Listen up!

Class is in session.

Last week, I told you my favorite ring memory -- the night I was lucky enough to be a ring announcer for the old WWF at the Duluth Arena. This week, it's your turn. I laid down the gauntlet and asked for a few stories from the class, and you responded nicely. Here's the best of the bunch, with the first story from Paul S.:

It was April of 1983 at the Richmond Coliseum. Seargant Slaughter and Private Kenrodle took on Ricky Steamboat and Wahoo McDaniel in a tag team match. I was in college, and two buddies and me scored third row seats. We were big Slaughter fans, and naturally cheered him on.

Midway through the match, we got smacked on the back of the head by someone behind us. Whack! Whack! Whack! We turned and looked around, and there were dozens of fans standing and cheering, but no culprit -- only one little old lady just sitting there in her folding chair, looking lost and timid. The three of us looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and went back to watching the match.

Two minutes later, the exact same thing happens. We turn around and see the same crowd scene. Again, we were puzzled. Two minutes after that, it happens again. This time, we turn around and the old lady is standing up right behind us. She screams at the top of her lungs, "SHUT UP! RICKY STEAMBOAT IS GONNA KILL THAT (expletive) SLAUGHTER. UNTIL THEN, SHUT THE (expletive) UP!"

Needless to say, we were doubled over with laughter. She made our night, and she was right. Steamboat got the pin over Kernodle. -- Paul S.

Yikes. Up next, Toby's Ken Patera story:

When I was a kid, the WWF used to come to a local high school in Meriden, Conn. One night, were watching Ken Patera. This was back in the day when he had the bright blond curly hair. Well, he had his opponent in a hammerlock and my brother dared me -- when the arena got very quiet -- to yell, “Hey Ken, where’s Barbie?" So I did it.

Patera was outraged by this comment, coming from a young boy in the crowd. He broke his hold and flipped out, kicking the ropes. He actually came out in to the crowd and luckily (or so I thought at the time) security was there to keep him from getting to me. Now that I look back on it, he was really convincing and played it out perfectly.

I got high fives from all of those around me, and about two matches later someone from the locker room came out to the crowd and delivered an autographed black and white photo of Patera. He was basically thanking me for enforcing his heel role. I will never forget that night. I’m sure it is long gone from his memory, but that solidified my feelings about wrestling: Fake or not, it's good entertainment for those that accept it for what it is! -- Toby S.

Podcast: Episode 47

Up next, Tom B. from Norfolk, Va., with an age-old wrestling horror story:

Back in the day (let's just say 70s and the 80s), the "Norfork Scorp" (Norfolk Scope) was THE place in the wrestling world. Well, my mom -- a divorcee -- started dating a guy who refereed at the Scope. So this guy takes me to a match. We go backstage, and to my 10-year-old horror, I see Manny "The Raging Bull" Hernandez, telling his most hated opponent ( I think it was Paul Jones) to "take it easy on my shoulder, it's hurting tonight." This is the same guy I saw a week prior on TV offering up all kinds of nastiness directed toward Jones -- a hate-filled diatribe at best!

The look on my face must have been the same as finding out the truth about Santa Claus. Fernandez sees me, and in a true act of compassion, comes over and comforts me. He took me aside, and explained how the other wrestlers have sons, and, "Would I like to have my dad beaten up for real on TV?" It's a great story now, but at the time -- my world was destroyed. -- Tom B.

Bryant A. is next, with an Adrian Adonis tale:

The only live wrestling event I ever went to was at Joe Louis Arena in Detroit. The main event was Hulk Hogan versus Adrian Adonis, when Adrian was doing the whole feminine thing and used to spray his toilette water in the air. Well, the match ended up outside the ring by the crowd and I stated thinking this would be a great time to throw some popcorn at Adonis.

Before I could even think about throwing anything, another fan produced a similar perfume bottle that Adonis used -- and quickly sprayed him with whatever was in the bottle. I don't think two seconds passed before security was all over this guy, the last thing I remember him saying as they escorted him away was, "It was just water!" I looked down at my handful of popcorn and quickly put it in my mouth instead of what I originally planned to do with it. -- Bryant A.

Here's a tender moment from Dave B.:

My wife and I and our four children used to see the WWF every month at the Civic Arena in Pittsburgh. My daughter, Jennifer, who was 10-years-old at the time, was in Children's Hospital after having surgery for a heart condition she was born with.

We contacted the WWF to ask if Junkyard Dog could go by the hospital to visit her. Unfortunately, it snowed that day and the wrestlers were late getting into town. Fortunately for us, she was discharged the day of the event and we all went to the arena.

