Didn’t a brilliant man named Isaac Newton once say if a professional midget wrestler has seen far it is by standing on the shoulders of Andre the Giant? I think so. I think his brother Fig said that a keyhole doubles as a midget-peep-hole.
I have peered through the voyeuristic peep hole that is a professional midget wrestling match and it appears that the purpose of the sport is to entertain the same protozoa who laugh at senseless violence and cheer during Jerry Springer episodes. In the same breath, you’ve gotta love the market economy of this country! This time a bunch of diminutive entertainers got together and capitalized on the lower-case iq of their target audience. Trust me. The little people were the first ones to realize: professional midget wrestling = lowbrow entertainment = easy money.
Now I’ve never been a fan of regular old (standard-sized) professional wrestling to begin with. To me it’s as bogus as a midget transvestite wearing high-heels and a mini-skirt with a curvy set of D-cups (unless of course the ‘D’ stands for Dixie). Hey, “Dude Looks Like a Lady-bug!” But I expected to see midgets wrestling each other the authentic way.
Needless to say, there’s a big difference between pro-wrestling and cauliflower-ear-wrestling. Wrestling at the scholastic level is full contact, no mercy, raw and barbaric. I was ninety-five pounds my freshman year on the high school wrestling team. I was the antithesis of barbaric. I was pinned more than an arthritic acupuncture patient. I really perfected the art of losing. I should have received a Rold Gold medal for my fortitude and limberness. I was twisted and folded and contorted into so many different shapes that “Pretzel Time” at the food court could have named six or seven pretzels after me. The size advantage that my opponents had on me allowed them to flaunt and flex their egos and thereby easily put mine into a rear naked choke hold. “Hey! Leggo my ego!”
The phoniest part about pro-wrestling is not the chair hitting nor the chest slapping. THAT’S ALL REAL! The fake part is the muscle-bound entertainers themselves. Did the Ancient Greeks have painted faces, fog machines and abdominal twelve-packs? Hades no! The Greeks kept their theater, mythology and wrestling distinct and separate. They were just happy if they were still wearing their respective fig leaves after three intense periods . . .
Let’s face it folks! Pro-wrestling and steroids go together like midgets and footstools. Believe me. I am not thumbing my nose at midgets. After her first marriage my mom remarried a midget. Nicest guy too. He used to take me fishing, to see baseball games, and on the way back home he would always let me sit on his lap and steer the go-kart (he couldn’t see over the wheel). To this day he proudly sips his morning joe from the personalized espresso cup that I gave to him on Father’s Day: “#1 Step-ladder-dad!”
So, why midgets and wrestling? I believe boxing is a sport better suited for a midget than wrestling is. My logic: midgets fit nicely into boxes. Furthermore, the Greek translation for wrestling is “pale” while boxing translates to “pygme”. Thus, their midget boxing events on Mount Olympus were probably referred to as “pygmy pygme”. Now that’s a ticket stub I would pay a premium for.
I agree that pro-wrestling is just a male soap-opera (which is still far better than a female soap-opera). Pro midget wrestling is just a pre-shrunken 50% poly-cotton blend. It’s an internal self-aggrandizing delusional reflection of the ideal masculine figure projected outward onto a guy in a bikini (or a onesie in the case of the midget).
Look, if you have a chance to see a midget wrestling contest, don’t take it. That’s my advice to you. Stay home. You become just another common denominator to the pathetic immature behavior of the yelling finger-pointing crowd as a-whole, thereby feeling like the smallest person at the event.
If you’re offended by the completely meaningless nonsense which you have just read…well all I can say is “Elf you and the pony express you rode in on pal!”
On the other hand, if you have a chance to see a midget wrestling contest, take it! It may be the only time you’ll ever get to see the diametrically opposing image of a midget on a Jumbo-tron. And if you buy too many beers at the micro-brewery call a cab!