Remembering 1989

Over at YouTube, sportjockma (80 great uploads!) is helping me to remember 1989 with this NWA match between eye-popping fucksicle Brian Pillman and dark and handsome jobber Lee Scott.  It reminds me of not only when Brian, who died eight years later at age 35, was still flyin' high, but also when 2 Live Crew were keeping George Lucas and God-fearing grandmas awake in their beds at night.

More important to me, it harks back to the days when I could still crack one off while watching televised pro wrestling, because neon-colored jungle prints haunted the spandex factories, mullets sprang from wrestlers' heads like hydrangeas in July, and nobody worth his salt in pro wrestling minded working an opponent over, mostly because the public had not yet associated two muscle dudes in baby oil slowly grinding on top of each other with homosexuality.

In '89 I would not have thought I'd ever have even a shred of nostalgia for the eighties--AIDS, the Union Carbide debacle in Bhopal, Ted Bundy, the fatwa against novelist Salman Rushdie, the Time-Warner merger, the Exxon Valdez oil spill off Prince William Sound, the savings and loan crisis that cost taxpayers over $200 billion in bailouts (not counting the losses in personal savings), a Rob Lowe song-and-dance number with Snow White at the Oscars, and an official American response to the Tiananmen Square massacre so tepid that you might have thought only a major American city with a predominantly black population had been destroyed by a category-5 hurricane.

And I could go on.

Everything back then looked like the world was ending.  Hell, it still does--apocalypse is quick only in the movies and the bible.  Plus ça fin du monde, plus la même chose ... Apocalypse just costs a lot more in 2010, that's all.

But, hey, don't let my digression bum you out, watch Pillman plug it to Scott.  It's a fun-filled eight minutes (about twice the average length of a non-pay-per-view WWE match today), just the thing to put a smile back on your face.


  1. The hair, the ripped spandex, the neon-colored wrestling in the 80's had such a lame interpretation of punk/new wave. Ahh, but those were the days.


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