the unions, Luke is a typical city of Pittsburgh politician. That's not to be confused with Dan Onorato, who beat Jim Roddey by truly being fiscally more conservative than the first ACE. Surely, Onorato is tied into the unions as well, but he doesn't HAVE to be as tied to the hip to the region's most influential Special Interest Group. He can cater to the North Hills conservatives and the few that still remain in Upper St. Clair and Mt. Lebanon.

Onorato has done a pretty fair job; Roddey speaks highly of him and the Allegheny County Republican Committee, rudderless for what appears to be an eternity now (Rich Stampahar was the last who initiated any kind of forward movement whatsoever), failed to provide even a viable write-in candidate. With Roddey now well into his 70's and a suburbanite, the city wasn't going to post a worthy candidate. I didn't even want to try it for kicks and giggles.

Ravenstahl is not without his political skeletons. He just hasn't made enough powerful enemies to derail his ambitions. A friend told me Luke's approval rating rivaled that of Reagan in the salad days.

However, Luke might be getting a little too cocky. He's started to snipe with City Council President Doug Shields over silly stuff. And City Councilwoman Twanda Carlisle's investigation/court case may still make an occasional headline this summer. IF I have my time line right, Ravenstahl was city council president when Carlisle was bankrolling her mother's boyfriend for plagiarised white papers.

What if something else embarrassing happens this summer. Power brokers won't nudge Ravenstahl aside and hand over the reigns to Shields, who was former Mayor Bob O'Connor's right hand man forever. The two apparently don't always get along.

Ravenstahl is a young man with a pretty wife and no children. What if he gets out of hand again like he did at the Steelers game a few years ago? There is the Casino flap looming like a dark cloud over the hillside (something tells me that Smokey Robinson might want to hold off putting a down payment on a downtown condo, he may not be Don Barden's headliner as soon as expected). What if Luke falls into the Mon after a night of checking out the South Side nightlife (on official business mind you)? WPXI's fabulous Katrina Owens might be able to narrate as Jeff Koch's buddies pulls Luke from the muck.

DeSantis could be the next Jason Altmire: a decent guy with no real credentials for the position. But the voters became sick of Melissa Hart's imposing height and linebacker shoulders and kicked her to the curb. If Ravenstahl stumbles, the same could conceivably happen.

If DeSantis starts to show up in the newspapers and on television, watch his donations. Do I expect him to be a player? No, not really. The classy Joe Weinroth was superior in the debates last time around and very few people gave him the time of day or dollars from their wallet.

Luke Ravenstahl won't be as dangerous to our fair city as Tom Murphy was for three terms. Murphy almost single handily destroyed Pittsburgh's 90 communities by looking only at the bells and whistles of Fifth and Forbes.

But if something unforeseen happens this summer, Mark DeSantis may just be the next Jason Altimire. But don't bet on it.

Double A Vaults Bobby O's Team in Captain's Series; Atlas Proves It's A "Puniverse" World At Mayhem

2007-05-09T07:36:00.000-07:00

by Trapper Tom, Ring Announcer May 7, 2007

From the opening bell to the final slap of a three-count, "Mayhem At The Moose" 2007 was one of the most intense, wildest nights ever in the KSWA.
Before the event officially got underway, Biker Al set a Handicap Match with Blood Beast and Zero teaming against Latin Assassin. Bobby O countered with scheduling Biker Al in a match with an opponent to be named later.

Captain's Series: Team Durso v. Team Trapper

The evening began with the first round of the Captain's Series, with Frank Durso's team of himself, KSWA World Champion Shawn Blanchard and Dr. Devastation Lou Martin against Team Trapper, which consisted of Trapper Tom, Golden Triangle Champion Justin Sane and "The King" Del Douglas.
It took a while for King Douglas to get into the ring, as team captain Trapper Tom shadowed him. But once in the ring, it looked as if the team was going to be a cohesive unit. Justin Sane started with an arm bar on Blanchard. Sane continued to work on the arm, before Blanchard regrouped for a suplex. Blanchard tagged in Durso, who immediately went for illegal tactics. Those actions busted Justin's forehead open. Durso gnawed at the open wound and quickly donned a goatee of blood. Blanchard was tagged back in and he too went with questionable maneuvers.
Lou Martin was tagged in, and he tossed Justin into the corner, virtually forcing a tag with King Douglas. Durso continued to assault Justin on the outside of the ring. The King quickly controlled Martin. Douglas tagged Trapper. Trapper didn't want to pound on a fallen Martin and pulled him up. The two men, who have worked as a tag team in the past, looked hesitant, as neither wanted to cheap shot the other. Durso attracted Martin's attention, and Trapper pushed Martin into the corner, tagging Blanchard. Blanchard powered Trapper into the corner and landed three blistering reverse edge chops. Trapper fell to the mat and Blanchard tagged in Durso. Durso went to work on Trapper with some choke moves.
Durso tagged in Martin and Trapper was able to get up. He blindly went after Martin, shouting Frank's name. Trapper landed his patented Killer Elbows and felled Martin. Trapper lunged and tagged in Justin Sane. Justin got some offense before receiving some punishment. Sane went to tag Douglas, but the King suddenly retreated from his teammates, leaving them in a lurch. Seeing no other option, Justin tagged in Trapper Tom. Justin went after the King. Trapper shouted some directives toward Douglas, and then turned into an elbow shot from Blanchard. After an illegal crotch shot with Durso distracting the referee, Blanchard hit Trapper with a suplex. Durso was tagged in. He laid in some offense before scoring a pin on the double-teamed Trapper.
Post match: Justin and Jimmy James helped a fallen Trapper to the back. Blanchard and Durso taunted the crowd while Martin just looked on.

Handicap Match: Blood Beast and Zero v. Latin Assassin

Latin Assassin came to the ring looking for retribution against Zero who recently left him hanging out to dry in a tag match. But Biker Al's new enforcer, the Blood Beast, had other things in mind.
Latin came to the ring and grabbed the microphone. He ripped into Zero before being taken down by both men. Blood Beast, who continues to show that he may just be the KSWA's most powerful athlete, body slammed Latin with ease. Blood Beast used his massive power to maneuver Latin, who has exhibited little ring rust after being on the competitive shelf for most of the last 12 months. Blood Beast went for a quick pin but the veteran Assassin kicked out at two. Blood Beast continued the onslaught.
All the while, Zero spent most of the match on the outside, strolling and playing mind games. Zero has said that growing up in the vast, cold Anchorage, Alaska has enabled him to sharpen his mind. In ring-psychology has been his calling card in the year-and-a-half Zero has been in the KSWA locker room, and those skills have been put to great use against the last Tri-State Champion.
Blood Beast continued a pure physical dominance over Latin Assassin. However, Latin got frustrated and brought a folding chair into the ring. He inadvertently bashed referee Diamond Dave Diamond with the weapon. Latin mustered some offense but ultimately received a choke slam from the Beast. Diamond Dave regained consciousness and called for the bell. He immediately disqualified Latin and gave the win to Blood Beast and Zero.
Post Match: Latin argues with Diamond Dave. Latin then hoisted Dave onto his shoulders and flattened him, all to the delight of the crowd. Referee Jimmy James quickly rushes the ring to assist his fallen colleague. KSWA Owner Bobby O comes out and chastises Zero for his underhanded shenanigans. Bobby forces Zero into another match.

Zero v. Snake Man Deven Michaels

To make things interesting, not to mention meaningful, Bobby O puts the stipulation that this is now a Number One Contender's Match for the Golden Triangle Championship.
Zero, perhaps irate over O's interference into this tidy plan, took his frustrations out on Michaels. Deven seemed taken aback by the offense and took a significant beating for a few moments before launching into a little of his own defense.
The two went at it for a few moments until the veteran Michaels was able to utilize the short-armed clothesline. He followed that with the DDT and Zero was dispatched to the mat and the one, two, three.
Deven Michaels is the winner of the match and the new Number One Contender for the Golden Triangle Championship currently held by Justin Sane.
With the KSWA Krazies looking on, Deven threw Jezebel onto his fallen prey. Zero regained composure and was more than a little freaked out by the reptile.
Post Match: Fans went crazy as Michaels showed off his slithering friend. Zero made his way back to the locker room.

Captain's Series: Team Bobby O. v. Team Perri

After Team Perri was introduced, Ali Kaida demanded that the Krazies stand and bow before the Afghanistan flag and the playing of the Afghanistan National Anthem (of course, they refused).
Usually, Ali Kaida waves the flag, but instead the International Thugs forced Baracus to hold the flag. Baracus, who at one time was a proud member of the U.S. Armed Forces, has in recent years embraced the insurgent teachings of Gentleman Joe Perri, and has embarked on several top secret missions for the group. However on this day, Baracus looked a little conflicted as he held the Afghani Flag. A couple of times he allowed the flag to touch the mat, all to the derision of Perri and Kaida.
Big Mike Malachi, who along with Ali Kaida, were on Perri's team, stood at attention and looked down on anyone who didn't join in the pomp and circumstance.
The International Thugs, who some observers predicted would take the entire Captain's Series, then faced Team O, which comprised of Bobby O, Double-A Anthony Alexander and the former Drunken Luchadore Joseph Q.
All six men started the match with a hail of punches. Bobby O went after Gentleman Joe Perri, Ali Kaida went after Joseph Q. and Double-A traded blows with Big Mike Malachi.
Soon, O and Q were dispatched and the International Thugs double-teamed Double A. Ali Kaida then went after Alexander, but the former Golden Triangle Champion landed the big boot and the leg drop on the Afghani Assault Weapon.
Joseph Q was tagged in, but Ali Kaida, who has picked up his game expedentially in recent months, took control of the situation. With others distracting the referee, Ali blasted the Tijuana, Mexico native below the border then followed that up with a fall-away slam.
Big Mike Malachi antagonized Alexander from the outside as "IT" kept Joseph in the corner. Malachi was tagged in and he continued the mugging. Malachi utilized the belly-to-belly suplex on Q, and tossed him into his own corner.
In frustration after months of loss-fueled sobriety, Joseph grabbed a fan's alcoholic beverage and chugged it. Instantaneously, he was powered and energized. Quervo went on the attack, crushing both Malachi and Ali Kaida with impressive blows.
In the ensuing madness, Bobby O and Malachi were tagged in. Big Mike body slammed Bobby O, then tagged in Gentleman Joe. Perri rained a double-hammer on Bobby. Ali Kaida was then tagged in and applied the Camel Clutch. Double A and Malachi traded blows on the outside, Quervo and Perri went toe to toe.
Inside the ring it appeared as if Bobby O tapped out, but with the ref distracted by the other activity, any submission went unseen.
Suddenly, Baracus entered the ring and Ali Kaida stood Bobby O up, in anticipation of the spear. The fans were abuzz as Baracus would certainly take out Bobby then assist the referee back to the action.
Then Baracus brazenly speared Ali Kaida! The fans erupted as Baracus rolled the fallen Bobby O onto Ali and the referee hit the three count. Team O moved onto the finals.
Post Match: Team O raised Baracus' arm in victory, as the spell of them Mad Man of the Middle East was over. The International Thugs, now in disarray, angrily went back to the locker room.

King Del Douglas v. La Lucha

After Intermission, King Del Douglas hit the ring, chair in hand, demanding La Lucha appear from the locker room. Douglas wanted to ruin Sinco De Mayo for the Mayor of Mexico City.
A few minutes later, La Lucha appeared at the bar at the back of the Lawrenceville Moose, with a bucket full of free drinks. The KSWA Krazies went berserk.
Douglas went back to the bar and the two traded blows. Douglas led La Lucha back to the ring. Del took decisive control over La Lucha in the early going. The two went tooth-and-nail, back and forth for a few moments with each athlete nearly scoring a pin.
With Del down, La Lucha retrieved a Whopper that was provided by a fan. Del got to his feet, and with the absolute delight of the crowd, received it "His Way" in the face.
Both men delivered an array of offense, with near falls.
At the end of the match, La Lucha was able to land his signature Lacucaratcha for the win. Post Match: La Lucha celebrated his win and the liberation of Mexico with the Krazies.

Biker Al v. Mystery Opponent

Biker Al came to the ring with his hired henchman, the Blood Beast. Biker told Blood Beast that he "had this," and didn't need his assistance.
Trapper Tom could only announce "And his opponent," before unfamiliar ring music hit. The beautiful Sara Brooks suddenly hit the ring. New to the KSWA Krazies, Sara is a young former model now looking to manage in the organization.
Al thought that she was his opponent, so he eagerly threw himself onto the mat, hoping for a quick pin. Sara said she was not his opponent. She then introduced "Weighing in at 369 lbs., with 4-percent body fat, from Every Girl's Dream, Mr. Puniverse, Bob Atlas!"
The standing-room-only crowd went through the roof with excitement as Atlas exploded from the entrance tent. The masses only got more excited as he entered the ring after nearly a year away in early retirement.
Once the mat started, Biker Al took advantage of some ring rust and manhandled Atlas. Al worked on Atlas pretty well until Atlas was able to recover with offense of his own. Al nearly scored a quick pin, but the referee caught Al's feet on the ropes.
Al had more offense, including a cradle suplex. But instead of trying for the pin, Biker Al went to flirt with Sara. She slapped him in the face and Atlas successfully slapped on a sleeper hold for the win. With Biker Al out, Bob Atlas took off his ring tights to show off his familiar pink bicycle shorts, and straddled the sleeping Biker man.
Post Match: Mr. Puniverse and Sara Brooks celebrated with the crowd.