We told one of the ushers what was going on and asked if he could tell JYD that we were there. He did, and Junkyard Dog came out to our seats, picked her up and held her and talked to her for a few minutes. That really made her face light up.

Our daughter is 31-years-old now, and lives on half of a heart. If she has any more problems or complications, she will need a heart transplant. But every once in a while she talks about that night, and her face lights up all over again. -- Dave B.

Thanks, Dave. All the best to you and your family. Here's another great story, from Ross B.:

In the late 1960's I was a rock-n-roll DJ in Burlington, Vt. I inherited the job of ring announcer at the wrestling matches from another DJ who left town. I loved wrestling, but didn't understand the business (fixed matches, Kayfabe and all that.) My first gig was 30 miles down the road in the state capital, Montpelier. The main event was a tag-team match featuring The Mongols. They were world-class villains with big boots, droopy mustaches, shaved heads and top-knots. Between falls I made some derogatory comment about them and Geto (the older, smaller leader) glared at me from the floor like he could spit nails. Later, in the dressing room, he said: "Don't EVER do that again."

On the drive back to Burlington, I found myself sharing the back seat of the promoter's big old Oldsmobile with, well, you can guess. Very hefty me was on the left. Geto was in the middle. Bigger, younger Bepo (who went on to become Nikolai Volkoff) was on the right. During the entire drive the two spoke in a foreign language while Geto illustrated wrestling moves. Terrifying! I really thought the guy wanted to try those holds on me. Needless to say, on future occasions I treated the Mongols with utmost respect.

But now for the rest of the story.

A decade later I was thinner and hosting a daily TV show on what would become The Family Channel. One afternoon as I removed my makeup, I saw a burly figure with a droopy mustache and a hat walking through the studios. Sure enough, it was Newton Tatrie back in character as Geto for some overseas matches. I recognized him. He didn't realize we'd met before. Newton wanted answers to some spiritual questions and figured our boss, ex-marine Pat Robertson, was a guy he could relate to. I was able to introduce them and they became friends. Eventually Pat officiated at the ceremony where Mr. and Mrs. Tatrie renewed their vows. -- Ross B.

Awwww. Loved it, Ross. Thanks! Up next, Rick S. with a Superstar story, Billy Graham style:

It was 1978, I was in shop class, my senior year at Penn Hills High School. We had a substitute teacher that day, Rick Cahill. Mr. Cahill was a well-known sub, who had played football at Arizona State and had dabbled in professional wrestling. Whenever he would sub, we would always ask him about wrestling, and if he knew any of the wrestlers. Being the world's biggest Superstar Billy Graham fan, I asked if he knew him. He told me he hadn't been following wrestling lately, and was not familiar with the Superstar.

I proceeded to describe him as the true icon he was to me. He laughed, and said he used to wrestle with a guy in Arizona named Wayne Coleman, who was just like that. I almost choked. I said Wayne Coleman IS Superstar Billy Graham! He said that they used to be very good friends and he was one of the nicest guys in the world. I, of course, begged him to go to the next show with my friends and me, and introduce us to him.

All of a sudden I was at the Pittsburgh Civic Arena along with my friends Bob Bendtsen, and Bill Fralic, (Yes, the Atlanta Falcon, and participant in Wrestlemania II). He was scheduled to wrestle Ivan Putski. (I still have the program.) We were taken back to the locker room, where Superstar Billy Graham emerged, and greeted us as if we were old friends. He talked with us for a short time and took some pictures with us. The group picture with him -- arms around all three of us -- is my most prized possession till this day. -- Rick S.

Sweet story, Rick. Always glad to hear from a '78 grad! (We're the greatest.)

Here now, is what wrestling is all about, starring the great Terry Funk:

In middle of nowhere in the New Mexico desert, a small ring sits in a rodeo arena with about 600 people seated around it. Ray Traylor (Big Boss Man) stands in the ring, when the announcer calls out a man hailing from the Double Cross Ranch. Terry Funk does his best to run to the ring, his knees fighting every step he takes.

The match starts and it is a slow, yet well done beatdown, as Funk takes bump after bump. Traylor pulls out all the stops to get Funk to stay down, yet every pin attempt is unsuccessful. Then the inevitable happens, the steel folding chair is brought into the ring.

Traylor swings, and Funk falls though the ropes and hits the dirt no more than a step from my feet. He rises to his feet, and I can see he is busted open. Blood pours from his brow as he looks into the crowd. He hits the ring, takes another chair shot across the back but does not fall. Funk then hits the DDT and wins the match.

Funk was well past his 50th birthday at the time, and you could see the pain he was in. Yet he did not hold anything back. He put on a show worthy of any WWE pay-per-view. To do that in front of such a small crowd was amazing. I have never had more respect for a man. -- Jose S.

