Thursday, June 30, 2011

June Rankings, 2011

Eighty-three countries claim the remaining 10% of pageviews in June.

Dum De De Dum-Dum, Dum Dum




If I were not doing such a bang-up job with my wrestling kink, I'd spend more time on my backup kink, haircuts. I'm bald now--or nearly so--so four or five times a month I buzz my hair in my bathroom, pining for the days when some slim, fine-featured dude pressed up against me to give me a nice trim along the edges. Long up front. The snip snip snip behind the ears, the deep, irregular breaths of an attentive barber, the press of fingers massaging deep into the scalp!  When I lived on the Florida Gulf, a handsome stylist--miles and miles of butch, just to spite his profession--cut my hair on the beach once. He wore an unbuttoned cotton shirt, wide open to flaunt his hairy chest and stomach, taut with muscle and smelling of talcum, while I stared out at the coke-bottle-green water.  

Hence my affection for a hair-versus-hair match. Best of both worlds. What I wouldn't give to get a razor cut while being held in a scissors! Cock as overheated and palpitating as a chrome-plated clipper! Axel's latest bout for UCW is billed as a "hair match." They take some liberties in the labeling, because in a proper hair match both wrestlers put their locks up as stakes from the beginning. Or so I would thnk. In this match, the trim comes as almost an afterthought. Santos gives the until recently unbeatable Axel a thorough thrashing, because shaggy-haired Axel keeps getting his name wrong. Then he pulls out the electric clipper and gives the unconscious ex-champ a makeover.  

Up to that point, the fight might be called standard UCW fare, which is far from an insult. Lots of ball torture, hair pulling, gut slugging, and baritone groans. Perhaps the most unusual aspect is seeing Axel so agitated before the match--downright pissy, as if he had just graduated from diva school, magna cum maintenance--and then so easily pushed around during the match. The man still has a lot of fight, sure, but not enough to stand up to Santos, whom he perversely insists on calling Sanjaya. (Santos, in turn, pronounces "Axel" a lot like "Asshole.") But then Santos is a big dude--and tough--and he's remarkably agile, at one point leaping up against the concrete column, so often used to bash heads against, and then kicking off the side of it, propelling himself into Axel.

It's a great little match. Not nearly hairy enough to be a real hair match, though. Santos' dark hair is already cropped close to the skull, so dubbing the bout a "hair match" leaves no doubt who the ultimate victor is. I liked watching Santos in this. His moves are awesome and his surly attitude, sexy as pink. And it's fun seeing Axel as the underdog against so capable an adversary.  Santos all but hobbles the guy. But if UCW wants to promote hair versus hair wrestling, I would prefer seeing Axel up against another tall, slim wrestler with curly locks of matching length and adorableness--lots of hair pulling on both wrestlers' parts, leading up to a clean finish.  But given the outcome of this fight, we may have to wait a good twelve months or more before Axel is ready again.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

The Winner and New World Champion


Since HDNet stopped posting matches for free on YouTube, my heart has not been in Ring of Honor.  Actually my heart started packing up its bags when Tyler Black left.  I still love the men who have been taking turns as champ since Tyler moved on to WWE and Florida Championship Wrestling--Roderick Strong, Eddie Edwards, and now (as of Sunday) Davey Richards--along with longtime favorites like Shelton Benjamin, Mike Bennett, Adam Cole, Kenny King, and Rhett Titus.  But I haven't been keeping up with them as I should.  From the looks of photographer Scott Finkelstein's just-posted shots, the June 26th main event in New York City was absolutely killer--brutal and emotional, climaxing as Edwards personally fastened the belt on his former tag partner, and Richards burst into tears.  According to the ROH site, both men were treated for dehydration, injuries, and migraines after the show and advised to take some time off to recover.  (As a side note, our friend Blake Arledge is booked to photograph the July 9th ROH show in Charlotte, North Carolina.  Congratulations, Blake.  He has not yet responded to my request for some shower-room shots of Strong, though.)

V/W


Too much of a good thing and all good things must come to an end, sure, but, for now, the most mesmerizing thing in British wrestling--perhaps in all wrestling--is the feud between MVK Valkabious and Blake Warning, seen here again at UKW Extreme.  This is pure Dolemite-meets-Road-Warrior for me.  I figure I will have enough of Valkabious and Warning as soon as they have had enough of each other inside and outside the ring.  (Photos: Alan Narejko)

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Tough Motherfucker



Not all stereotypes are entirely untrue. That red-haired dudes are fiery, for one. That they are short-tempered and sarcastic. That their tempers flare unpredictably, for no apparent reason, then subside just as suddenly. That they tend to end up on top in a fight. That the only way to beat them is to have red hair yourself. Every prejudice has some basis in somebody's bloody nose.

Kid Karisma, 5'8", 170#, has more fight in his little finger than you've got in both fists. I'm just saying. He doesn't ask for your respect. He wrings it from you, squeezes it out of every jangled nerve in your body. There's nothing Hollywood or posh about Karisma. He's pure grrr back-alley punk--raw, mean, hot-headed, contemptuous. The kind of guy you don't have to ask twice if you are looking for somebody to bust you up. The kind of guy you see in the newspaper, at the front of the riot or else grinning maniacally into the camera for his mug shot.