Grudge Match: Kris Kash v. Shane Starr

Shane Starr came to the ring with his new manager, Advisor Frank Durso. Kash was introduced and he uncharacteristically hit the ring full-force and took the offense right to his former tag team partner.
Kash nearly scored a quick pin fall, but Starr kicked out. After a few moments of Kris Kash offense, including a stellar flying leg scissors, Starr regrouped. Starr landed a perfect plex, which he calls "The Future Plex," but Kash was narrowly able to escape.
With both men down from exhaustion, Frank Durso climbed to the ring apron. He distracted the referee enough to allow The Enforcer Shawn Blanchard to sneak into the ring and attack Kash with a face-buster suplex. Starr rolled his former tag team partner up and scored the win. Post Match: Blanchard taunts the crowd, Kash stumbles back to the locker room.

Captain's Series Final: Team O v. Team Durso

With dried blood from Justin Sane still on his chin, Frank Durso led his team in against Team Bobby O, which now consisted of himself, Double-A and a completely pickled Drunken Luchadore Joey Quervo.
The finals were an elimination bout and not single elimination like the first round.
Quervo was in first and took some of Lou's offense. Lou could be heard saying, "Why would you let him in like this?" Martin nearly got a quick pin fall, but the rejuvenated Quervo kicked out at two.
Blanchard was tagged in and he went right after Quervo, with a series of chops. He followed that up with a spinebuster suplex. Blanchard tagged in Durso who went to work on Quervo. Joey was able to stay in the match, and actually got some offense against Dr. Devastation, who was tagged back in.
Double-A was tagged in and he went right after Blanchard. Alexander landed the big boot and leg drop, but had his eye poked when he went for the pin. Anthony regained momentum and chucked Blanchard with a fall away slam. Quervo was tagged in again. Lou was tagged in and he went after Quervo.
Durso used a sleeper hold on Quervo, then tagged in Martin. Lou used the Death Certificate on Quervo and got the pin.
Bobby O was sent in and was blasted by Blanchard. He followed that with a figure four leg lock. Durso used leverage to help Blanchard, but was caught by the ref. Blanchard was forced to let go of the hold. Bobby staggered back to his feet. Martin was tagged in and he quickly used the Death Certificate on Bobby for the pin.
Double-A Anthony Alexander was left alone against all three members of team Durso. Like a tornado, Alexander came in and dispatched of Durso and Martin. In a flash it was down to the Enforcer and Double-A. Double-A used the Prime Time Cancellation on Blanchard and scored the win.
The winners of the match and the Captain's Series: Double-A Anthony Alexander, Joey Quervo and Bobby O!
Post match: the winners celebrated with the crowd. The losing team went back to the locker room.
Next up at the Moose, "Heatwave Havoc" on June 16.

Maxi Pads CD Release Party

2007-04-21T09:08:00.000-07:00

When Katie, or KT as she refers to herself at times, emailed a couple of weeks ago to ask if I was interested in emceeing the Maxi Pads’ CD release party, I immediately agreed. You see, Katie, her bearded boyfriend Robbo, and a small group of folks have embraced me as the Ring Announcer for the KSWA ever since I stepped through the ropes in Lawrenceville more than two years ago. For that alone, they’ve earned my respect. I was honored to even be considered.
The gal I’ve always considered the “leader” of this clique of “cool kids” is an adorable little sprite named Nikki. Perhaps the first time we met, Nikki asked me to autograph her bare shoulder, all to the great excitement of La Lucha, the KSWA Megastar who was sitting nearby. Although “The Mayor of Mexico City” and I do not share a common verbal language, the future World Champion scrambled to give me a Sharpie pen. Of course I breathlessly obliged as Nikki has an exotic look that can best be described as Ohioan. It was my first autograph with the Keystone State Wrestling Alliance. I’ve signed a few since, but none nearly as gratifying. People still enjoy the story.
Nikki was also on the card at the Bloomfield Bridge Tavern, a wonderful little venue for small bands or whoever else can perform on the tiny stage in the back of the bar. She’s a spoken-word poet with lightning-quick delivery. She’s also a prolific blogger and a talented scribe. I have great fondness for gals who can write well.
I didn’t know a lot about the Maxi Pads, but I have befriended them on Myspace and listened to a few of their songs on their site. “Halloweenie” quickly became a favorite, well because as Katie puts it: “It’s a song for all occasions.”
The group’s “JonBenet,” is a deep social commentary on John Mark Karr, the weirdo kook who grabbed international headlines by claiming that he indeed killed the child in 1996, despite the well-documented fact that he was across the country when forensics experts and other officials agreed that the murder took place. With lyrics like “I Killed JonBenet,” [pause], “Okay,” the Maxi Pads’ song has had them barred from at least one venue in town. But it’s also reportedly got some air play on respectable radio, so go figure.
Played live, “JonBenet” clocks in at 1:22 minutes. Solid.
I also fixed on emceeing the event because of Katie, another terrifically funny writer who laments the faults of Pittsburgh’s various sports teams, all the while peppering her everyday monotony with stories of gay cats and carrying said bearded Robbo around their apartment like a sack of potatoes. When I showed up, she was wearing a “Wonder Woman” blouse. Not a novelty T-Shirt, but a true woman’s shirt with cartoon drawings of the Amazon Princess all over. Katie assuredly is the kind of conversationalist that lightens up the Thanksgiving feast.
This was also the first time I got to really meet and talk with Robbo and the identically-bearded Joe, the Maxi Pads’ drummer who it turns out is Katie’s real-life cousin. Or at least that’s what I thought I heard. Both guys welcomed me like an old pal and thanked me profusely for adding to their little party. They were both also well-versed in KSWA lore and legend, having spent many a Saturday nights hissing at the King of Millvale Del Douglas, or cheering the aforementioned La Lucha.
I could talk all evening with all of these folks, but there was a CD release party to assemble.
Around the time I was talking to Robbo and Joe, I noticed another girl off to the side. I guessed that she was someone’s girlfriend, but body language told me otherwise. We were introduced but I couldn’t quite catch the name at first. Plus, I wasn’t really concentrating on the fact that the Maxi Pads is a trio, and I already knew two-thirds of the lineup. (More specifically on her later.)
As we talked, I heard someone call out my full name. In an instant I surmised that no one there who actually knew my given name would need to blurt it out in this environment. I spun to find Greg, a former co-worker from an area radio station. He had grown from a guy who worked in Master Control to an accomplished sales executive since I saw him last about a decade ago. He recognized my voice as I spoke to the Maxi Pads’ lead singer. I introduced Greg to my new friend Kacyn, barely confident in my pronunciation as it came out. After a moment or two, Kacyn stepped aside so I could get re-acquainted with my old friend. He’s supposed to look me up online, so perhaps we will be friendly again. It was a delight talking with Greg, as he’s a great guy. His band is scheduled for a performance at the same club in a few weeks. If I remember correctly, we shared an affinity with professional wrestling all those years ago. Soon after getting caught up, he was off, ready to meet his family.
I gravitated back to the Maxi Pads as Kacyn and I quickly prepared a “weights and home town” introduction for each of the five bands that were scheduled to perform. Sticking with the motif, I was to introduce everyone like a prize fighter, which of course I was most comfortable. We joked about a variety of things and she actually listened to me.
I hadn’t recognized Kacyn because she was unrecognizable from the Maxi Pads photos I had seen her in online. The resident Fergie to the early Black Eyed Peas, Kacyn’s redish/brownish mop largely obscures her face in band “action shots” or photos that were apparently taken from smoke detectors high above bathrooms; you’d simply see the part in her hair as she sat fully-clothed on the john, possibly with a Pabst Blue Ribbon in her hand. Contrast that to Stacy Ferguson, the blond “Peas” singer and dancer who in videos and commercials was exclusively shown in extreme quick cuts and far-off shots so blatant that you were convinced that she was either horrifically ugly or gruesomely deformed, but otherwise gifted with a kick-ass keyster.
Kacyn is no Fergie.
In the band’s “Return of the Maxi” publicity poster, Kacyn is doing her best Judah Friedlander impersonation, shouting while wearing a gimmicky trucker’s hat that might read “World Champion.” [Editor’s note: Joe’s head is superimposed over the bikini topped Princess Lei character and Katie’s floating noggin resembles Mark Hamill’s Luke Skywalker from the film exactly.] Only in the Viva El Maxi publicity poster that photoshops their heads onto King Ghidorah’s upper tripod do you get a true shot of Kacyn, but it’s still not the same.
Brilliant with an easy air, sophisticated sense of humor and quick smile, Kacyn is the anti-Fergie. In a perfect world, a guy would pull up his stakes and travel cross country in a beat-up Volkswagen van with Kacyn, ala “Little Miss Sunshine,” putrefying Alan Arkin optional. But alas, like every other halfway decent looker on the planet, she’s already attached with someone.
Kacyn did happily pose for a couple of souvenir pictures with me: all of which coincidentally make me look either hysterically deformed or dreadfully ugly. In the handful of years since the Black Eyed Peas have been famous, it’s been discovered that Fergie isn’t aesthetically bad, just a little C-list porn star is all. The kind of girl they’d bring out with Monique Alexander in the third reel, one half hour after you’d be asleep.
Soon the event was underway. Ohio’s Loft Co had the largest number of band members, so they scaled up at an impressive 1,264 lbs. Their first few numbers had promise, but a couple of forced screaming jags turned me back to Katie and other friends who were positioned at the front of the establishment. At one point you wanted to yell “More Cowbell!”
As I’ve detailed in blog-form before, I’m a music snob who doesn’t clinch much when it comes to tunes from any era; however, everyone seemed adroit at their own musical genre. In the grand scheme of things, it was all good. None of it was the “white noise” I had quietly feared.
Party Terrorists, from “right her in Da Burgh” tipped the scales at “Awesome.”
Nikki, hamstrung at “a 6-pack and two 40’s,” was accompanied by Robbo on beat box for an impromptu rap number. I generally detest spoken word poets as they are depicted on the latest HBO efforts. Angry, superior in intellect because of street credibility and various diversities, and did I mention angry, the stereotypical spoken word artist blasts the establishment and corporate America, (whilst showcasing the economic understanding of a thimble), and wonders why the federal artist grant money they’ve relied since crawling from the ghetto has dried up.
Anyhoo, Nikki was expert in her rapid-fire delivery, stopping only to distract the gabbers who were holding a loud conversation as she was trying to concentrate. Nikki can’t be lumped into the Def Poetry Jam drivel because she has depth beyond the crooked hat and bling bling. When I first greeted her Friday, she nearly teared up in pride when I asked about her brand new niece. Something tells me the Def Poetry Jam crew is too busy busting their employer’s chops and not voting while railing against anyone in office to attend christening ceremonies.
Kill the Fall, another group from Ohio, pimped free CD’s while the Maxis were releasing theirs for a scant $5 each. For that alone, they were the closest to the abovementioned white noise.
As Kill the Fall was on, I stood in the back as I get a little claustrophobic from time to time in those types of quarters. A young couple came in and was told to cough up the $5 entrance fee. The gal started rifling through her purse. The guy said, “I got it.” She said, “No, I’ll run to the ATM.” She disappeared into the Bloomfield darkness. I told Kacyn, “Nothing says, ‘You’re not getting any tonight’ like being rebuffed over a $5 admission charge. Or translation: every date I’ve ever been on in my life. But anyways…
Sirens ‘n Songbirds, from the glorious “Parts Unknown, Weight Unknown” were the classiest in their appreciation for the Maxi Pads. They pumped a fun set that was a little heavy on the shouting, but the crowd seemed to like it.
Next up was the trio known as the Maxi Pads. In my best Michael Buffer voice, I laid on all the works. Any band only has one debut album release party, so it’s only appropriate to go over the top.
The 415-lb., Bloomfield band jokes that they can get through their whole nine-song catalog in 15 minutes. Funny thing is they’re not that far off. They have fun.
Joe arrived first in his “Grandma” getup I’ve seen in pictures before. Almost simultaneously Katie and Kacyn arrived in prom dresses they claim to have found in Joe’s house. Katie’s white hand-written-in-red sash on white dress read “Miss America,” and Kacyn materialized in a black sequined number, the same one I think she was wearing in the bathroom picture from before. Katie and Kacyn said they were drunk.
They tore through their whole set in fine fashion. At one point early Kacyn turned up the amplifier. More than 12-hours later my ears were still ringing.
The crowd was boisterous and fun. “The thousands in attendance” was about right, despite physical space for only about 200 tops. The “millions watching at home” translated to a couple of people in the parking lot or passing by on foot.
For the Maxi Pads, this was Madison Square Garden or an open-air arena like the ones Bruce Springsteen played when people paid attention to his music.
All of the Maxis were in fine form. I was particularly impressed with Joe’s drumming expertise. Kacyn was damned fine (with the axe too), and Katie multitasked well with her own guitar skills and well-timed refrains.
Afterwards I got an autographed CD and a couple more souvenir photos. The band thanked me profusely, and I thanked them as it was a fabulous time.
When you get a chance, check out the Maxi Pads. They’ll tell you their not performing Beethoven or Brahms, but you’ll be hard pressed to find a more fun band.

