A recent film, The Wrestler, brought to mind the Naples PD's experiences with pound and pretend. To help raise money for PAL, we used professional wrestling shows as one of many sources. The wrestling folks were great to work with. We would supply the place, security, sell tickets, and help put up and take down the ring. We kept the concession money and were guaranteed a certain amount even if the house was empty. They kept the ticket proceeds. Great deal.
Course we were soon insiders and our suspicions were confirmed: pro wrestling was a well staged show. We also found these showmen were tremendous athletes. For example, a 300 lb man on top of the corner post, back-flipping down on a supine associate, landing and not hurting either, required great athletic ability, strength and skill.
The wrestlers were all some of the nicest people you'd ever meet. As with many big folks, that don't have to prove a damn thing, they were, off-stage, invariably gentle giants. Yep, it was just a grand show. But some folks took it seriously.
Once, just before showtime, the manager of The Samoans gave me a desperate call. Their car was broken down just South of town and they needed help getting to the venue. No problem. I sent an off-duty cop and car out to pick them up. When knowledge of this became public, some people tried to put heat on me. Helping these criminals. Should have put them in jail when you had the chance. I tried to explain, without giving out the staged secret, that these guys were the main event and we needed them. No good. So, I just wrote the whiners off as what they were: Azzholes!
The Samoans, you see, were heels, wrestling talk for bad guys. Good guys were called baby faces. Heels were usually the most experienced and controlled the matches. Howsumever, The Samoans were so good at their act that people really hated them. That was common.
Once, before a match, one of the bad guy managers, Sir Oliver Humperdink, came to me several times to insure there would be a cop nearby when he performed all his dirty, ringside tricks. He was genuinely concerned. "Some of these rubes think this is for real. They try to hurt me."
This truth was brought home shortly thereafter. In Ft. Myers, one of the heels, Sonny Big Cat King if memory serves, was leaving the ring when a fan stabbed him in the azz. The cops tried to arrest this fool and a riot ensued. Several people were severely injured and spent time in the hospital. This included a few cops.
Like the man said: "There's no business like show business!"
Course we were soon insiders and our suspicions were confirmed: pro wrestling was a well staged show. We also found these showmen were tremendous athletes. For example, a 300 lb man on top of the corner post, back-flipping down on a supine associate, landing and not hurting either, required great athletic ability, strength and skill.
The wrestlers were all some of the nicest people you'd ever meet. As with many big folks, that don't have to prove a damn thing, they were, off-stage, invariably gentle giants. Yep, it was just a grand show. But some folks took it seriously.
Once, just before showtime, the manager of The Samoans gave me a desperate call. Their car was broken down just South of town and they needed help getting to the venue. No problem. I sent an off-duty cop and car out to pick them up. When knowledge of this became public, some people tried to put heat on me. Helping these criminals. Should have put them in jail when you had the chance. I tried to explain, without giving out the staged secret, that these guys were the main event and we needed them. No good. So, I just wrote the whiners off as what they were: Azzholes!
The Samoans, you see, were heels, wrestling talk for bad guys. Good guys were called baby faces. Heels were usually the most experienced and controlled the matches. Howsumever, The Samoans were so good at their act that people really hated them. That was common.
Once, before a match, one of the bad guy managers, Sir Oliver Humperdink, came to me several times to insure there would be a cop nearby when he performed all his dirty, ringside tricks. He was genuinely concerned. "Some of these rubes think this is for real. They try to hurt me."
This truth was brought home shortly thereafter. In Ft. Myers, one of the heels, Sonny Big Cat King if memory serves, was leaving the ring when a fan stabbed him in the azz. The cops tried to arrest this fool and a riot ensued. Several people were severely injured and spent time in the hospital. This included a few cops.
Like the man said: "There's no business like show business!"
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