By Coach B

GWF - July 1991

I openly admit I have a deep affinity for the Global Wrestling Federation.

I was about ten years old when GWF first hit the scene. We were living in a mobile home community.

Fine.

It was a trailer park.

And before you start picturing one of the nice ones, let me assure you it was not.

My mom pointed out that we weren’t there long, and at least we lived near the front of the park, which she claims was safer up there.

I had never considered this before, but it makes sense that the further you get into a trailer park, the more meth adjacent it becomes.

We had also just gotten cable.

Up until then, my wrestling education consisted largely of the WWF, occasional videotapes from the local video store, and whatever I could find in wrestling magazines. I’d seen AWA All-Stars, but I was desperate for something new.

Now I was seeing the NWA for the first time, and here came the Global Wrestling Federation on ESPN.

Every single day.

I cannot stress what a mind-blowing development this was for a ten-year-old wrestling fan in 1991.

New wrestling. Every day. An actual promotion I could follow from one episode to the next.

Or at least that was the arrangement. ESPN didn’t always cooperate.

GWF kicked off in July 1991, which gave me about a month to watch it every afternoon around 4 p.m.

Then football practice started.

Practice was at 5:30, and we lived a good distance from the field. I rode my bike, which meant traveling what I remember being at least four miles down a 55 mph road.

No sidewalk.

Just an overweight ten-year-old on a bicycle sharing the road with people legally permitted to travel 55 miles an hour.

However long you’re calculating that ride should have taken, add twenty minutes.

So every afternoon became a race against the clock.

How much GWF could I watch before I absolutely had to leave for football?

Could I finish the episode?

Almost never.

I was already pretty good at operating a VCR and violating any and all applicable copyright laws, but our recording situation wasn’t particularly reliable.

Which meant leaving for practice without knowing what happened in the rest of the episode.

Real hardship.

Chaz vs. The Lightning Kid

Light Heavyweight Championship Tournament, Round Two

Even at ten years old, when I was a considerable doorknob myself, I remember thinking Chaz was a douche.

Not necessarily as a human being.

As a wrestler? Absolutely.

The Lightning Kid, on the other hand, I was all about from the beginning.

Young Sean Waltman is sporting lightning bolts shaved into the sides of his head.

Now, I could call this white trash, but it’s 1991.

A, it’s on brand.

B, my brother and I had lines shaved into our heads.

I’m in no position to cast stones.

I’ve always been a massive Sean Waltman fan.

When he eventually showed up on Monday Night Raw and pinned Razor Ramon to become the 1-2-3 Kid, that was a major moment in my childhood.

I knew who that was.

I’d watched him in Global.

It was like discovering a band before everybody else did.

I’d been there from the beginning.

I can’t speak for the rest of you ass clowns, but that mattered to me.

Back to 1991.

Waltman is only about 19 here, throwing karate kicks all over the place, but what impresses me is how much of the heel stuff he already understands.

He offers a handshake, pulls it away, and gives Chaz the cool-guy hair swipe.

Takes several breaks outside the ring.

The athletic ability is obvious, but he’s already picking up the nuances of being an obnoxious little prick.

Craig Johnson and Scott Hudson are on commentary. I had initially thought it was Joe Pedicino, whom I’ve always liked, but he’s handling the news segments.

They also mention Waltman’s training under Boris Malenko and Karl Gotch.

That’s a hell of a wrestling education.

I don’t know how much Karl Gotch knew about karate kicks, but I’ve decided he personally taught Waltman every single one.

I will be conducting no further investigation into this matter.

The Kid gets Chaz in a chinlock, and they go to commercial.

When we return, he’s still got him in the same chinlock.

Johnson informs us that Chaz has been trapped in this thing for 90 seconds.

Three commercials.

Ninety seconds of chinlock.

That’s commitment.

The crowd is pretty great, too. You can hear individual people yelling, and they seem genuinely into what’s happening.

We’re coming to you from the GlobalDome, which sounds magnificent until you realize it’s the Dallas Sportatorium.

As a kid, I’d read about the Sportatorium and the Von Erichs and imagined this glorious wrestling cathedral.