One Last Wrestlemania Thought: A Hall of Fame Let-Down

2007-03-31T09:33:00.000-07:00

One Last Wrestlemania Thought: A Hall of Fame Let-Down

by Tom Leturgey

We’re finally here, Wrestlemania weekend: the Super Bowl of the sports entertainment industry. I’m glad that Wrestlemania has become a tent-pole for the wrestling industry. This year we’ve returned a little of the glamour, the gusto if you will, to the stage. The faux Donald-slaps-Vince video has been circulating just in time for the Battle of the Billionaires and I love it.
Vince McMahon has actually done a good job volunteering to get pushed and slapped by The Donald. Trump has only looked desperately out of his element, not disastrously away from the golden tower of fleeting respectability.
The card itself is pedestrian. Shawn Michaels, the self-appointed Show-Stopper, finally super-kicked John Cena. Undertaker and Batista have briefly turned heel on each other, and Umaga assured McMahon’s Sunday night loss by destroying Bobby Lashley last Monday. And did I mention that Sandman is on a Wrestlemania card?
Critics are blasting the Kane v. Great Khali feud, but super heavyweights have become a staple of Wrestlemania.
I eagerly await the Hall-of-Fame inductions every year. That event has become a must-see for me, especially around the time of its apex two years ago when the guy I mention in practically every column was inducted.
This year I was more than happy to see my other 1980’s idol, The American Dream Dusty Rhodes was being inducted. The Curt Henning follow up was another no-brainer. The “That’s Perfect” vignette of Henning heaving a football 60 yards into his own waiting arms was enough to cement his enshrinement. Bockwinkle, Lawler and the Wild Samoans were all equally deserving. Mr. Fuji was a little bit of a surprise, but once his biography was unveiled, you realized he was more than just a run-of-the-mill stereotypical cartoon.
It was leaked weeks ago that the Original Sheik was going in as well. I have no recollection of him whatsoever, but have read that he was influential and the event is being held in his hometown, so nothing there was surprising.
The induction Jim Ross was also fitting as if Lawler was going in, why we would wait any longer for his Monday evening partner? As a broadcaster myself, I could feel for the teary J.R. who rose to accept a well-deserved, glorious ovation from the crowd.
There was an omission; however, as there weren’t any women included in this year’s class.
Last year Sensational Sherri Martel was inducted. With her enshrinement I figured that WWE was going to do the right thing and include an occasional woman. Perhaps I’m the only one who’s pushing this envelope, but where’s Wendi Richter?
The only thing I can guess is that the McMahon machine will push Wendi’s induction for two years, the 25th anniversary of the original Wrestlemania. Do we know yet if it will be at Madison Square Garden again, the ONLY venue it should be held?
There are reasons why Wendi wasn’t in this year’s class. I had forgotten about the story of the late Curt Henning asking Wendi out, and her turning him down flat. Legend tells the tale that Henning then told everyone that Wendi more enjoyed the company of other ladies. Who knows and who cares? That might be enough why she won’t be at the podium this year.
Then there’s the original WWE Screw Job. Wrestling historians who consider 1994 ancient grappling olden times will immediately think of the Michaels/Bret Hart/Vinnie Mac Montreal finish in which a quick-count ended Hart’s last WWF run. In fact, Vinnie allegedly orchestrated a similar conclusion to a match in 1985 when the Fabulous Moolah, as a masked Spider Lady, rolled Richter up for a lighting quick pin and a return to the WWF Ladies Championship.
Perhaps that bridge has not yet been mended.
Fact of the matter is, most of the current-day WWE Divas owe their spot to the likes of Wendi Richter, who at the time was a beautiful fitness model-type who was more than a valet, or grizzled Moolah-type veteran. She was given the ball around at the same time as Hulk Hogan, and along with her temporary manager Cyndi Lauper, was at least acknowledged in the mainstream.
Will WWE induct Miss Elizabeth into the Hall of Fame? She too redefined the role of a female manager/valet. Her untimely death, like Henning’s also in 2003, was clouded in a drug-riddled mystery. So Elizabeth Hulette’s induction can’t be off-limits because of narcotics. It would be rude and tacky to include her at the same time as her ex-husband Macho Man Randy Savage when McMahon finally decides to finalize that deal. The couple had what appeared to be a stable union, but in that last WCW run, it was clear that there was plenty of pain and agony between them.
The Hall of Fame crowd two years from now should be interesting. Remembering that first card should be that class’s key, but most of those big names, with the exception of Mr. T, are already in the Hall (and if Pete Rose is in, it would be an insult to not include Clubber Lang). It would be a shame if Richter wasn’t announced for that class.
Consider the campaign for Richter to be in the 2007 Class to be “ON.”

Why Doesn’t Jerry Reed Get More Love?

2007-03-31T08:25:00.000-07:00

While driving home today I was sick of hearing a repeat of Jimmy Norton’s constant homoeroticism from the Opie and Anthony show that was live earlier in the day, so I switched around the ole’ XM dial.
There are 170 channels on XM and similar to its television counterpart, there’s never anything on. My home computer eight pre-sets are difficult to fill, largely because as I described in a previous blog, I am a music snob.
Somewhere in between 70’s on 7 and an adult contemporary channel that plays listenable tunes in between Whitney Houston rabble, I saw “Jerry Reed, East Bound and Down,” so I punched it in.
Now I’m not a Jerry Reed aficionado, I only know the hits and I usually punch him in when I see his name on the XM Roadie or the unit I have in the house. I am never disappointed. I can’t imagine anyone having more fun in the studio with their rockabilly ways than Jerry Reed Hubbard, who just a few weeks ago celebrated his 70th birthday.
Fans and critics alike hark nostalgic for guys like Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson, but no one, from Big and Rich to Cowboy Troy make mention of “Snowman” from the Smokey and the Bandit franchise. I like Johnny Cash more and more, and Willie Nelson has even grown on me, despite his ultra-liberal leanings. Only Sheryl Crow has dropped a few rungs on my personal “Q” chart because of her coddled/entitlement mentality.
Perhaps “When You’re Hot, You’re Hot,” is too gimmicky, as it was circa the Ray Stevens “dark period” of American music. There’s no doubt that at one time Jerry Reed could party the Three 6 Mafia trio under the table. Jerry Reed is a Man’s Man.
My friend and Ying to my Popular Culture Yang, Drew, one of the nation’s top Country music personalities this side of Lorianne Crook, calls Jerry one of the world’s best Country guitarists. I don’t know that much about Jerry’s assorted talents, but I certainly like the music around him.
A quick resume search shows that Jerry continues to put out new music, including “Let’s Get It On” from 2006. According to another website, Jerry started plucking a guitar professionally in 1955, but has disregarded much of his early work, probably because according to the promotional pictures of that time, he was always in a button-up suit.
Maybe Jerry got mixed up with other similar talent. He was a regular on the Glen Campbell Show in 1969. Campbell is another guy who rarely gets a shout-out at any Country Music Award show, not even ones that Kanye West invades for not giving him a medallion.
There’s also a chance that some people confuse Reed with cousin-marrying Jerry Lee Lewis, who knows? I know I used to get Reed mixed up with actor and Juliette’s fathers, Geoffrey Lewis. Why? It's due to the fact that both men played second-fiddle buddy roles in every other movie during the 1970’s.
Reed’s discology of hits doesn’t resonate with today’s youth, or many radio station music directors for that matter. Amos Moses and other selected biggies from his catalog can be heard on XM, and I’m afraid, few other places. Although, hoodlums everywhere enjoy Amos as part of the Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas soundtrack.
Uncle Kracker rolled out Dobie Gray to help with his cover of “Drift Away.” I want to see Kid Rock do the right thing and shadow Jerry Reed on Lord, Mr. Ford, or better yet, “She Got the Gold Mine, I Got The Shaft.” [Editor’s note: We realize that the last joke would be better served if Kid Rock’s ex-wife Pamela Anderson had performed that last song with her other ex-husband Tommy Shaw, but then again she has.]
Jerry Reed has chased fishing show hosts who returned his trophy catch back to the waters, and tried to cripple Adam Sandler’s character in the biopic “The Waterboy.” He’s one of the most entertaining guys of the past 50 years.
Love Jerry Reed you idiots, I think that’s Jimmy Norton hiding in the bushes.

Surprises Stun Megastars At KSWA “Anarchy”

2007-03-25T08:15:00.000-07:00

by Trapper Tom, Ring Announcer

KSWA’s annual “Anarchy: A Night of Deception” lived up to its name with dramatic turns of events with Commissioner Biker Al, “The Future” Shane Starr and Zero, among others.
The event started with KSWA Owner Bobby O and Ring Announcer Trapper Tom in the ring. Bobby thanked the kids who filled the KSWA Arena last month and the duo talked about the ruckus that ensued during the Trapper’s Den interview segment. That brought out Biker Al, who blasted both men for the disturbance. Al said that he now has a new bodyguard: the Blood Beast. The former Camp Blood Counselor was once under the tutelage of Bobby O, but now was squiring Biker Al.
With Trapper cautiously backing off, Biker Al and the Blood Beast got into Bobby’s face. Blood Beast then grabbed Bobby by the neck and choke slammed him into the mat. Biker Al and Blood Beast then signed a contract which officially adds Beast to the roster.
Latin Assassin hit the ring to make sure no more damage was done to Bobby O. Biker Al then verbally ran the former Commissioner down, and challenged him to a Handicapped Match. Latin agreed.
Trapper and referees Jimmy James and Diamond Dave Diamond then helped Bobby to the back.

Biker Al and Blood Beast v. Latin Assassin in a Handicapped Match

Anarchy officially got underway with Biker Al and Blood Beast returning to the ring to take on Latin Assassin. All three men were introduced, then Zero’s music hit. Everyone seemed confused until Zero grabbed the microphone and declared that he wanted to “earn” Latin Assassin’s respect and he could do that by being his tag team partner. Latin Assassin asked the crowd for their input and the Krazies agreed to accept the offer, which he did.
All four combatants hammered one another. Biker Al and Zero fell to the outside. Blood Beast went on the offense against Latin Assassin.
The two exchanged offensive moves and near pin falls. Biker Al poked Latin in the eye and choked him in the ropes. All four men had periods in which they rallied some significant offense.
Somewhere along the line, Latin Assassin went to tag his partner, and Zero promptly jumped off the apron. He wandered at ringside while Biker Al and Blood Beast double teamed Latin and landed not one, but two choke slams. They got the win.
Post Match: Zero took the microphone and said he basically saved Latin from more punishment. Zero suggested that Latin should never have come back from his spinal injury and that he should quickly hang up the wrestling boots to avoid a wheelchair-bound future.
Dr. Devastation Lou Martin made a run-in to make sure that no further damage was done to Latin by Biker and Beast.

The King Del Douglas v. La Lucha

“The King” Del Douglas came to the ring and once again demanded that the Krazies not refer to him as “Burger King,” “Dairy Queen” or shout “Have It Your Way” in his direction. They didn’t listen.
La Lucha hit the ring to the usual Krazy pandemonium. The match started with La Lucha quickly slapping Douglas in the caboose, which delighted the packed house. Del, embarrassed by La Lucha’s superior quickness and ability to “get under his skin,” took a powder to the outside of the ring.
When he returned, Douglas hit La Lucha with a cheap shot. Del took over with offense, highlighted by chops and punches to the Mayor of Mexico City. After a drop kick and elbow drop, Douglas nearly got a pinfall. Douglas was dominant until La Lucha was able to regroup. The former KSWA World Heavyweight Champion rallied for three near pinfalls on Douglas.
The Krazies went berserk for La Lucha’s successful offense. La Lucha was dominant until Douglas landed a low blow. The second cheap shot lead to a belly to belly suplex for the win.
Post Match: Del put a couple of boots into La Lucha before antagonizing the crowd. La Lucha recovered and showed his appreciation for the fans before retuning to the locker room.

Shawn Blanchard Interview

“The Enforcer” Shawn Blanchard, along with his advisor Frank Durso, were welcomed to the ring. Blanchard brought out “The Future” Shane Starr who is no longer a Lost Boy, but a resident of Newark, New Jersey. Starr said he wasn’t interested in the overwhelming success of his former tag team partner, Kris Kash, but instead he wanted to know where his applause was from the fans.
Starr announced that he couldn’t wait until the main event, when he could beat on Kash.

Mr. 8x10 Michael Cruz v. “Snake Man” Deven Michaels

After both men were introduced, Mr. 8x10 Michael Cruz stalled for several minutes on the outside of the ring. Once inside the two locked into a collar and elbow tie up. The two longtime ring stalwarts exchanged technical moves until Mr. 8x10 once again bailed to the outside.
Cruz tried to slow the match down considerably until Snake Man scooped him up for a bodyslam. Michaels followed that up with a hip toss and arm drag. Snake Man definitely had the momentum until Cruz hit him with a jawbreaker.
Cruz then went on the offensive with a leg drop and bulldog. Cruz applied his patented face-first bulldog, but Michaels slowed the move down by grabbing a ring rope. He was able to kick up at two.
The opponents soon found themselves outside the ring. After a few short moments, they were back inside, with Cruz raking the eyes and fighting off a bulldog. Cruz continued with some questionable tactics and the two fell outside the ring. Snake Man beat the 10-count by one second before rolling back out. Cruz hit him with a DDT on the outside but was not able to beat the 10-count back in. Referee Jimmy James declared the match a Double Count Out.
Post Match: Cruz argued with James, thinking he beat the 10-count. Michaels scared Cruz off by tossing his snake Delilah into the ring.

