Altered Tape
1976 Big Time Wrestling
Bob Seger roadies, smoking managers, and The Sheik stabbing people like rent was due.
Embedded Files
By Coach B
Detroit Big Time Wrestling (Feb 1976)
This time, I wanted Big Time Wrestling from Detroit.
Whatever awards it won that year for best wrestling book, it deserved all of them.
And I thought they were making fun of it.
I honestly thought it was just some dumb old-person phrase for wrestling.
I remember almost being offended by it.
“No, butthole, I watch the WWF.”
I also didn’t know good wrestling if it smacked me in my massive melon.
Turns out there was an actual promotion called Big Time Wrestling.
This is mostly an excuse to admit I was a dumb kid.
Now, as an adult, I’m just doubling down on the fact that I legitimately did not know.
Either way, I pick these episodes as randomly as I can.
Sometimes you know pretty quickly whether you picked a good one.
This took approximately five seconds.
The tape starts with one of those old blue VCR screens that says PLAY.
Then El Bracero walks into the ring wearing a sombrero.
And when I say sombrero, I need you to understand the scale here.
It extends well past his shoulders.
From Guadalajara, Mexico: El Bracero! Pretty nice reaction, too.
Then we get Gary Fulton in a black Members Only jacket.
He raises his arms, immediately gets booed, and lowers them again.
Gary knows what’s happening here.
Gary Fulton is allegedly a professional wrestler.
He could just as easily be a roadie for Bob Seger.
“Hey, you want to make fifty bucks?”
“Have you ever wrestled your brothers in the basement?”
“Fantastic. You’re on television.”
Gary’s nickname is Pretty Boy!
I am confident enough in my masculinity to see this is utterly hilarious.
I am also going to try that at work next week.
Al Thomas is our referee, sporting the appropriate short sleeved shirt and bow tie.
He’s rock solid so far and doing more here than any modern referee has in five years of WWE or AEW.
Fulton has been pulling the hell out of El Bracero’s hair and the crowd is pissed.
El Bracero is Spanish for “The Bracero.”
I’m hiding my resentment for modern wrestling very well, I know.
That is because I wasn’t trying very hard.
“In 7 minutes 57 seconds with a roll-up, El Bracero!”
Chuck Allen has earned himself a new fan.
Not me, but a bevy of ladies in the front row for sure.
Not good in a modern sense, but you don’t need a Dramamine before watching this.
That slow clap you hear is me.
Excellent work by everybody involved here.
The camera work is surprisingly decent, too.
Shots through the ropes. Good close-ups.
For 1976, this looks pretty damn good.
He’s got the wavy hair going. Big ass mutton chops. Just an absolutely massive human being.
What really stands out is how much he sells.
From everything I understand, Bobo was a huge part of Detroit wrestling for years.
Then he gives him the big Coco Butt and that’s it.
Bob Finnegan tells us Bobo is dancing around “like it’s springtime.”
Chuck Allen gives us the winner at 5:45, Bobo Brazil.
Afterward, Al Thomas raises Bobo’s arm and Bobo immediately gives him a hug.
Mostly because seeing Bobo Brazil move around like this is honestly mighty, mighty impressive.
Also the home of comedian Sinbad.
I feel like you learned a lot today.
That’s just over $30,000 in modern dollars.
The Brute isn’t George “The Animal” Steele, but they could absolutely be Brute Brothers.
Hank James is listed from Harlem, New York and has a pretty snazzy unitard going on.
The Brute could be 40 years old because it’s 1976.
His physique can only be described as wumpy.
Could we have gotten a dish towel?
“There you go, buddy. Get your ass back in there.”
Everybody is working stiff as hell here.
But apparently winning isn’t enough.
Bobo ain’t having any of this.
I’ll admit the chair shot Bobo gives The Brute is kind of weak as hell, but he came to get his guy.
Then Bobo gives him the Coco Butt and sends The Brute over the top rope.
That absolutely feels like we’re setting something up here.
I did something completely out of character and actually researched this while I was watching.
Sure enough, The Brute was working regularly with both Bobo and Andre during this period.
This thing only went a couple of minutes, but they packed a hell of a lot into them.
Wild, stiff, confusing, and somebody pulled out what looked like a railroad spike.
“You gonna lose tonight! You must leave town!”
The Sheik, meanwhile, is fully committed to the gimmick.
Down on his knees, praising Allah, curly-toed boots, the whole deal.
And Eddie “The Brain” has a cigar hanging out of his mouth.
Not a prop, either. At least I don’t think so.
I’m willing to bet Eddie’s attitude was basically:
But I am not taking this cigar out of my mouth.”
Also, his red bodysuit has EDDIE THE BRAIN stitched across it in yellow lettering.
Subtlety was apparently not a major priority here.
I am officially in love with Big Time Wrestling from 1976.
Open smoking. Curly-toed boots. Somebody screaming that you have to leave town if you lose.