Then you watch enough depressing documentaries about World Class and discover it was essentially a tin shithole.

But the tin shithole has excellent acoustics.

I’m completely on board.

We also have referee James Beard, sporting a truly magnificent mullet.

That thing is feathered out beautifully.

Blue shirt. Bow tie.

We need to bring back the shirt and bow tie for referees.

And while we’re looking at Beard, I’m realizing something.

He and Chaz are practically interchangeable.

Same general build. Same look.

You could put Beard in the ring and Chaz in the referee shirt, and I’m not convinced I’d notice.

Although Chaz is wearing zebra trunks, which are doing absolutely nothing to improve my opinion of him.

Actually, maybe that was the problem all along.

These two could have pulled off the evil twin referee gimmick, like the whole Earl and Dave Hebner situation with Hogan and the Million Dollar Man.

Missed opportunity.

The Kid continues looking impressive. His kicks have always looked great, and the shin pads give them a little extra legitimacy.

Good chops. Good punches.

He hits a beautiful belly-to-back suplex and has Chaz pinned.

Then he pulls him up.

The Kid weighs all of 150 pounds, and he’s already decided pinning Chaz isn’t enough.

Absolutely no respect for this man.

Finally, he finishes him with the Lightning Strike, essentially a jumping tombstone piledriver.

That thing looks legitimately nasty.

Lightning Kid gets the win.

Match rating: 7/10

I don’t have some elaborate Meltzer scale for these things. I’m largely grading on how much I enjoyed watching.

And I enjoyed the hell out of this.

Young Sean Waltman.

I’m here for it.

GWF Newsroom with Joe Pedicino

Oh yeah, we get a newsroom segment with Joe Pedicino.

I always enjoyed these. Mean Gene cutting away to the control center, giving us updates on whatever was happening around the WWF.

Novel concept, really. Somebody in an official capacity looking directly at the camera instead of wrestlers pretending it isn’t there.

Big discussion about who exactly the Cartel is.

We’ve already got the Hustler Rip Rogers and Makhan Singh.

Remember Makhan Singh?

I was fascinated by him as a kid because I didn’t know what a Makhan was, but it sounded dirty.

There’s also talk of Jim Cornette finding a partner worthy of Sweet Stan Lane’s considerable talents.

I’ve heard Cornette discuss this GWF run before, so I know they’re only around for a couple episodes.

Luckily, I’ve made enough poor decisions and played football with sufficiently inadequate safety equipment that I don’t remember how any of this plays out.

It’s a mystery every time.

Then they put up a graphic congratulating Hulk Hogan on being named president of the Special Olympics.

Huh.

That’s a lot for all of us to process.

We’re just going to move on.

The Handsome Stranger vs. Hustler Rip Rogers

Pedicino introduces our next match with some extraordinary news.

Apparently, the GWF offices in Atlanta have received more than 100,000 pieces of mail from women around the world demanding to know the identity of the Handsome Stranger.

One woman from Palm Springs has even offered $100,000 for a picture of him without his mask.

The Stranger refuses.

“It’s something I’m saving for my wedding night.”

Real question: does he know the difference between his penis and that mask?

Obviously, we know only whiskey and pepper spray get the mask off in real life.

The Handsome Stranger, of course, is a young Buff Bagwell.

And looking around the GlobalDome, we’ve got quite a few women in the crowd, which is already something of a foreign concept.

Older women, too.

There’s a lady in the front row wearing a red blouse.

I hate to tell you this, but that’s your Aunt June.

And I think she undid an extra button.

She’s trying to show some nip to the Handsome Stranger.

So if your Aunt June happened to be in Dallas around August 1991, there’s a reasonable chance she was trying to get some from Buff Bagwell.

Which, as we later learned, might not have been that difficult.

Buff eventually became a male escort.

Now, let’s assume for a moment he was already charging women for sex in 1991.

He absolutely would have accepted a personal check, right?

I have to think so.

Buff Bagwell would have taken a two-party, out-of-state check from your Aunt June in exchange for sexual relations.

I’m almost certain of it.

We cut to Boni Blackstone, who looks fantastic, by the way! 

Then you find out she married Joe Pedicino.