Trapper’s Den with Biker Al

After a brief Intermission, it was time for Trapper’s Den. Commissioner Biker Al asked for the time and came out to address some things. After some small talk, which included the previous night’s Johnstown, PA “Thunder in the Valley” beauty contest in which Biker Al was a special guest judge, the Commissioner reiterated that he wasn’t happy about the goings on at last month’s event. So he has a solution.
Biker Al called out Frank Durso, Joe Perri and Bobby O to the ring to join him and Trapper Tom. Al said he was creating a Captain’s Tournament that consisted of four three-man teams. Al teamed Durso with KSWA Heavyweight Champion Shawn Blanchard, Perri with Big Mike Malachi, Bobby with Double-A Anthony Alexander, and Trapper with the Golden Triangle Champion Justin Sane. However, he then threw a curve ball by insisting that Trapper’s third team member be the King Del Douglas, Bobby’s stable mate to be the former Drunken Luchadore Joey Quervo, and Durso’s third member be Dr. Devastation Lou Martin. Only Perri was saved an internal conflict as his last member was Ali Kaida.
Biker Al said the Tournament would be on March 5 at “Mayhem at the Moose.”
All four men were left in the ring, only Perri completely happy with his teammates.

Dr. Devastation Lou Martin v. Big Mike Malachi

Martin and Malachi tested the waters with one another at the outset of the match. They went for a collar-and-elbow tie-up then Malachi challenged Martin to a test of strength. The Belfast, Ireland resident tricked the North Side resident with devious tactics and then took advantage of the fallen KSWA Megastar.
Malachi laid in some heavy power moves and crippling pressure moves in the early going. A woozy Martin was then subjected to an impressive and powerful drop kick by the near-300 Malachi. The drop kick sent Martin flying across the ring.
Perri choked the fallen Martin as the referee was distracted by Malachi.
A belly-to-belly suplex led to a near pinfall. Martin was able to regroup and land some offense of his own.
Martin hit boots to the forehead and a knee in the corner before landing a cheap shot of his own. Martin leveled an interfering Perri, and then landed a top-rope bulldog onto Malachi. Malachi, one of the KSWA’s most decorated Megastars, was able to kick up at two. Perri interfered, Malachi suplexed Lou. A big boot knocked Martin to the mat. More offense was traded when Perri decided to get involved again.
Perri held Martin in the ring ropes and Malachi went for a clothesline. Martin got out of the way and Perri was hit with the maneuver. Malachi turned into a boot in the stomach and the Death Certificate.
Martin gets the one, two and three for the victory.
Post Match: Malachi throws water on Martin as he angrily returns to the locker room.

Ali Kaida challenges Justin Sane for the Golden Triangle Championship

Ali Kaida came to the ring and demanded everyone stand for the Afghanistan National Anthem. The anthem was barely audible over the chants of “USA, USA.” Towards the end of the anthem, Justin Sane’s entrance music hit and the fans went krazy.
The two slugged it out in the center of the ring. Justin took control of the early offense. After a bodysplash in the corner, Kaida kicked up at two.
Knowing he was in for a battle, the Afghani Assault Weapon landed a cheap shot on the four-time Golden Triangle Champion.
Next, Ali Kaida worked on Sane’s lower back with a back breaker, knees to the back, and a double ax handle smash.
Kaida, who has been dropping weight in recent months, still has incredible power. When he suplexed Justin, the ring moved. Kaida continued the punishment by ultimately applying his patented Camel Clutch. Justin was close enough to the ropes to get his foot up and the hold was broken.
After some more offense, Justin was able to rally for some of his own. He had Ali Kaida reeling when Justin climbed the top rope for his Electric Shock frog splash. However, Justin slipped and came crashing down in a heap. Immediately it was obvious that Justin had seriously injured his left leg. Kaida, the crafty veteran, took full advantage of the situation.
Justin fought off the attack and ultimately got some momentum of his own. He once again went for Electric Shock, this time, with one bad wheel, nearly across the entire ring. He landed the move and got the win.
Post Match: Justin hobbled back to the locker room with assistance from the referees.

The Main Event: Shawn Blanchard and Shane Starr v. Anthony Alexander and Kris Kash

Blanchard and Starr were introduced first. Starr unveiled his new wrestling attire as “The Future” of the KSWA. Kash was met with thunderous ovations, but even that was dwarfed by the welcome provided to Alexander.
After all four men where introduced, the competitors went at each other in the middle of the ring. Starr and Blanchard got the worst of the initial encounter and were thrown to the outside.
Double A gorilla-pressed Kash and tossed him onto the tag team on the outside. The krazies went wild. After a few moments of excitement, Double-A started one-on-one with Starr. Kash was quickly tagged in and he unloaded on Starr. A splash in the corner was followed by a swinging drop kick. Starr was able to regroup and collapsed his former partner with a massive clothesline.
The tag was made to Blanchard and he landed his patented spinebuster. Double-A made the save from the almost-certain three count. Blanchard and Starr double teamed Kash as Alexander was held back by the referee.
The team of Blanchard and Starr maintained control of the match for several moments. Blanchard applied the Figure Four leglock on Kash but he was somehow able to reverse the move and force a break.
Alexander and Starr were simultaneously tagged in. Alexander shrugged off Starr’s punches. Alexander levels Starr with punches of his own. After a few moments of offense, Kash was tagged in. Kash had some initial success, but Starr kicked his opponent in the knee. He applied the Starrshooter, but Kash was able to get to the ropes and force a break in the hold.
Blanchard came in and laid some offense. Kash was up at two.
Alexander was tagged in and Blanchard tried to beg off. Alexander landed some punches and a big boot. Starr broke up the pinfall. With Blanchard and Alexander fighting on the outside, Starr clotheslined Kash and rolled him up. With a firm grasp of the pants, Starr pinned Kash for the victory.
Post Match: Alexander consoled a dejected Kash as Starr and Blanchard laughed their way to the locker room.
Mayhem at the Moose is Saturday, May 5. Bell-time is 7:30 p.m.

Talk Radio 93.7 Needs To Think Big

2007-02-11T21:10:00.000-08:00

For 93.7 FM in Pittsburgh to be taken seriously as a talk station, management must do something bold. Pioneer News talk 104.7 FM has a fabulous lineup with locals Quinn and Rose, but virtually everything else is syndicated (Ellis Cannon, of course does the sports talk thing from town). Granted, if the rumor mill is true, the introduction of both Scott Paulsen and John McIntyre will be a good start. Both are among the most talented talkers in the market.

But alas, the talk market industries’s most intelligent, most diverse—stop with the hyperbole—the unrivaled best talk show host ever to click on a microphone continues to sit on a sprawling fixer-upper estate in one of the farthest southern suburbs of Allegheny County.

Open the checkbook for Jerry Bowyer.

The NFL now has Golden Boy Bill Cowher sitting out a no-compete clause to become perhaps a $10 million dollar (a year) coach. Cowher’s legacy will only balloon; his legendary chin will jut just a little further, much like Paul Bunyan and the blue ox Babe.

Talk radio, Pittsburgh chat radio in particular, has its own Golden Boy waiting in the wings. Jerry Bowyer first appeared on the scene as the head honcho of the Allegheny Institute for Public Policy ten years ago. He led the drive to knock down a ½ percent sales tax increase in Allegheny County and nearly a dozen other neighboring counties. The money was supposed to pay for two new stadiums and infrastructure around the region.

I have a confession: early on I despised Jerry Bowyer. He seemingly didn’t care that my beloved Pirates—the primary reason I declare as the reason I moved here nearly 17 years ago—would possibly leave town for greener, albeit still losing pastures.

I WAS WRONG.

Around the time of that near-debacle, Jerry started to fill in on 1360 WPTT, (although he might have started earlier on an AM religious station), and showed some real talk show chops. His personality and knowledge of virtually every hot-button talk show chestnut converted me from ideological opponent to aficionado.

Before you knew it, Jerry was on full-time. It was then you got to know him and his encyclopedic knowledge of everything from the minutia of science to politics, as well as cartoon trivia. Then there was his mastery of economic theories and business, most accepted religions, and a rather lofty insight regarding Hollywood starlets. For a guy with a complicated relationship with baseball (his father was a MLB scout), Bowyer could cover all of the bases.

On the show, Jerry would often dismantle usually adroit talk show guests who got too persnickety. Bowyer could make polished fiscal pariah “Living Wage” union boilerplaters sputter and froth, thus showing their true colors as selfish, under-educated, special-interest cretins. I was so impressed with one particular verbal disrobing that I called Jerry to proclaim the interview was a comedic send-up.

It wasn’t.

Because of that admiration and my eventual offer to write a feature story, Jerry and I became somewhat friendly. Over the next few years, I ended up writing two lengthy pieces on him and his show for a couple of periodicals. Our budding friendship expanded to the point in which we worked together to bring a business and entrepreneurial charter school to Pittsburgh’s southern neighborhoods, but were ultimately sold a bad bill of goods from our sponsor. For the record, that company never did roll out their ambitious plan for several local Charter Schools, and the one it does run here is virtually invisible of the learning landscape.

We’ve communicated about collaborating on a book about leadership and nearly got into the television business together.

And on an even more personal note, Jerry proved to me that a religious man could still enjoy those potty-mouthed brats on South Park. I don’t think I would have had the confidence to return to church had it not been for his masterful ability to make religion seem “cool.”

It was Jerry’s desire to add more religious talk to his secular radio show that ultimately made him move from his comfortable post at WPTT AM to the Christian FM-talker in town. I remember him saying that he thought he could make more of a difference in an arena where he could focus on the Good Book. Apparently, that move bit him in the posterior when management there didn’t want him to deviate from the all-religion talk, even for important regional issues.

In addition to trouble with format content, health issues have also plagued Bowyer in recent years, as a result he’s retreated to the sidelines, to be with his beloved wife Susan and seven children, who the couple home-schools and/or runs various family businesses. It’s also possible that Bowyer’s made outlandish sums of money by utilizing financial techniques he’s cultivated with some of the best brains in the marketplace.

I have no idea whether Jerry would even contemplate a return to the airwaves. Perhaps 93.7 could build him a studio in his home, ala the persistently-injured and vastly overrated Fred Honsberger.

If the folks at 93.7 want to do something incredible, and revolutionary, with its impending talk show venture, they need to at put out some feelers with Jerry Bowyer.

Seriously.

When is Motznik Going To Resign?

2007-02-10T14:38:00.000-08:00

It wasn’t that long ago, perhaps immediately following the last presidential election, but Pittsburgh City Council member Jim Motznik was a panel guest on the Ann Devlin-version of NightTalk, and promised to resign from public office to work on Senator Hillary Clinton’s campaign, should she run for President.

Now I like Mr. Motznik personally. I’m still perplexed as to why he sprinted away from a Channel 4 cameraman a few years ago after being posed a rather pedestrian political question. He’s always been polite and friendly in the neighborhood, flush with folksy tête-à-tête, a sewer-boot wearing Paul Harvey if you will, albeit with only a third of a vulgarity. He’s a Renaissance man for the new age.

I remember the statement about giving up his day job for the betterment of our country as vividly as yesterday and thought it peculiar even then. Why would he have make such a declaration, even though it was the Ann Devlin version of NightTalk, which promised to deliver upwards of a dozen viewers at any given time, including me for at least one minute on any given evening.

I was always amazed that the show perpetually seemed to be in rerun. We’re not talking about the “good” NightTalk with John McIntyre, an above-it-all elitist with a fairly sublime sense of humor and quick wit, but the tumbleweed installment. Ms. Devlin appeared to have the cushiest post in all of local television, and yet the show would go for weeks upon weeks without new editions. It was kind of like “Lost” with decades between new installments…but I digress.

Anyhoo, as we all know, Mrs. Clinton appeared in a web-based video to “chat” about her run for presidency, a campaign everyone knew started the minute she and the former president smashed their last collector’s plate on the way out the door of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

In the video, the Senator from New York via Arkansas and Illinois looked as comfortable as an Iranian hostage in 1979, emboldened by the muscular Jimmy Carter administration. Like some of those 63 diplomats and three U.S. citizens who were shown on tape, Mrs. Clinton exuded confident, assured that the “take no prisoners” Carter domination would soon kick down the door for freedom. Her titular “Smartest Woman in the World” gimmick would assuredly surpass even those steel-enforced days of Carter supremacy, where money flowed through the streets much like the omnipresent oil and coal mining jobs.

With that type of euphoria right around the corner (despite Carter and the first President Clinton’s salad days, minority home ownership is only now at its highest levels ever), it’s imperative that we only draft our best and brightest to assure another eight years of intern-groping and Linda Bloodworth-Thomason menopause humor.

We need Barbara Streisand to be relevant again…wait, she was never relevant outside of Broadway and Tinseltown (and yes, I am referring to the David Dukes/Kristy Swanson vehicle from 1997)…but I continue to digress.

We as a country need to assure an upswing in collective virtues and values first started by the highly-successful Governor Tony Soprano/Rendell, where taxes are nearly non-existent and competence—from the Lieutenant Governor position on down to the guy who sweeps up after the High Holy Priest’s daily cheesesteak—is once again on par with those heady Carter administration days where peanuts were as precious as the Peso.

When will Mr. Motznik hand in his two-week notice and help prepare the world for Marilyn vos Savant’s more impressively intellectual sister?

