January, 1973 —
Dad finally surrendered the ancient black and white and bought our household its first color TV. To see my wrestling heroes in gleaming color, to see the ring was actually sky blue, to drink in every glazing bright hue – pure revelation!
So go figure ... the larger revelation that would hit me square in the third eye that Saturday evening would be made out of black and white.
A full color John Tolos had just thrashed an evildoer of a jobber, and KCOP-13 had cut to the Adee-Do Plumbing and Heating ad. I remembered that the TV guide listed another wrestling show called Titanes en el Ring on one of the three local Spanish stations, so I figured I would take a peek and see if its' Kung-Fu was better than ours.
Fat chance! I turned to Channel 22 to see that this wrestling show was so archaic they still filmed it in black and white. The stout mustachioed ring announcer (good set of pipes, but no Jimmy Lennon) stood alone in the ring and hollered the name of the first wrestler, who dashed from behind the dressing room curtain and marched proudly to the ring. His entrance was accompanied by the theme to Spartacus, and I had to admit; this is kind of cool, the wrestlers having a grand orchestral entrance.
And then the announcer pointed to the other dressing room curtain, shouting the name "Pepinoooo!"
Boy, was I unprepared for what I was about to see.
Out danced a fully costumed clown. I'm talking the full white-face, the Raggedy-Ann hair, and the oversize frilly suit! He held a bouquet of balloons as he skipped and twirled toward ringside, accompanied by his own flowery theme song, which lauded Pepino as a great clown who loved children and never, ever wrestled dirty!
Upon entering the ring, Pepino stumbled over his own two feet, brushed himself off, and then distributed his balloons to the children in the audience. Once the bell rang, Pepino was all nonsense; his foe would give him a forearm smash, and Pepino would collapse like a rag doll. He would clumsily scramble to his feet, occasionally getting a good lick or two in, but eventually, getting trashed right before these poor childrens' eyes!
And then I heard a chant from the peanut gallery, all the hopeful voices chanting "Super Pibe! Super Pibe! Super Pibe!" Their cries paid off, for finally some high energy superhero music played, and out ran Super Pibe! Pibe (pronounced Pea-Bay), a boyish teen dressed as a schoolboy (a "before they were stars" Angus Young?) hit the ring and nailed the nasty clown basher with dropkicks until Pepino could recover and pounce on his foe for the three count.
I tried to tell myself that I was appalled! This theater of the absurd is not pro wrestling! Immediately, I switched back to channel 13 in time to catch the end of the familiar commercial for the clothing store for big, tall and portly men. I had returned to home base, ready for Victor Rivera to beat the holy crap out of The Vigilante!
And yet Pepino's theme song kept ringing in my ears, and I chanted to myself, "Titanes en el Ring is not wrestling, Titanes en el Ring is not ..." like a mantra.
I switched back to channel 22 as soon as Rivera got the three count on Vigilante. I saw La Momia, a mummy wrapped from head to toe, hollow sinister eyes, making a slow and shaky entrance, backed by a methodical and creepy tune. I told myself he wasn't nearly as cool as Lon Chaney Jr. or Christopher Lee in the role.
Yet I had trouble falling asleep that night. Twenty eight years later, this is the first time I've admitted this to more than just my closest compadres – I was scared of La Momia!
Next column: Martín Karadagián's Titanes en el Ring thoroughly wins me over!