Good on Joe for outkicking his coverage.

Nothing against the man, but Boni is a solid nine on the 1991 scale.

She’s interviewing an older woman named Kaye, who looks to be about 55.

There’s definitely a demographic developing here. These aren’t exactly the young ladies screaming for Ricky and Robert of the Rock ‘n’ Roll Express.

The graphic identifies her simply as:

KAYE.

Outstanding.

The Handsome Stranger has given Kaye a mask and a rose, and now she’s been granted the opportunity to ask him a question.

Man, I wonder what she’s going to ask.

“Why do you wear a mask?”

We've now learned Kaye lived underneth powerlines as a child. 

We’ve got an international mystery on our hands. More than 100,000 pieces of mail. A woman offering $100,000 for a photograph.

Your Aunt June might be a floozy, but Kaye is apparently a moron.

She does look like she puts out, though.

I’m sure she and Aunt June could work out some kind of group discount with the Handsome Stranger.

Can we just go back to looking at Boni Blackstone?

One other thing I’ve noticed: the production crew seems to have some trouble with spelling.

Boni is B-O-N-I, but that’s her stage name because her real name is Bonnie.

That crafty minx.

Kaye is K-A-Y-E. Earlier, they spelled Cartel with two Ls.

I believe Bruce Prichard was involved in production around this time.

So, for the purposes of this investigation, we’re blaming Bruce.

Somebody in that truck needs Hooked on Phonics.

They’re also pretty insistent on letting us know the Handsome Stranger is from Monte Carlo.

And if you’re like me and wondering where the hell Monte Carlo is, it’s a district of Monaco, a tiny country on the French Riviera along the Mediterranean Sea.

So you’d expect something resembling a French accent.

Let’s be diplomatic: he sounds like a guy from Marietta, Georgia.

They’re pushing Buff to the moon.

Rip Rogers was an experienced wrestler and trainer, which makes him a pretty good opponent for a young Buff Bagwell.

It’s a decent match. Rogers is working heel, doing all the classic stuff, including a double back scratch.

Always a fan.

We also get an appearance at ringside from Rasta the Voodoo Man.

He’s far too big for this light heavyweight tournament, but I’m just glad they didn’t take an African American wrestler and dress him up in stereotypical African face paint.

Oh, wait.

Yep. That’s exactly what they did.

Sorry. It’s 1991 in Texas. I’m not sure what I was thinking.

He does have a hell of a build and look, though.

Don’t worry, they won’t mention him again, and the match ends with Buff hitting a perfect plex.

Match rating: 5.1/10

Enjoyable, and not one person dove through the ropes.

We then get a useless segment where Rip Rogers and Makhan Singh tease revealing the newest member of the Cartel.

They don’t.

Super.

Boni Blackstone Interviews the Handsome Stranger

Boni finally gets to ask the burning question on behalf of Kaye and the apparently 100,000 women desperately waiting for an answer.

Why does the Handsome Stranger wear a mask?

“Because mystery is the greatest part of romance.”

That was his actual answer.

Honestly, if I were wrestling this guy, that would intimidate the shit out of me.

He gets you in a near chinlock, starts nibbling your ear, tells you your hair smells nice.

I’m tapping out.

Segment rating: 1.3/10

Buff creeped me out.

Mike Davis vs. Brian Adias

This is going to be tough.

The announcers keep telling us Mike Davis has an intimidating voice.

Not an intimidating presence. Not an intimidating physique.

A voice.

Because looking at him, you wouldn’t know. He’s a blond guy with a well-maintained mullet and a mustache.

Davis is best known as enhancement talent and one half of the Rock ‘n’ Roll RPMs with Tommy Lane.

Incredibly original tag team.

Definitely not blatantly ripping off every other rock ‘n’ roll tag team in professional wrestling.

Didn’t even try to hide it.

Rock ‘n’ Roll RPMs.

Brian Adias, meanwhile, is best known for being friends with the Von Erichs.

Not bad work if you can get it.

I don’t think he wrestled much outside Texas, whether he couldn’t or simply didn’t need to.

Think about it.

You get the spillover groupies from the Von Erichs, make decent money, become locally famous, and never have to leave your hometown.