Only time will tell, but it should be any day now.

Bedlam Ensued As Worlds Collided in KSWA

2006-08-31T07:41:00.000-07:00

by Trapper Tom, Ring Announcer

Some familiar faces returned and some shocking developments occurred when the Keystone State Wrestling Alliances’ “When World’s Collide” showcase concluded on August 26.
Before the official start of the show, three newcomers made their first-ever appearance in the KSWA ring. Billy Glander, Night Train and Buddy Wilson took part in a triple threat match that entertained the early crowd. All three competitors showed some raw talent in the ring, but in the end, “The Ideal” Billy Glander got his hand raised in victory. It’s too early to tell if these guys will make it to the big KSWA show, but it just goes to show that the KSWA is growing like no other in Pittsburgh!
Another knockout crowd filled the Lawrenceville Moose and they were treated to a KSWA Kruiserweight Cup Semifinal match in which two fan favorites, Lost Boy Chris Kash and Justin Sane hit the ring.
The two equally-sized combatants traded some acrobatic moves in the ring, with hip tosses and arm drags aplenty. Justin Sane was so overwhelmed by the offensive give-and-take that he temporarily bailed to the outside. That’s where Kash dove onto him from the inside.
The two high-flyers grounded their game with a little brawl on the outside before getting back into the ring. Kash immediately took control with a drop kick. He nearly got a three count win before Sane kicked out. In fact, Justin had to kick out of three consecutive pin-fall attempts.
Justin reversed that offensive barrage with a clothesline on his younger opponent. Sane went to the top rope for a flying elbow. Then he went for a suplex and pin-fall. Kash kicked out at two. Justin showed frustration on his face as he went for a jackknife power bomb. Kash kicked out at two.
Justin used a camel-clutch-like maneuver on Kash to keep him grounded, and perhaps to try and figure out how to beat the upstart one-on-one.
Sane got to his feet and went for a big power move, but Kash was able to get out of the way and pull the ropes down. Justin spilled out onto the floor in a heap. Kash followed for another round of floor fighting. They quickly got back into the ring where Kash went for a pin. Kash went tried a reverse DDT but Justin kicked out at two. There was even another attempt on Justin before he regained composure and staggered Kash.
Justin went for the scissor kick to knock Kash down. Sane then went "froggy" as he splashed from the top rope. Inexplicably, the King of Millvale, Del Douglas, came from nowhere and diverted referee Jimmy James’ attention. He got Sane’s attention and Justin came over to confront the regal King. Douglas then clanked a steel chair he had been carrying over Justin’s head. Sane went down and Kash was there for the pin.
With the crowd stunned, Chris Kash got the one, two, three win.
Justin, confused as to what had just transpired, initially looked concerned over Chris Kash’s attempt to shake hands in the middle of the ring. But after a few words, the combatants shook hands and shared their effort with the approving crowd.
Chris Kash now moves onto the finals of the KSWA Kruiserweight Cup.
“The Enforcer” Shawn Blanchard asked for some time in the KSWA ring and what the champ wants, he gets.
Blanchard, alongside his “advisor” Frank Durso, angrily confronted the KSWA Krazies, saying he did not “tap out” to La Lucha at Wrestle Rock. The fans, who remembered Blanchard frantically slapping his hand on the map after being given the tirador de elite, or sharpshooter, exploded in vocal disapproval.
Despite that, Blanchard, a three-time KSWA Champion, declared himself the greatest wrestler of all time. He went on to say that no one in the locker room could touch him in the ring. That declaration brought out Gentleman Joe Perry of the International Thugs, along with his Afghani Assault Weapon, Ali Kaida.
Perry verbally assailed Blanchard, saying he has ducked the International Thugs and it was time for Ali Kaida to bring the KSWA gold overseas.
That led to the formation of an impromptu match between Blanchard and Ali Kaida.
Kaida, who is much larger than the reigning Champion, used that size advantage early on in the match. Blanchard quickly bailed on the outside for a hasty time out.
Once back in the ring it was more of the same as Ali Kaida shoved Blanchard around the ring. That swing in action brought Frank Durso to the ring apron, while Blanchard and Kaida traded blows on the inside. With Durso gaining the referee’s attention, Perry choked Blanchard.
Soon, Perry confronted Durso on the outside and the two, who normally get along when they are seconding their wards to the ring, got nearly confrontational when the KSWA gold was on the line.
In the ring, Kaida went for a pin and Durso pulled his feet. The Afghani Assault Weapon bodyslammed Blanchard twice and went for the pin. Blanchard kicked out after a two-and-1/2 count. Kaida slapped Blanchard into an abdominal stretch. Durso became involved again. He kicks Ali Kaida enough to help Blanchard regain some measure of control. Blanchard responds by suplexing Kaida.
Blanchard goes for the pin, but referee Jimmy James’ three-count is interrupted by Perry on the outside.
Durso confronts Perry over the interference on the outside, which diverts the referee. Inside, Kaida gets up and slams Blanchard. Ali misses with a knee drop and Blanchard gets up. Blanchard works on Ali Kaida’s knee, which is now dinged up because of the missed move. He pulls Kaida in for a crotch shot on the ring post. Durso chokes Ali Kaida. Blanchard works on the knee some more, which is generally a precursor to Blanchard’s signature figure four leg lock. Blanchard slaps the move on and cinches it in tight. Ali Kaida fairs well for a few moments before ultimately tapping out.
Blanchard retains the KSWA World Heavyweight Championship!
Perry helps Ali Kaida to the back as Frank Durso struts in the ring and Blanchard jostles with the standing-room-only crowd.
Next up is the KSWA Hardcore Match, featuring Zero and Blood Beast. Zero beat Blood Beast earlier this year in a winner receives a KSWA guaranteed contract. Blood Beast has been doing KSWA Owner Bobby O’s bidding since that time just as a way to stay in the locker room.
The match starts traditionally enough inside the ring as the Blood Beast just whacks Zero with huge chops in the corner. Before long, the two are on the outside. Blood Beast is in complete control of the match with punches and kicks. He punctuates his dominance by tossing Zero into the tent leading to the locker rooms. Seconds rolled by as it seemed that Zero might not return to the match.
Then out from the tent, Zero emerged with a computer keyboard. He smashed Blood Beast in the head with the keyboard with such force that the keys burst out everywhere. It was later determined that only the Enter and Shift key could not be found.
For the next few minutes bedlam ensued as the two megastars went after each other with steel chairs, garbage cans, cake tins and countless other ringside articles.
The two made their way to the concession stand, where a KSWA Krazies’ birthday cake was sitting. Blood Beast grabbed a piece of the birthday cake and rammed it into Zero’s face, thus exhilarating the crowd!
Later the two made it to the Moose’s bar area. Zero could be seen throwing himself from atop the bar from across the room. For minutes all most fans could hear were slaps, punches, oohs and ahs from the crowd. Fans stood on their feet to see the most brazen of KSWA actions.
Fans counted along with the referee. One, two, three and the cheers went up. It took a second to see that the Blood Beast’s hands were raised in victory.
The Blood Beast won his first KSWA match by beating his first nemesis, Zero!
After that pandemonium, the Interim KSWA Commissioner, Latin Assassin, was welcomed to the ring. He came out to say that at Fan Appreciation Night in December, La Lucha would get his long-awaited shot at the KSWA World Heavyweight Championship. That announcement didn’t go over well with Champion Shawn Blanchard, who stomped his way to the ring. He met Latin head-on to vocalize his displeasure. He got in Latin’s face so much that the Assassin threw down on Blanchard, but not before poking the champ in the eye. Latin got the upper hand initially, but he is still on the KSWA disabled list because of spinal issues, so the experienced Blanchard was able to regain control. He threw Latin into the ring and exploded with a spine buster.
Durso came into the ring with a chair and held Latin down as Blanchard repeatedly rammed the top of the weapon into Latin’s exposed spinal column. It looked like curtains for Latin when all of a sudden, La Lucha ran to the ring, thus running Blanchard and Durso off.
Blanchard wore the New York Mets hat the always-stylish Interim Commissioner had just worn to the ring, and Durso pointed, pranced and posed. Those in the ring called for a neck brace and one was brought out to Latin. It was put on and several members of the KSWA family had to lead Latin back to his locker room.
Next up was one-third of the International Thugs, Baracus, versus La Lucha. La Lucha was met by the fans with their usual overwhelming support. Baracus was unimpressed.
Baracus used his superior strength to shove The Wrestler into the corner, but he misses with a follow-up spear. But Baracus recovers; hip tosses La Lucha and follows that up with a Samoan Drop. The former American Patriot follows that impressive move with a less-than-impressive choke.
Baracus goes for a quick three count pin, but La Lucha gets his shoulder up at two. For what seemed like an eternity, Baracus followed every power move with another power move. He suplexes La Lucha as supportive chants go out for the Mayor of Mexico City. After a near fall, the encouragement crosses all language barriers and La Lucha gets his second wind. La Lucha rallies and gets Baracus on the ropes, literally and figuratively. La Lucha splash-bombed Baracus in the corner. Baracus got up but La Lucha hit him with a boot to the belly and a finishing move. Three seconds later, La Lucha was the winner!
As soon as that happened, Blanchard and Durso returned to the ring. Blanchard missed his attack on La Lucha and La Lucha slapped on his sharpshooter death-lock. Just as at Wrestle Rock, Blanchard quickly and frantically slapped his hand on the mat.
As the fans were going crazy for La Lucha, Latin Assassin, apparently invigorated enough by treatments in the back, returned to lay a couple of chair shots to Blanchard’s exposed neck.
Latin then ripped off his neck brace to the approval of the fans in attendance.
After an intermission that featured the Steel City Roller Derby Demons, it was time for Trapper’s Den.
Normally, Trapper interviews a KSWA Megastar, but today he received time to discuss last show’s attack by Biker Al. Trapper said that a long time ago he and Bobby O wrestled in the same organization, but both moved on and retired from active ring participation.
However, he said that Biker Al’s next “cowardly” attack could be on anyone, including the concession staff, a bartender or the ticket staff in the front of the building. With that, Dr. Devastation Lou Martin, who came to Trapper’s aid at the last show, tried to calm the Ring Announcer down. Things only got crazier when The King Del Douglas arrived on the scene. The King, who also got a boot or two in on the fallen Trapper at Wrestle Rock, stood up for his frequent Tag Team partner, Biker Al.
The King threatened to get into the ring and take on Trapper himself, but Dr. Devastation put himself in the line of fire for his friend, and then chased the King off.
Trapper, after taking a moment to settle down, got back to the card at hand.
The next match was another semifinal contest for the KSWA Kruiserweight Cup Championship. Joey Quervo, who had a bye in the first round, took on Lost Boy Shane Starr, who beat Zero in the first round last show.
The action was fast and furious between the two from the outset. Shane was the larger opponent, close to the cut off of 200 lbs., whereas Joey was closer to 150 lbs. This match had it all, shots to the crotch and punches to the head. There were kick outs at two and DDT’s. But in the end, Joey connected on a reverse moonsault and got the surprise win against Starr.
So on October 14, Chris Kash will take on “The Drunken Luchadore” Joey Quervo and the winner will become the KSWA’s first-ever Kruiserweight champion!
Next up was a KSWA Grudge Match between the feuding “Dr. Devastation” Lou Martin and “The King of Millvale” Del Douglas.
The KSWA Krazies were in full force when Douglas hit ringside. As has become tradition, one fan brings a hamburger, gets down on one knee and presents it to The King. On Saturday, Douglas grabbed the burger and threw it across the room in a fit of rage. His portentousness has no limits when it comes to the KSWA Krazies.
That only got the crowd more riotous and frenzied.
When he finally got into the ring, the King was met with hip tosses and other offensive moves that made him bail outside onto the floor. After a few moments there, he returned with renewed vigor and anger.
The King got Martin down and went for a quick pin, all with his legs draped over the ropes. Referee Jimmy James saw the infraction and called Douglas off of Martin. However, Douglas maintained control of the offense and dropped an elbow off the top rope onto Martin.
The fans once again filled the Moose with vocal chants that quickly got on the King’s nerves. This time, those in attendance chanted for Dr. D. Right hands kept Martin down in the short term.
The turbulent crowd affected the King so much that he momentarily took his attention off of his opponent. That was enough for the veteran Martin, who turned the offensive tables on Douglas and landed an atomic drop.
Somewhere in all of this is should be noted that Shawn Blanchard’s advisor, Frank Durso, quietly appeared on the scene to watch the action in the ring. What was he doing there? That’s a question for another time.
Soon both combatants were on the outside. Lou Martin kept control of the action as he led Douglas into the “belly of the beast,” also known as the fans who relentlessly heckle the King. After a few minutes there, Douglas was brought back to the ring. Martin raked his opponent’s eyes and dropped his leg on him while he was prone on the apron.
Somehow after that mugging, the resilient King regained some offense of his own. In fact, he nearly had a pin-fall against the surprised Martin. Douglas took that momentum and put Martin into a submission hold. There, the Doctor of Devastation nearly lost consciousness. After a two count, Martin was able to get to his feet. That surprised the King, who thought that another opponent was ready to bow at his boots.
Martin had momentum of his own and knocked Douglas down. He dropped a leg onto his prone opponent and went for the pin, but the King kicked out.
Martin went for his signature move, The Death Certificate; however, Douglas had enough in the tank to chop his foe in the crotch.
Douglas quickly followed that move with his signature move, Drop It Like It’s Hot, and the one, two, three for the win.
Trash rained into the ring as the funs had had enough with the King and his pomposity.
After taking a few minutes to clear the ring of paper crowns and other debris, it was time for the Main Event of the Evening: The Double-A Challenge for the Golden Triangle Championship.
Before the contestants could be announced, KSWA Owner Bobby O, who had been delayed by a political fundraiser in Harrisburg, showed up on the scene. He announced that not only would Anthony Alexander defend the Golden Triangle Championship, but the winner of the match would be the Unified Golden Triangle and Tri State Champion, as that vacant belt was being incorporated into the GT title.
Bobby also described the rules for the “Ultimate” Double-A Challenge, where new talent and a former Tri State Champion would compete in a single-elimination challenge in which it is possible that Double A could lose his belt and not even be in the ring when it happened. The match would proceed with Tag Team rules, but friends could tag friends or foes alike. The participants would be pinned or forced to submit in elimination fashion. The last man to pin his opponent or make him submit would be the undisputed champion.
First out was Mr. 8x10 Michael Cruz, who asked for a rematch after being soundly defeated last month. Then came “The Snake Man” Deven Michaels, along with his “friend” Jezebel.
KSWA veteran and one-third of the International Thugs, Big Mike Malachi, along with Gentleman Joe Perry, then hit the ring. And finally, the defending Golden Triangle Champion, Double-A Anthony Alexander, came out to a rousing, explosive fanbase.
Snake Man whipped Mr. 8x10 into the ropes, while Big Mike and Double-A fought on the outside. With the two KSWA veterans on the outside, the pro-wrestling indy vets battled on the inside. Michaels went for a surprise DDT, but Mr. 8x10 reversed it.
Malachi and Alexander got back to the apron before Big Mike knocked the defending Golden Triangle Champion to the floor. Malachi took advantage of the situation and grabbed Michaels. Cruz then punched the Snake Man in the ribs repeatedly.
Action is fast and furious on the inside before Michaels is able to tag Double A. He goes after Mr. 8x10. Snake Man returns and tries to pin Cruz, but he kicks out.
Malachi is brought in by tagging Cruz. He goes after the Snake Man, knocks him down and steps on his flowing locks. Mr. 8x10 is lying prone on the outside, being pelted by garbage from fans.
Malachi chokes the Snake Man then suplexes him in the center of the ring.
Mr. 8x10, who just got back to the apron, is slapped back in by the smug Malachi. Cruz doesn’t really want to come back in so quickly, but he does nonetheless. He is met with unyielding offense from the Snake Man. Cruz attempts to tag Double-A, who wants no part of the exchange.
Cruz is nearly pinned by the Snake Man, but he kicks out at two. Michaels goes for the DDT, but it is blocked and Mr. 8x10 quickly goes for a pin. Referee Jimmy James counts the three and Michaels is the first contestant eliminated.
Anthony Alexander is brought in and he almost immediately hits Mr. 8x10 with his signature move, The Prime Time Cancellation, and Cruz is eliminated.
Before the two KSWA veterans decide to “hook em’ up,” Malachi poses for the crowd. He put his hand up to challenge Anthony to a test-of-strength. When Double-A puts his hands up to meet Malachi, Big Mike thinks better of the challenge and pulls away. He then attacks Double-A and forces him into a corner. After a quick barrage, Alexander falls to the mat. Malachi slaps on the camel clutch. Double-A somehow powers out. Big Mike meets that surge with a boot to the face and leg drop. There’s a close count, but Alexander chicks out.
There are more power moves on Malachi’s part, but Alexander is able to escape a pin fall. Malachi, now aggravated, chokes his opponent.
Then Double-A reaches down into his considerable reserves and somehow manages to his Malachi with a big boot of his own. A leg drop follows and Manager Gentleman Joe Perry pulls Anthony’s leg, thus stopping the pin fall.
Anthony regains momentum and pulls off an impressive fall away slam by throwing the nearly 300-lb. Malachi over his head and shoulders. Double-A goes for the pin but Malachi, a wry veteran of many battles, gets his leg up on the ropes.
Perry gets on the apron and distracts the referee as Double-A waits for Malachi to get to his feet. He lands the Prime Time Cancellation on Malachi, but miraculously, Big Mike gets his massive boot on the ropes.
Malachi gets up and bodyslams Double-A. He gets a near pin fall.
Double-A hits another PTC and gets the win to retain the Golden Triangle Championship!
Perry then waves for Ali Kaida and Baracus to backup Malachi. They get Double-A into a camel clutch, with Baracus applying the pressure on the face, while Ali Kaida pulls his legs up, thus creating force on both ends of the body.
The Snake Man reappears to the delight of the crowd, chases off Kaida with Jezebel. He attacks Baracus from behind and dazes him enough to walk into the short-arm clothes line and DDT. He then throws Jezebel onto the unconscious Baracus. The fans go ballistic with glee.
Perry grabs the microphone and says the situation with Alexander and the International Thugs is not over.
The night ends with Alexander and Michaels celebrating with the fans.

