Six months ago I spoke critically (though fondly) of Beau Hopkins' squinting approach to selling pain and his opponents' holds. That was before I saw Beau Hopkins Vs. Paul Perris: The Rematch, recently on sale, thus affordable and, for me, irresistible. Hopkins's probably was the face that first lured me to Can-Am, and Perris's were the torso and thighs that etched the most lasting impression on the anterior cingulate cortex of my brain, seat of both erotic attraction and pain awareness (I recently looked that up). This match of the two together (again) rivals anything Perris did with anybody else, up to and including his cousin Roman Stone. I can't think of another Hopkins match that comes close to this one for strenuous sensuality. It helps that, in this great match, Hopkins has hair on his chest and the longest treasure trail on record (assuming somebody keeps records on such things). The squint and the toothy grimace are there, to be sure, but now the effect is stunning.

It was a late-career match for both these men, still young but not as dewily pretty as they were in the matches that first made their reputations. The added months and years gave them harder, more manly aspects. Like the Kick-Ass Bodybuilder Feud series that Perris and Stone kicked off, the Hopkins-Perris fight starts in the ring and ends up in the oil pit. Both men are fit and solid--and equally at home in this particular combat scenario, pitting two popular veterans, still dripping with gorgeous, against each other. Without knowing the specifics, I would guess they were, at this time, a match in height and weight, more or less--roughly the same age, too.

If similarities explain the chemistry these two share, the contrasts might account for the drama. Perris is sharklike--a confident, sharp, and lithe predator, smooth as a soap bubble, with a sunburnt ruggedness about his eyes, newly acquired, that smacks more of pirate than of euro-trash. Hopkins is earthier, quintessentially Athletic Model Guild material, a beaming, wholesome, straight-arrow type, doglike in his determination and tenacity. Against Perris's slipperiness, Hopkins looks honest, upright, and stalwart. Perris is the destroyer, and Hopkins, the noble protector. Putting these two together--at a time when both were probably feeling the need to prove themselves one more time--makes for volatility and tension--the stuff of drama.


  1. 4-5 years later, maybe less defined a little heavier and older - and in regular tights. He'd look like one of those 1950s handsome wrestlers transported to us.


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