All you have to do is be an okay wrestler.

I’m not crapping on Brian Adias.

The man figured out a way through life and stuck with it.

God bless him.

The opening lockup is confusing, which is appropriate because I’m already confused by this entire match.

They’re still telling us how intimidating Mike Davis is.

You can’t tell by looking at him, so commentary has to keep reminding us.

Adias offers a handshake, pulls his hand away, then slaps his own ass a few times.

I guess he’s the babyface.

Well, that’ll show him, Brian.

Be a dick and then spank yourself.

Our referee is Rick Manning, who has a magnificent white afro and a full mustache.

Great look.

Unfortunately, he’s not wearing the blue shirt and bow tie we saw on James Beard earlier.

I’m disappointed by the lack of consistency.

The shirt isn’t even particularly flattering, although at least we don’t have any chest hamburgers hanging out of the zebra stripes.

Imagine two jobbers wrestling each other.

There you go.

That’s most of this match.

We’ve got headlocks, long leg scissors holds, and two guys displaying almost no personality.

Except, of course, the intimidating Mike Davis.

The basic wrestling is fine.

I just don’t care.

Nobody in the building seems to care, either. The crowd is mostly quiet, occasionally confused.

Could be a slow gas leak.

Given the condition of the Sportatorium, I’m not ruling it out.

I’m trying to find something else to concentrate on, and then I notice Rick Manning’s pants.

Black pants.

Brown belt.

Christ Almighty.

There are things I’m willing to overlook in professional wrestling.

But black pants with a brown belt?

Disgusting.

Apparently, this tournament uses some kind of European format with three finalists instead of two.

Sure.

Mike Davis eventually wins by holding onto the ropes for leverage during the pin, which sends Brian Adias into a fit.

And when I say Davis was holding the ropes, his hand was practically touching Manning’s fro.

Terrific officiating.

Match rating: 2.2/10

I want those six minutes back.

Adrien Street Explains the Tournament

Adrien Street is interviewed after the match and explains that he should already be the light heavyweight champion because he won a tournament in Zambia.

Apparently, the only reason we’re having another tournament is that they’ve raised the weight limit to allow more wrestlers to compete.

All right.

Adrien then asks how he could possibly survive against some of these giants in the United States.

He’s pleading his case instead of giving us a reason to watch him wrestle.

Then he turns the question around.

How would these bigger guys survive against him if they had to get down to 214 pounds?

That’s his big question.

How would a much bigger, stronger man fare in a fight against a much smaller, lighter man?

That one’s going to sit with me for a while.

The meaning of life. The JFK assassination. What happens when a big guy fights a little guy?

Maybe that’s the theme of this episode.

We’ve already learned that a professional wrestler wears a mask because mystery is the key to romance.

Now we’re contemplating what happens when a large man wrestles a small man.

Adrien is standing between the announcers, decidedly shorter than both of them, wearing face paint and smiling like he’s having the time of his life.

He turns around to reveal the back of his black tank top.

In rainbow lettering:

“IMAGINE WHAT I COULD DO TO YOU.”

Okay then.

Certainly one way to cut a promo.

Craig Johnson signs off for himself and Scott Hudson.

And that’s it.

Final Thoughts

This episode runs about 33 minutes on YouTube.

I kept waiting for another match. Something bigger to close the show.

Instead, we finish with Adrien Street asking questions about weight classes after watching Brian wrestle Mike.

Terrific.

We started strong with the Lightning Kid, and young Sean Waltman was easily the highlight.

Rip Rogers was a welcome addition, but the rails mostly came off once the Kid left the ring.

We did learn quite a bit, though.

Your Aunt June apparently likes to get around.

The Handsome Stranger has a particular appeal among women wearing large blouses and sweaters who probably meet twice a week to play canasta.

And the Global Wrestling Federation has no shortage of questions it has absolutely no intention of answering.

If you haven’t watched GWF in a while, it’s worth revisiting.

Just don’t go into it expecting too many answers.

Or a satisfying conclusion.

A lot depends on your willingness to accept an out-of-state, two-party check.

Overall rating: 5.8/10