John Titor: The First Cyber Legend

2005-08-02T19:50:00.000-07:00

[This is my cover story, which ran in The Front, dated August 1, 2005]

John Titor: The First Cyber Legend
By Tom Leturgey

Time travel. An entire sub-genre of Science Fiction is dedicated to the theory, from the original Star Trek crew traveling back to take on Germans, to Marty McFly’s repeatedly visiting Doc Brown’s 1955, to H.G.’s Wells’ tracking Jack The Ripper in 1979’s "Time After Time," (also starring Doc Brown’s wife, Mary Steenburgen).
But seriously, there are folks in our current time who claim to have seen the future.
In late 200 and early 2001, a self-described military man (a few describe him as a member of a militia) who dubbed himself "Time Traveler Zero" wrote on Internet posting boards and purported being a temporal displacement driver in the service of "Temporal Reacon" from 2036.
Time Traveler Zero, who also identified himself as John Titor, said that he had originally traveled back to 1975 to retrieve a particular IBM model portable computer. The computer, model 5100, was needed by his leaders in his society to retrofit computers when UNIX code fails in 2038. The computer was actually manufactured in Rochester, Minnesota before the days of portable laptops. John mentioned that the 5100 was built with the ability to translate computer languages, thus it is a valuable tool in 2036.
As the story goes, Titor was the chosen for the mission because his grandfather was an IBM engineer who had a hand in building the computer in Rochester and John was able to convince him to hand it over. Apparently tickled by the experience or perhaps sent on follow up missions, Titor may have returned in 1998 around the time of his actual "modern day" birth, and then again for a peculiar "pop in" to his parents in Florida, and his "two-year-old self" two years later. It’s unsure whether Titor stayed with his parents during his move recent mission, but Internet postings say that the time traveler liked to take his toddler self on car rides.
That’s also when his wildly cult-popular Internet postings, highlighted by remembrances of a 2015 thermonuclear World War and Nostradamus-like predictions began.
Reading through dozens of archived "chats," Titor writes in the most abstract terms, largely to an accepting, non-critical flock. Less than six months after the postings started, Titor claimed that it was time for him to leave our "worldline" and return to 2036. The Internet chats abruptly stopped, but not before inspiring fans and followers to wax poetic about their blossoming folk hero. Type John Titor into Google’s search engine and you’ll find 54,700 entries; 185,000 on Yahoo.
More about that to follow.
According to a quick scan of bigyellow.com, there are only five Titor entries registered in our nation’s telephone books, none in Florida and none in Minnesota. The five that are listed are relegated to the Northeast. Based solely on the volumes of predictions attributed to John Titor in the past four years, every modern-day Titor has answered their phone at 2:00 in the morning and fielded a call asking for John. Assuredly, any Titor in Florida would have had their phone number de-listed the day after John started chatting online.
Just like any other good story, from Sasquatch encounters to maps to D.B. Coopers’ money, the John Titor tale has certainly hit a chord with the George Noory crowd. Even some who have chronicled the story seem to question the validity of the time traveler. "It doesn’t matter whether John Titor was real, or his story true. His tale boggles the mind, whether he was who he said he was, or an astoundingly resourceful trickster," says one online poster.
Supporters say Titor provided schematics, diagrams, photographs, and documents from his service in a "Temporal Recon time travel unit" in 2036. They add that the visual aids can be "laughed at or marveled at (or both)."
Compare those assertions to Titor’s actual writings and you’ll have vastly different takes on his contributions.
While threads of Titor’s original postings have largely been wiped off the Internet, fans continue to share what they can still find in their personal archives, and continue to add to an absurdly prolific legacy.
Recently, the fansite Johntitor.com was down, but in late July, it suddenly returned with lots of links and news related to the infamous time traveler. According to the website, in June, a professional dancer named Caitlyn Carradine performed an interactive ballet dance honoring both Titor and time traveling in southern California. Six dates featuring the Mira Sorvino lookalike were scheduled with general admission tickets selling for $10 a piece, but according to the theater’s website, no one who wanted to enjoy ballet was turned away due to lack of funds.
The following review for the performance was posted: ""...your show is outta the box... Truly, for so many reasons, an unforgettable and deep experience. ... Your dance is an aurora pressed against a shiny black night!"--Van Dyke Parks, maverick composer, musician, producer extraordinaire!"
Another boasted: ""... Carradine just might be the future. ... keep an eye on this one. She's going to grow rapidly."-Molly Freedenberg, Senior Arts Writer, VCRepoter."
Titor is in esteemed company—in August, Carradine is scheduled to perform: "Mr. Entertainment: A One-Woman Ballet Tribute to Sammy Davis, Jr."
Some of Titor’s remaining posts are both awe-inspiring as well as staggering in their simplicity and naiveté. When a woman named Pamela asks him about life a scant 31 years in the future, Titor as Timetravel_0 responds, "I remember 2036 very clearly." If Titor was gone for only six months on that most recent visit, why would he say "remember" about half-a-year-ago his time?
Titor answers questions like a space alien would, on holiday to the planet with only a vague understanding of our culture and ways of life. When asked about meeting "himself" while on a time travel mission, he retorts, "There is a saying where I come from....Every possible thing that can happen or will happen has already happened somewhere." The use of the phrase "where I come from" indicates either a poor choice of words or a slip of self-awareness. Regardless, it’s socially and grammatically awkward.
Titor’s explanation of everyday 2036 actually sounds like a biblical tale, "The people that survived (the war that killed three billion people) grew closer together. Life is centered around the family and then the community. I can not imagine living even a few hundred miles away from my parents. There is no large industrial complex creating masses of useless food and recreational items. Food and livestock is grown and sold locally. People spend much more time reading and talking together face to face. Religion is taken seriously and everyone can (multiply) and divide in (their) heads."
The tone of Titor’s writings is largely simple, and pastoral in a way. "Personally, I believe spiritual awakening is difficult," he wrote. "Why? I think God wants us back but the road we have to haul is no picnic. Maybe he’s a little angry for some reason."
He continues, "I think the world is seductively clever in its presentation. ‘It’ wants us to stay here and it distracts us from God by creating want, greed and four or five other motivations. Our goal should be to; yes, have faith and do good deeds but also look past that and have the wisdom and knowledge to realize that this place, this world, this universe is not really our home. The question I ask myself is not can I get to God, it's am I prepared for what will it be like when I get there."
When he was asked about what it’s physically like to travel through time, Titor responded, "The unit has a ramp up time after the destination coordinates are fed into the computers. An audible alarm and a small light start a short countdown at which point you should be secured in a seat. The gravity field generated by the unit overtakes you very quickly. You feel a tug toward the unit similar to rising quickly in an elevator and it continues to rise based on the power setting the unit is working under. At 100% power, the constant pull of gravity can be as high as 2 Gs or more depending on how close you are to the unit. There are no serious side effects but I try to avoid eating before a flight.
No bright flash of light is seen. Outside, the vehicle appears to accelerate as the light is bent around it. We have to wear sunglasses or close our eyes as this happens due to a short burst of ultraviolet radiation. Personally I think it looks like your driving under a rainbow. After that, it appears to fade to black and remains totally black until the unit is turned off. We are advised to keep the windows closed as a great deal of heat builds up outside the car. The gravity field also traps a small air pocket around the car that acts as your only O2 supply unless you bring compressed air with you. This pocket will only last for a short period and a carbon sensor tells us when it's too dangerous. The C204 unit is accurate from 50 to 60 years a jump and travels at about 10 years an hour at 100% power."
Simply put, the guy’s either ridden in a time machine that for some reason has operational windows that may malfunction and flood the cockpit with scorching flames, or he can spin a Sci-Fi yarn of Josh Whedon proportions.
By February and March, 2001, less than six months before the tragedies of September 11, Titor was writing about a more simplistic life, hoarding drinkable water, riding horses and bicycles instead of automobiles or sport utility vehicles. With less than a year before the World Trade Centers would fall, Titor didn’t even hint more specifically about the impending "War on Terror" or his on "Hell’s Kitchen" World War that was looming just around the corner.
Some supporters say that Titor dropped hints.
Hogwash, read the archives.
His history lessons beginning in 2004 warns of a United States "Civil War" that comes about due to the installment of a police state. While modern activist groups may draw comparisons to a "police station" and the President Bush-lead Patriot Act, a "Civil War" between blue and red states continues to look unlikely. Even so, some observers couldn’t help but notice that Titor started his Internet postings not long after the disputed 2000 Presidential elections, and the role Florida had in its outcome.
Other "chilling" predictions couldn’t have been more wrong.
In a little-documented 1998 stay, Titor reportedly wrote two faxes to then-weeknight Coast to Coast AM radio host Art Bell. The second fax urged Bell to reconsider his opinions concerning "Russians" who supposedly save "millions" of Americans, yet is the genesis for the next World War. In the other, Titor warns of mayhem caused during the Y2K turn of the Century. "Y2K is a disaster," Titor wrote (editor’s note: Titor’s misspellings of several key countries have been corrected). "Many people die on the highways when they freeze to death trying to get to warmer weather. The government tries to keep power by instituting Marshall Law but all of it collapses when their efforts to bring the power back up fail. A few years later communal government system is developed after the constitution takes a few twists. China retakes Taiwan. Israel wins the largest battle for their life and Russia is covered in nuclear snow from their collapsed reactors."
Those who revere him say he predicted epidemic mad cow disease and Chinese space flight, just to name a few. And perhaps disappointing to the environmentalist Global Warming crowd, Titor says, "the ice caps are not melting any faster than they are now," and despite a cataclysmic thermonuclear winter only a decade away, "there is also far less smog and industrial waste in 2036."
In 2003, the most recent Internet prediction tracker poster blindly attributed a number of Titor’s politically-charged prophecies as being irrefutably correct, including a charge of "no Weapons of Mass Destruction were found in Iraq." In actuality, the official conclusion that WMD’s could not be currently found in Iraq was released in 2004. In any case, the "prediction" cannot be considered groundbreaking.
In addition, Titor was evidently front-and-center on that "Pope Benedict XVI is the Anti-Christ" bandwagon, along with dozens of other conspiracy crazies. Supporters also believe Hillary Clinton will be President in 2009.
And because of the "upcoming Civil War," sports fans shouldn’t be anticipating Olympics games anytime soon. Titor fans, without any source material whatsoever, say there won’t be another games until 2040.
Oddly, supporters interpret Titor’s political leanings in different ways. They champion both liberal ideas and hard right conservative ideals. They say the "new" Constitutional Congress in 2020 will adopt an "old published vision circa 1770’s." But they also claim that Civil liberties will be reduced, and that "the Middle East will always be a problem."
To be fair, Titor seemingly came alive when people online asked him about the specific scientific and/or mathematical genesis of time travel, "Time travel is achieved by altering gravity. This concept is already proven by atomic clock experiments. The closer an observer is to a gravity source (high mass), the slower time passes for them. Traveling at high speeds mimics this effect which = the twin paradox of faster than light travel. However, this type of gravity manipulation is not sufficient to alter your world line. The basic math to alter world lines exists right now. Tipler first described a working "time machine" through his theory of massive rotating spheres."
He continued, "Certain types of black holes also exhibit the "time travel" abilities of Tipler cylinders. Kerr was one of the first to describe the dual event horizons of a rotating black hole. As with Tipler's cylinders, it was possible to travel on a "time-like" trip through a Kerr black hole and end up in a different world line without being squished by the gravity of the singularity."
Some fans and followers say he "presented a credible theory and description of time travel, both how it works, and how he does it. He clearly depicts the prevailing thinking, from Stephen Hawking to Philip K. Dick, on alternate worldlines and the mutability of time."
Titor’s paperback, "A Time Traveler’s Tale" is available on the fansite, as well as other websites for a reasonable $14.99. Recently on eBay there were two "John Titor" items—a Terminator 3 kid’s watch and a plain packaging envelope that was supposedly used by a lesser-known time traveler—apparently Titor’s name continues to have cache with the collectibles crowd.
Titor’s name continues to come up on both George Noory’s and Art Bell’s overnight talk shows and Hustler Magazine ran a story on the legend earlier this year. Rochester, Minnesota’s Post-Bulletin was scheduled to print a story about Titor’s doom and gloom declarations, but the online link has since been removed. Someone claiming to be Titor’s modern-day mother sent a meticulously hand-written letter to the johntitor.com website, announcing the Hustler and Post-Bulletin nods. The letter is written with old-world cursive in perfectly straight lines, even though the paper itself doesn’t have lines, and it is signed, "John’s Mother." In other words, it could have been written by anyone.
The biggest question concerning John Titor—if he ever existed remains—what happened to him? If he’s around in our modern time, he’d most likely be getting ready to start the third grade in Florida. Due to his cyber visits and the overall popularity of the Internet, an 8-year-old John Titor couldn’t exist without a name change. Does he take his name back after he graduates college and before entering the military?
Tabloid journalists would quickly pair Titor up with Bat Boy to battle Fidel Castro’s genetically-enhanced sharks that have bet set loose on Floridian (Titor’s home state) swimmers and would be hot on the trail of the most likely already-dead Osama Bin Laden.
Or if Titor got back into his time machine, there’s always the chance that he could have left a window open and returned to a different parallel universe. In one of his posts, Titor noted that, "getting back to my ‘proper’ universe is tricky but possible. Yes, another jump would take me to a different family." Could he have also landed back home and found that his superiors weren’t happy with Internet chats? Could he have been fired from the project and continued to languish in a vastly unspectacular 2036? Will John Titor ever come back, or has the Internet "exploded" into such an all-encompassing venue that he would not be able to conduct a mission without triggering a fan homage?
The cyber legend that is John Titor simply isn’t breathtaking enough to be taken seriously. Nor is it blatantly bad enough to be considered an outright hoax. The author was smart enough to weave an interesting narrative, but read between the lines and you’ll see a backstory is full of holes. Supporters have conveniently taken splinters of ideas and turned them into copius volumes, all shoe-horned around their own particular agenda.
Perhaps the phonetic reversal of Titor’s last name, Rotit, or "Wrote-It" at least gives supporters something to read online in the present…and future.