Awesome. You're lucky to have seen Funk, a truly great worker. Next, to Iowa, for a WCW event:

It was the mid-90s, a WCW "Clash of the Champions" live TV event. If I remember right, it was one of the first ever meetings between Ric Flair (one of my all-time favorites) and Hulk Hogan (one of my all-time least favorites). I got shivers when Flair's music started and I was given the opportunity to "Woooooo" the THE MAN.

My seats were pretty far from the floor, as I was a poor pizza delivery driver. But whenever the huge TV monitor showed a huge crowd shot, I waved my arm in the aisle. Finally, on one of the wide crowd shots, as I was waving my hand, I saw the same arm waving on the monitor. There I was, waving, on national TV. Not bad for a guy in the cheap seats in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. -- Jeremy T.

Not bad at all. Up next, I save the best for last -- as a doofus fan gets his just desserts:

This happened to me last year in Boston at the WWE SummerSlam PPV.

A few friends and I decided to make the trek to the "big city" from northeast Connecticut to see the legendary Hulk Hogan in action again at what we suspected would be the last time he competed in a ring near our homes. After scoring tickets, riding the train into town, and waiting in line outside FOREVER, we finally got in to our seats.

The Hogan vs. Orton match finally rolls around, and unfortunately, I can't see the ring at all. There's a guy four rows in front of me, clad head to toe in black leather, standing on his seat, holding up a pro-Orton sign, completely blocking my view of the ring. He had been doing this off and on all night, but hadn't really bothered me because he'd sit down after a minute and enjoy the show with his kid, who had a large dyed blue spiked mohawk and looked to be about 9-years-old. The only annoying part was that his signs (he had about a dozen of them) weren't even original; he just wrote down what was on the T-shirts WWE was selling. I mean, if you're going to obstruct my view, I want a "Chavo Mows My Lawn" sign, not a "BATISTA ANIMAL UNLEASHED."

So Orton enters, and I can't see. No big deal. Hogan enters, the place explodes, and -- I still can't see. Mildly annoying. The match gets underway, and I still can't see anything. This guy is now cycling through every sign he brought, completly obstructing my view, and the view of everyone around me. I can hear people complaining quietly around me, but no one is really saying anything because the guy looks like a Hell's Angel flunkout. But me, I came to see Hogan. I stand up, and yell "HEY LEATHER DUDE, SIT DOWN!"

The guy spins around and glares at me, and I yell that he's blocking the ring and no one can see. He obliges and sits down, but every few minutes turning around to give me the hairy eyeball. I forget about the guy and focus on enjoying the match.

A little later in the night, when Triple H and HBK are coming out, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and Leather Guy is standing THISCLOSE to my face. He says, "You ever speak to me like that again in front of my kid, I'll slit your throat." Now, to say the least, I am taken aback. Not out of any fear for my life, but that this idiot just loudly threatened to murder me in front of about 30 witnesses. I say, "Yea, OK, go back to your seat." He hits me on the shoulder and says, "You don't understand. We're going to find you after the show and bury you in cement."

Now I'm getting a little angry. I turn back around and tell the guy he couldn't read the instructions on cement, and to go back to his seat. He opens his mouth to say something, and I interrupt him, saying that if he bothers me one more time, I'm having security throw him out, and to think of how impressed his kid will be at having to miss the show because Daddy couldn't control his ego. The guy pointed at me, and started walking backwards, and lo and behold … he walks right into the Sno-Cone guy rounding the corner.

They both fall in a heap, completely covered in a festive rainbow of colored ice. One of my friends makes the joke that he'll have to kill another cow to replace the ruined leather outfit. The guy gets up, storms back to his seat, hauls his kid off and apparently leaves.

After the show in the train station waiting to head back home, I had literally dozens of people walking up to me and shaking my hand with comments like, "That was awesome" and "I was hoping someone would tell that guy to knock it off." Nice little instant celebrity moment for me. -- Nick L.

The best letter of the bunch, Nick. Thanks for that. And thanks to everyone for writing in. I got a huge response on this one, and appreciate every letter. I'm just sorry I couldn't print them all. Maybe down the road, I'll have a "Part II" to this column. So if you have a great story, send it in.

That brings us to our podcast, "Old School, New School." I asked my co-hosts Dr. Mike Lano and George Schire to talk about their favorite night at the matches as well. To hear what they came up with, you can download EPISODE 47 right here! You won't regret it.

That's it, get out of here. We've probably yakked too much for this week.

Class is dismissed!

(Professor Wrestling is a masked employee of Internet Broadcasting. Got a question, comment, complaint? E-mail him right here. )