Mark Lewin looks great here, too. Impressive build, very believable presence.
I read that thing countless times.
Turns out it was written by Ted Lewin, Mark’s brother.
Anyway, we’re about two minutes in and The Sheik is already biting Mark Lewin in the head.
There is absolutely no ambiguity about what sort of Middle Eastern stereotype we are going for here.
The Sheik already has a weapon.
It looks like some kind of pencil or metal spike.
Whatever it is, he is just stabbing the shit out of Mark Lewin with it.
I don’t know how else to say that.
I understand this is professional wrestling.
I understand not everything happening here is real.
There is only so much professional wrestling magic available here.
The Razor Boys may not even be necessary.
This is an entirely unique fan experience.
He’s into the second row and nobody is trying to touch him.
Nobody is trying to get a selfie.
People are getting the hell out of the way.
There’s a woman in blue who looks legitimately terrified.
There’s even a cop standing nearby with the general expression of:
“Yeah, I don’t know if I want a piece of this either.”
If you ever want to see what actual crowd belief looks like, watch this match.
These people sure as hell believe The Sheik is a dangerous human being.
Then Al Thomas checks The Sheik for a weapon.
A little later, Thomas asks him again if he has a weapon while the weapon is basically in his hand.
Good ol'fashion blind refereeing.
Lewin keeps wandering through the crowd, and eventually you find the other kind of Detroit fan.
And if you’ve ever been to Detroit, you know it takes a lot to scare a drunk guy from Detroit.
I’ve been a drunk guy in Detroit.
To be clear, I am not from Detroit.
That is a different class of individual altogether.
And now The Sheik is getting color.
The Sheik is openly cutting his own forehead with a razor blade.
There is barely an attempt to hide it.
This crowd is absolutely batshit!
Lewin gets The Sheik down and looks like he has him beat.
Then Creatchman jumps in and breaks up the count.
That feels like excellent managerial work.
Al Thomas mostly just shoos him away like:
“Damn it, Eddie. Get the hell out of here.”
Which appears to eliminate roughly 80 percent of his offense.
His other weapon is apparently the razor blade he keeps using on himself.
Lewin gets The Sheik in a sleeper.
Creatchman gets involved again.
And then The Sheik throws a fireball.
He appears to burn Mark Lewin.
He also burns Eddie Creatchman.
The Sheik does not appear particularly concerned.
He gets out of there and leaves Eddie behind.
Lewin tumbles outside the ring.
Again, understandable when you have just caught on fire.
And somehow this all results in The Sheik winning the United States Championship by countout.
The medical response is immediate.
They put a towel over it. That’s just good first aid.
I am not applying logic to any of this.
We are told this is the first two-ring battle royal in wrestling history.
The rules are simple enough, provided you don’t think about them too hard.
You have to be thrown from the first ring into the second ring.
Then you have to be thrown from the second ring to the floor.
Eventually there will be one man left in each ring, and those two will fight at a later date.
A lot of the guys from the earlier matches are back, but there is one fairly important addition.
Finnegan tells us there are “six tons of muscle, bone and flesh” in the rings.
Then immediately corrects himself.
He could have let that one go.
Nobody was checking the math in 1976.
People were busy smoking unfiltered cigarettes, eating trans fats and generally enjoying themselves.
The basic strategy becomes apparent pretty quickly.
A bunch of guys get thrown into the second ring.
They are not even pretending after a while.
The Brute is basically working an assembly line.
Some of these guys are taking ridiculous bumps, too.
A bunch of other people I would have liked to actually watch get tossed.
There is no keeping track of any of this.
Then Chris Taylor from Dowagiac, Michigan eliminates himself.
Taylor apparently took exception to some comments and just hopped out of the ring.
I’m not entirely convinced that was the reason, but he is gone either way.
Meanwhile, The Brute has now eliminated approximately 17 people by himself.
And in the first ring we are finally down to Bobo Brazil and Andre the Giant.
Watching Andre move here is ridiculous.
I grew up with WrestleMania II and WrestleMania III Andre.
The Andre who could barely move.
And now Andre and Bobo are actually wrestling each other.
Every once in a while they both look over at The Brute in the other ring.
And I have to assume the shared thought is:
“Yeah, either one of us could probably kick the shit out of that guy.”
Eventually Bobo starts talking to Andre.
Then Andre simply steps out of the ring.
Because under the rules, he was supposed to go into the second ring first.
The Brute eventually jumps out of his ring, too.
So Bobo technically wins the two-ring battle royal that was supposed to have two winners.
The Brute was apparently the other winner.
Andre eliminated himself incorrectly.
And somehow this is all completely acceptable.
I’m not going to pretend I understand it.
Ridiculous in almost every possible way.
We got The Brute apparently breaking every elimination record in professional wrestling history.
The actual average of my match scores is 6.5.
But if you were here for the math, we are both in need of professional help.
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