Martin Luther King Jr. Remembered In Pittsburgh

2005-02-17T12:19:00.000-08:00

[The following was printed as the Cover Story in The Front Weekly, dated 2/14/05]

by Tom Leturgey

When Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. walked into the Crawford Grill atop the bustling Hill District in late summer 1958, people were understandably excited. He had only been a national figure for about two years, but the late twenty-something King had already made a lasting impression.

During that trailblazing trip to Pittsburgh two years into the modern Civil Rights movement, Dr. King also spoke at the Central Baptist Church. It was at that church where Vera White first heard Dr. King preach live.
"It was just at the beginning of the Civil Rights movement," said White. "We had two sermons (where King spoke) and they were packed."

Nearly 2,000 people crowded into the church at the corner of Fitzpatrick and Wiley Avenues on a beautiful Sunday morning. White heard most of his homily while sitting on steps under a gigantic banner welcoming King’s visit, outside the church. As an usher (White continues to sit on the church’s usher board to this day and sings in the choir), she made sure others had better seats for the visit. Her three children—Marsha, Carol and Charles—sat in a pew together and didn’t make a peep, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for the well-behaved family.

"He was a dynamic speaker," she said. "He had a lot of charisma."

Dr. King’s voice was "not monotone," White said. "It was a voice that got your attention. [You] wouldn’t have gone to sleep. What he had to say, you listened."

The guest speaker didn’t filibuster while in Pittsburgh. White remembers a normal 35-40 service. "That was before the church had TV broadcasts," she notes. "We televise our services now."

White, 76, was about the same age as the Atlanta, Georgia native when he came to speak nearly four decades ago. "He was already very well known," she said.

King’s star as a prominent African American leader had been climbing rapidly since 1956. He was a highly regarded and intelligent (King graduated from high school at age 15) Baptist Minister in Montgomery, Alabama when then-unknown 42-year-old seamstress Rosa Parks triggered the civil rights movement by refusing to move from a seat in the front of a public bus.

When he was in Pittsburgh, he was still the young idealist, stressing the importance to faith, family and self-empowerment..

Dr. King’s was formulating his theory of "somebodiness," which symbolized the celebration of human worth and the conquest of subjugation. The ideology, which was partially inspired by Gandhi, was designed to give African American and poor people of all colors hope, plus and a sense of dignity. According to the Martin Luther King Jr. Foundation, his philosophy of nonviolent direct action (i.e. the 381-day boycott of Montgomery’s bus lines), and his strategies for rational and non-destructive social change, galvanized the conscience of this nation and reordered its priorities. His wisdom, his words, his actions, his commitment, and his dream for a new way of life are intertwined with the American experience.

Because of his philosophy and advocacy for non-violence to solve problems, writers for Time magazine and the New York Times, among others, profiled Dr. King and anchors invited him to be on TV’s Meet the Press.
Dr. King had a few Pittsburgh contacts. Most prominent was Cornell Talley, pastor of Central Baptist Church. Talley and Reverend Martin Luther King Sr. had gone to college together and had remained close. Talley, it should be noted, was a pastor for more than 50 years, until his unexpected death in 1989. It’s believed that Talley asked King to speak at the churches in Pittsburgh that year.

To this day, parishioners at Central Baptist speak emphatically and freely share pictures from King’s visit. While White says that she’s forgotten a lot of details about that time, she will quickly spout minutiae about the doctor’s life and ambitions. It’s obvious that many lives were affected that day in the Hill District and beyond.
Protesters were on hand for many of King’s rallies in the South; however, none were on display when he spoke here. The event was widely publicized in Pittsburgh daily newspapers.

Pictures from that era show a handsome, youthful-looking King, oftentimes with his equally photogenic wife Coretta Scott King (she and the couple’s children Yolanda and infant Martin III—Dexter and Bernice had not yet been born—didn’t make that trip to Pittsburgh). Asked if she or her friends found the married Dr. King attractive, White chuckled and said, "I had more respect for him than that."

White didn’t get a chance to speak with or even shake hands with Dr. King at the church, she does remember him as approachable.

"To me, he seemed to have warmth," the Academy Heights resident said. "He seemed like you were able to walk up and talk to him." She also remembered seeing him carry on conversations with parishioners.

In 1958, Dr. King was involved in many projects. He had just founded and named president of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference a year earlier and was writing the first of his six books (a second, "A Measure of A Man" a collection of sermons, would be released in 1959). In addition, he was promoting a Crusade for Citizenship, a movement that was designed to register five million southern black voters by 1960.

In Jean Darby’s 1990 King biography, she recounts some of a speech given in Miami, Florida, around the same time King visited Pittsburgh. Due to the timeline and subject matter, at least some of it must have been the same: "Let us make our intentions clear. We must and will be free. We want or freedom now. We do not want freedom fed to us in a teaspoon. Under God we were born free. Misguided men robbed us from our freedom. We want it back."

He went on to say, "Remember the words of Jesus. He who lives by the sword will die by the sword. We must meet our white brothers with love."

In another 1958 speech, King said, "In our struggle against racial segregation in Montgomery, Alabama, I came to see at a very early stage that a synthesis of Gandhi's method of nonviolence and the Christian ethic of love is the best weapon available to Negroes for this struggle for freedom and human dignity. It may well be that the Gandhian approach will bring about a solution to the race problem in America. His spirit is a continual reminder to oppressed people that it is possible to resist evil and yet not resort to violence."

As King was touring the eastern half of the U.S. to promote different agendas, Pittsburgh and Allegheny County were making their own strides toward the future. In 1958 county officials commissioned the Glenwood Bridge which would soon span the Monongahela River; meanwhile, the Mellon Family Foundation committed $3 million for 3,650 that would later become the county park system.

That same year, the federal government gave city officials $15 million to redevelop East Liberty and U.S. Steel announced that it would curtail production at the Edgar Thompson Works. However, that was only a hiccup to the steel industry, as Jones and Laughlin Mill expanded its production.

Around that same time, Dr. King and three other civil rights activists went to Washington, D.C., in an attempt to convince President Dwight D. Eisenhower to support their initiatives. King had tried for more than a year to schedule the meeting before it was finally set. He was reportedly disappointed with the outcome of that meeting.

In September of that year he was arrested in a Montgomery courtroom during a confrontation with a courtroom guard. He was found guilty and agreed to go to jail instead of paying the $10 fine, but was released when the police commissioner—fearing King would use the event for publicity—paid the fine himself.
King’s frantic year of activism concluded abruptly on September 20 when a 42-year-old woman historians have described as "criminally insane" or "emotionally disturbed," Izola Curry, stabbed Dr. King in the chest with a letter opener during a book signing in Harlem, New York. Doctors had to remove two ribs to dislodge the weapon. King was on tour promoting that first book, "Stride Toward Freedom."

History shows that around the time he was in Pittsburgh, Dr. King was looking to move away from Montgomery, where his home was damaged by a bomb in 1956. A part of the porch was destroyed and windows smashed in the blast (another, unexploded devise was found under the same porch a year later). He had been pastor of Dexter Avenue Church from 1954 to 1959. He ultimately decided to move to back to his hometown of Atlanta a year after his Pittsburgh appearance to be closer to his family. He directed the activities of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference for a year before becoming co-pastor of Ebenezer Baptist Church, alongside his father.

Also in 1959, King traveled abroad to visit Gandhi, who was one of his idols.

Dr. King would return to Pittsburgh a few years later for the Freedom March at Forbes Field. White remembers celebrities like singer Harry Bellafonte that were along for the march. By the time of the Freedom March, Rev. Talley had moved on to his next church in Detroit, so Dr. King marched with other friends he made while in Pittsburgh.