Kid Karisma looks like a mash-up of Daniel Craig, Zac Efron, and Axl Rose. Here's a short list of the marketable skills he possesses. Back breaking. Hair pulling. Gut punching. Head scissoring. Face sitting. And nipple twisting. Like all BG East heels worth their salt he's a machine that manufactures sweat and agony. Of his eight (so far) matches at BG East, I have seen three (so far). But Kid makes an impression--for two of these three I have had to look up to see whom he fought against--no names here--but in every one there's a pose, a leer, a blow, an insult, or a hold of Karisma's I can remember as vividly as if I'm watching it this instant.

Monday, June 27, 2011

Bad Language, Fighting, and Unsafe Behavior in the Pool Area


Budget crunch or no budget crunch, my pal Bard may have picked the wrong time to let his subscription to Thunder's TV slip.

But don't worry, old buddy of mine--I am down here in North Carolina with a mouthful of crow over every disparaging word I've ever said about Z-Man's ability to sell a fight.  

In the Arena's latest release, ZMan vs Dallas, Zack Johnathan taps into his inner Lee Marvin and goes apeshit maniac all over Dallas.  Punches get thrown--and, I know, it's all kayfabe--but I'm here to tell you that somebody at Thunder's has just graduated from a master's class in advanced stage combat!--because fists land on mouths with startling, shuddering resonance.  

And that's not the end of it!  

The action splashes into the pool, over which territory the two hunks are having the dispute in the first place--and today I was (I kid you not) just minutes away from writing a haranguing post on How Nobody Seems to Know How to Stage a Good Pool Fight.  So glad I didn't.  Because this, folks, is how it's done.  I have not got this much wood from sloshing water since the last time I slo-mo'ed Johnny Weissmuller rassling a crocodile in Tarzan and his Mate.

My hat is off to both Z-Man and Dallas.  I always thought both men were stunningly beautiful, but nothing they ever did fight-wise impressed me until now.  And my hat is off too to Thunder's Arena, for the fine way everybody involved took a customer's request (this is the second in the company's Custom Video series) and turned it into an instant (just-add-water) classic!

Killer YAMATO


I still don't quite get Dragon Gate, with its colorful manga-inspired histrionics and all-CAPS, parallel-universe gimmicks, but I do like its current Open the Freedom Gate Champion:  YAMATO, 29, 5'7", 180#, former mixed martial arts fighter who turned pro wrestler five years ago this month.  He's a nasty piece of work, noted for sadistic assaults on his opponents' limbs, near lethal kicks, and slow, torturous knockouts by rear naked choke hold.  What's not to like?  Here he is in Christine Coons' dramatic shots of a match at the beginning of this month, against English good-guy PAC, 24, 5'8", 171#, whom he torments and then finishes off neatly with a scoop slam piledriver.  The two are evenly matched and put on a good show.  I like them both.  I guess maybe I'm supposed to love one and hate the other, but my favorite matches are often ones where I'm drawn to both competitors, resulting in irresolvable yet rapturous tension for me.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Valkabious


These photos of last night's UK Wrestling Mayhem TV taping in Wakefield give us, once again, Valkabious, 20, 6'2", 246#, dubbed "the baddest man in British wrestling," facing the grandly intimidating US-born wrestler Blake Warning.  MVK Valkabious, from Leeds, has wrestled all over England and Scotland independently for the past four years, shooting for (no surprise here) a place on the WWE roster.  (Photos: Alan Narejko)

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Aaron and Chris


Until ten years ago, Can-Am was close to the center of my kink universe.  I'm still a big fan, but my involvement declined in the late '90s.  I wasn't interested in costumes and slave fantasies--huge at the time, if you remember--and now, as interest resuscitates, my budget won't make room for it.  I have not thrown Can-Am over.  Even though I don't subscribe to Can-Am Max right now, I buy a video from time to time, when I have pocket money.   As Bard pointed out, in a recent post, kink carries with it certain costs--and, in case you haven't heard, community college instructors don't exactly roll in the dough.  So most of the stuff you find in these pages about Can-Am tends to focus on the pre-1997 years.  

But what great years they were!

One match I enjoy thinking about is Aaron Aubrey, 5'7", 150#, facing Chris Divito, 5'9", 170#, under the unvarnished and generic title of Canadian Nude Pro Wrestling 2.  Pale Aaron with the Mormon haircut and the mauve dong strips and dominates tan, long-haired Chris in the squared circle.  Wow.

Frankly, this was not a match I expected to enjoy as much as I did.  I recall buying the tape (in those days of VHS) for Jimmy Dean in the opener and then peeking at the third bout more for Divito, whose wild-boy qualities drew my eye, than for Aubrey, who reminded me of somebody who creeped me out when I was young and in college (long story--and a pointless digression, guaranteed).

But Aubrey's quiet and methodical dismantling of the inexperienced but somewhat bigger and older heel made a lasting impression on my fantasy life.  There are Aaron's unblemished alabaster butt cheeks and 5-cell Maglite front and center, too, of course.  But Aubrey's patient nipple-twisting, erotic surfboards, and punishing scissors stick in my imagination.  And Divito carries his half of the show brilliantly, as well, whimpering when he's getting beat, snarling as he fights back.

Like all erotic wrestling, especially the early products, the fight has a ritualistic aspect, a practiced, stately, episodic, and ceremonial presentation of wrestling holds, almost as if numbered and counted like prayer beads.  So, oddly enough, there's a kind of restfulness to the mayhem.  I like that--in this one instance, anyway.  And, to state the obvious, both men are very nice looking.

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