Five years after visiting Pittsburgh for the first time, Dr. King gave his famous "I have a Dream" speech (which included the line, "Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania") and in 1964, at age 35, he was the youngest person ever to receive the Nobel Peace Prize.

James Earl Ray assassinated Dr. King in 1968 at age 39 while standing on a balcony at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee. His monumental achievements all occurred during a span of only 13 years.

If he had lived, King would have been 76 and still young enough to be on the national stage. It would have been interesting to see what to see what he would have done next, and how it would have affected Pittsburgh and the entire nation. According to a Washington Post article reflecting on his death in 1998, some said Dr. King was becoming more radical. Others liked to remember his earlier victories.

"What he said made a lot of sense," said White of King’s early Pittsburgh stop. "Do the best your can do. If that meant be the best street sweeper, than be the best street sweeper."

White agrees with some of the sentiments made by comedian Bill Cosby, who blasted some in the African American community for underachieving and blaming others for their woes. "I feel the same way," she said. "It’s good common sense. [Good people] starts with a good family."
White doesn’t believe Dr. King would have gone on to be the first African American President of the United

States (some historians think he would have been asked to run if he had lived a while longer), but she thinks he would have remained an important figure in the country.

"I don’t even know if he would have wanted [to run for President]," White continued (political insiders say there were slight whispers of a Robert Kennedy/King ticket). "But he would want you to vote in every election."

Some may debate the lasting effects of King’s efforts. In today’s fast-paced media-influenced society, not much attention is given to national figures who are still in their 20’s, aside from celebrity singers, actors and professional athletes. Barack Obama, the U.S. Senator from Illinois who practically stole the show that was last year’s Democratic National Convention with a dynamic keynote address, and is considered one of the up-and-coming young African American leaders, is 43.

In Pittsburgh and around the country each January, Dr. King’s legacy is observed or celebrated in many ways on Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Annually, the local Salvation Army holds an event to feed the hungry and homeless. This year, the Salvation Army hosted a chili lunch at its Youth Program Hall on Third Avenue, downtown. Primanti Brother Restaurant on Cherry Way donated food for the event and volunteers from Robert Morris University’s "America’s Promise" group served food.

Citizens Bank, along with the Pittsburgh Public Schools and the New Pittsburgh Courier also sponsored a Martin Luther King Jr. essay writing contest for city school students. Essays on the topic "What Martin Luther King Jr. did to make us better citizens," will be judged by Citizens Bank employees. The panel will select six elementary, six middle school, and six high school students for the prizes. Winners will be announced the week of March 18.

Upon winning, the 18 winners will go to Washington, D.C. on April 18 and 19 and take part in an "African American Heritage" guided tour.

"The messages of peace, harmony and self-reliance that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. preached decades ago ring true today," said John Thompson, former Pittsburgh Public Schools superintendent. "This educational exercise will help our students focus on values that will reap rewards well beyond the classroom."

Some believe that Dr. King’s message has been lost in the 37 years since his death. They believe that his drive for equality in for all races has fallen short of his intentions and his emphasis on non-violence pushed aside.
Meanwhile, others point to the strides that have been taken by other prominent African Americans, Colin Powell and Condoleezza Rice to name two. Or that minority home ownership in the U.S. is at an all-time high (nearly 48% according to Marc Morial, president of National Urban League, as stated in a Detroit News interview in July, 2004), even though the rate for whites is still higher, at near 73%.

Another light should shine on Dr. King’s memory later this year when the 50th anniversary of Rosa Parks’ defiance in Montgomery is celebrated.

Nevertheless, none of that mattered to the supporters at the Crawford Grill and Central Baptist Church who were simply glad to see Dr. King in Pittsburgh 47 years ago.

"Anyone who was there hasn’t forgotten about it," said White.

Nancy Mimless: One Of Pittsburgh’s Busiest Actresses

2005-02-16T19:54:00.000-08:00

[The following is a copy of my story, which ran in The Front Weekly in Pittsburgh, the week of 1/31/05]

by Tom Leturgey

Nancy Mimless may be the prototypical Pittsburgh actress; when she was asked to be the focus of a feature story, she wondered if she had done enough to warrant such attention. While she may initially come off as a girl-next-door type, like Sandra Bullock, this Steel City born and bred performer has established quite a one-of-a-kind resume.

The youngest of Kenneth the late Rona Mimless’ children, Nancy knew at an early age that she wanted to perform. It started with singing The Archie’s “Sugar, Sugar” in the living room and later performances at Peabody High School and the then-upstart CAPA in Homewood.

After graduating from high school and earning her B.A. in Theater from Pitt in the mid 1980’s, Nancy tried her hand in Los Angeles. She was immediately hired by Chuck Barris’ former Gong Show production company, which was still filming offbeat game shows.

By then the Gong Show (at that time hosted by some guy named Jeff McGregor) and its companion shows—the Newlywed Game and Dating Game—were shadows of their once famous incarnations, but it did provide a unique opportunity and a paycheck. Nancy met celebrities of the day like Raider’s lineman John Matuzak, members of the LA Dodgers and wrestler Rowdy Roddy Piper.

If the Game Show Network were to ever pick up Gong Show episodes from the Reagan era, you’d see Mimless’ appearances as “Rappin’ Katherine Hepburn,” or “Flashdance Nancy” from the Pittsburgh-themed show. “We did a lot of (those) shows,” she says. “I spoke Pittsburghese and danced.”

Tuned into “the industry,” she was able to parlay her position as a Contestant Coordinator into more than three dozen appearances as an extra.Nancy’s infectious enthusiasm and verve caught the eye of showbiz superstars Steve Martin and Robin Williams. Martin tried, unsuccessfully, to get her a few lines in LA Story and Williams remarked, “you’re funny,” when Nancy herded a group of extras together “like cattle” and spontaneously created a dance during an Earth Day special.

She says if you blink, you’ll miss her appearances on TV’s Night Court and Married…with Children, as well as the Val Kilmer big screen dud, The Doors.

The game shows were soon canceled, but because of her tenacity Nancy continued to find work here and there, including a spot on the first season of the tabloid show Hard Copy.

A lack of money quickly became a problem so she moved back to Pittsburgh. Back in town she found a tight-knit group of agents and producers, but armed with beauty, charisma and optimism, she was able to find a small crease with local talent scouts. Nancy has worked consistently (including a stint as a line dancer with the Parrot on top of her beloved Pittsburgh Pirates’ dugout during the country dance craze in the early 90’s), but not enough to quit her day job downtown.

Over the past decade, Mimless, who easily allures with a smile and quicker wit, has been in nearly 20 theater productions throughout Western Pennsylvania, including a standout lead performance in Agnes of God last year. She’s also performed in other meaningful shows with a touring group for children and Crisis Center North. While Mimless almost always earns favorable reviews for her wide array of work locally, she still occasionally fields calls from friends who see a repeat of The Weakest Link in which she was the first contestant booted by the persnickety Anne Robinson.

“Pittsburgh’s a nice place,” she says. “Unfortunately, I can’t make a living doing what I love.” Nevertheless, that doesn’t stop the East End resident from participating in audition almost continually for a variety of parts. In the past year, she been has seen in Armstrong Cable and Shop n’ Save (as a seen-it-all bathrobed wife who frowns as her husband juggles flaming skillets) commercials, not to mention her most famous role—a counter-dancing diner waitress who wins the Ohio Lottery. “It must still be running,” she says. “I still get checks.”

Mimless was also heard last summer in radio ads for Kennywood Park and the Pittsburgh Tribune Review. “I’ve done a lot of funky things.”A loyal member of the Screen Actors Guild, Equity and the American Federation of Radio and TV actors (she’s Secretary for the Pittsburgh AFTRA chapter’s Executive Board) Nancy will keep charging ahead, despite the fact that fewer major motion pictures and TV shows are spending time in Pittsburgh. “My goal is to make a living as an actor,” she says. “My dream is to make a mark and have an impact on the industry.”

It seems there isn’t anything typical about this modest girl next door.

Media Maverick Jerry Bowyer Uses Intelligence To Surge In Radio

2005-02-04T19:23:00.000-08:00

[My feature story on Pittsburgh media personality Jerry Bowyer from 1/31/2005 issue of The Front Weekly]

by Tom Leturgey

On January 20, Jerry Bowyer clicked on the microphone in Pittsburgh’s Talk Radio 1360 WPTT’s Green Tree studio and asked callers to reflect on President George W. Bush’s just-completed inauguration speech. He found very few takers, largely because his new 3:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. audience was most likely still at work about the time Bush’s second-term officially began.

The change from morning to afternoon drive has been a boon for Bowyer. In what he routinely calls, “the best job I’ve ever had,” Bowyer finds himself more rested, primed and ready for action.

He was never better than the day a few weeks ago when a caller, who dubbed himself ‘Rabbi Art’, spent upwards of 20 minutes arguing whether the Torah advocated a tax code. The caller interpreted the virtues as civic responsibility and high levies. Bowyer, who backs lower taxes, repeatedly asked the rabbi for the exact location of his source material. Flummoxed, the left-leaning Rabbi simply couldn’t keep up with the right-leaning host, who effortlessly dispatched opinion and translation, sometimes verbatim from text. Near the end of the spirited conversation, Bowyer, 42, a self-described “Historical Christian,” appeared to both toy with and be irked by the caller, who allegedly was the expert. He blistered that caller the same way he masters some of his actual guests, like conservative favorite Ann Coulter. And Bowyer wasn’t the first to call outlandish commentator Pat Buchanan a racist for his views.

“He’s one of the most intelligent talk show hosts I’ve ever heard,” said producer Greg Kuntz, who has teamed with Bowyer since the talker switched time slots with another excellent veteran, Doug Hoerth, in September. “Jerry’s big thing is debate. And he’s not as right-wing as some may think.”

The debate with the rabbi is just the most recent dust up from dominant one-sided debate. A few years ago when some area leaders floated a “Living Wage” for city-contracted workers, more than one activist bailed on their guest appearances—in the middle of broadcast conversations—unable to back their claims with fiscal reality.

Much like other radio chat fests, most of 2004 was dominated by Bush v. John F. Kerry presidential talk. Bowyer’s program was as neck deep as any other, but it was also more about hard issues and less about flag waving and Bush bashing.

Bowyer and his wife Susan’s media company last year published the host’s book on economics and job numbers entitled “The Bush Boom.” The well-reviewed publication found its way to the White House last year and earned Bowyer one-on-one interviews with vice president Dick Cheney and an in-studio chat with then National Security Advisor, now Secretary of State Dr. Condoleezza Rice. “She was brilliant and friendly,” Bowyer said of Rice. “And she hugged our receptionist.”

The success of “Boom” provided an opportunity for national television exposure with cable’s Neil Cavuto and guest hosting gigs on other radio shows from Los Angeles to Chicago to the syndicated Mike Gallagher program.

He also continued writing for National Review Online, Tech Central Station and Crosswalk.Nevertheless, with the last presidential election safely in the annals of history, Bowyer looks ahead to the next subject du jour.

“The callers decide the topic,” he says. “They are in charge and they know it.”

Bowyer expects a lot of Pittsburgh Mayoral talk over the next few months. “It depends on who’s in,” he adds. County Prothonotary Michael Lamb has “grabbed some news cycles” by being the first to enter what pundits believe will be an interesting race. “(Presumptive heir to Tom Murphy’s throne, Former City Council president) Bob O’Connor has not been heard from.

“Harry Readshaw would be Pittsburgh’s next Mayor if he ran,” Bowyer said confidently of the Democrat state Representative from Carrick, who was considered and courted by many Democrats and Republicans alike (former Republican county executive Jim Roddey has called Readshaw “my favorite Democrat”) as a formidable dark horse. However, Readshaw and his son were injured in a rather serious weather-related auto accident over the Thanksgiving holiday season, and it’s believed that he will not enter the mayoral sweepstakes.

Bowyer doesn’t plan on waiting for issues to fall into his lap. On Inauguration Day, despite only a few calls with every man reaction, his radio show was stuffed with presidential historians, primed with opinions. In addition, he’s quick to talk about new movie releases, technology, business or religion.

In fact, Bowyer’s next big project is World View, a Sunday morning talk show he describes as “Meet the Press with religious topics.” The show started as a series of five specials around the election but has been picked up for a longer run. He continues to host topical Focus on the Issues and assists Susan, who manages their other TV show, Pennsylvania Newsmakers. World View, he says, is his true growth product, as few real syndication opportunities exist for radio hosts who can switch gears from topical politics, presidential and social economic history to the latest in pop culture, without ranting and sometimes foaming at the mouth.

Better yet, staying local means there’s always time spend with the Bowyer’s expansive brood and sprawling 7-bedroom, 4-acre fixer upper in Elizabeth Township. In addition to seven children, the family took in a family friend, Marlena, a few years ago.

The Bowyer’s eldest son, Chris, 20, is a budding movie critic who’s encyclopedic knowledge of filmdom and culture rivals that his father.The younger six children, plus Marlena, are all home schooled. One principle of their education is a “Reading Circle,” where each child, regardless of their age, take turns reading old political speeches aloud. That unique way to encourage reading is the focus of Bowyer’s next book.

“It’s a slow train,” he jokes of the book’s progress. Bowyer Media is closer to publishing its second book for a local financial planner.Sometimes slowing down, reflecting and prioritizing is the right plan of attack for someone who seemingly has dozens of plates simultaneously spinning.

Kind of like an inaugural address.