FanPost

The Power of a Wrestling Death

Writing about dead wrestlers has been done to death. Pardon the word play, but levity is needed in times of sadness.

This week I started writing about my next topic, but my heart wasn't fully in it. I lost someone I loved just over a week ago and the funeral was Wednesday morning. She was 93 years old, all of five feet tall, weighing in at 100lbs (or less), from South Hampton, UK, and her name was Daphne Pielechaty. Or, as I called her, Nana.

People react differently to death. I've previously lost both grandfathers, but neither really hit home as I didn't fully identify with either man as a person. Nana was different. She was every bit her 93 years at the end, but for most of the time I knew her she was smart as a whip, looked at least a decade younger than she was and she tongue-lashed you with such subtly the impact wasn't felt until minutes later.

She had a gaze that could kill and a sense of humour as dry as the Sahara. Her Britishisms are legendary, a famous one being "I haven't found a better one" when asked why her accent hadn't changed in the half century plus she'd been living in Canada. Nana was a character to behold and she could cut one heck of a promo, if you got her riled up enough. I broke down when I heard she died.

Too many of my favourite on screen characters have died. I was actually considering waiting to write this article in the wake of another wrestler dying. As off putting as this may sound, it's bound to happen again. Blunt, but true.

Wrestling is a crazy industry. It's hard on the mind, body and spirit. Case in point, the years are marred by many well-documented casualties, with too many occuring before the age of 50. How does this tie in with my grandmother when she reached such a late age? It doesn't completely and I'll do my best to tie this together, but I understand if you stop reading before the conclusion.

While I acknowledge that all the articles I've written are - to some degree - selfish this one is more selfish than its predecessors. Usually I take time to write and rewrite for the enjoyment of the gracious people who deem my writing worthy of a read, but I'm shooting from the hip and typing from the heart.

I was just barely alive when Bruiser Brody was murdered. I've read about his impact on the industry, but haven't watched too many of his matches...yet. Soon my pretties, soon. Reading David Shoemaker's book The Squared Circle: Life, Death and Professional Wrestling I learned Brody was the first to give a "shoot" style interview. He was big, mean, talented and, sadly, died before his rightful time.

Shoemaker's book documents the beginnings of professional wrestling as we know it. He doesn't do as much justice to some wrestlers' stories as others, nonetheless, it's a solid read for new fans who know little to nothing about the people in it. For fans more in the know it's a fast read with some enlightening moments, but can seem repetitive at times.

A chapter that stuck out to me was about Eddie Guerrero and Chris Benoit. Shoemaker links them through friendship and career trajectory, yet, separates them when it came to their final demise given the stark contrast between the two. Both hit home for me. I was only beginning to appreciate Eddie when he passed. Looking back he was almost too good. No wonder he got face reactions as a heel.

Benoit, as all of you know, is a horror story. The worst ever. I appreciate his matches and some of the time I don't think about what he did when looking back at his work. I sympathize with what he was going through as I've listened to and read interviews with Chris Nowinski about the state of mind Benoit was in, but it's still really hard to separate the man from his actions.

I went through a lot of names when trying to pick one wrestler's death that affected me the most. Should it be obvious or out of the box? Was it the pathetic story of Matt Osborne aka Doink the Clown? Was it Randy Savage in his content reclusiveness, long after he got the industry out of his system? Was it my favourite manager as a child, Paul Bearer? Was it my favourite valet, Miss Elizabeth? Was it one of my favourite heels, Rick Rude? Was it the eerie story of Ultimate Warrior dying right after his Wrestlemania weekend return? A freaky realization is how new David Shoemaker's book is and that it dealt with the Warrior death myth from the '90s. That myth is now reality.

With all those names in mind and many more, Owen Hart is it. He will probably always be it.

Brother to my favourite wrestler ever, Owen was, like Eddie, someone I didn't fully appreciate while he was alive. In many cases that's the way humans treat loved ones in their every day life. Retrospect can be cruel.

Almost as talented a mat worker, a better high flyer and far superior on the mic than Bret Hart, Owen didn't achieve that next level of success that he should have. It can be argued that had he not died he would've eventually been pushed to the moon, but we'll never know. I could never quite put my finger on why Owen didn't connect with me as a kid. Maybe it was all those times I watched the Royal Rumble where he kicked Bret's leg out of his leg. Now, though, with the Network I can see how magical the guy was.

My family didn't have the money to watch pay-per-views (PPV) on the regular so I mainly got my fix by watching Monday Night Raw. It was more than jarring to wake up to a newspaper plastered with Owen's picture and declaring he had died the night before during the Over the Edge PPV. That clipping still lives somewhere in my wrestling memorabilia collection at my dad's house. As mentioned in previous articles, I knew wrestling was staged, but generally cheered and booed the right people. Except Bret Hart, of course, whom I cheered for without exception.

On Raw is Owen it was very strange to have the curtain pulled back. There were no faces, no heels. I didn't want to cheer or boo anyone. In between tribute matches wrestlers were given time to talk to the audience as people, not their characters. It was odd seeing these people express real feelings. That was especially so for a guy I hated (and don't much care for even now), Jeff Jarrett. When he addressed Owen's death and opened up his speech by saying, "In this industry I guess you got a lot of acquaintances, but very few friends" I lost it for what must've been the tenth time that day. That part, out of anything else on the show, still sticks with me.

We see these people every week so when one of them dies it's shocking to say the least. I saw my Nana as much as I could considering we lived in different cities, but I didn't spend nearly as much time with her as I have with many of the characters portrayed on screen and, yet, I loved her more.

When wrestlers die we cry because the person playing the character is gone. We cry for their families. We cry for their wrestling buddies, ourselves and everyone who loved them. We cry because we won't see that character portrayed weekly on our TV screen anymore.

This isn't that cute story you hear sometimes about a quiet and reserved old lady who got really riled up when watching wrestling, screaming at the TV any time it was on. I never heard my Nana curse. I never heard her scream. She loved reading, animals, classical music, tea, biscuits and her family. My Nana was a reserved British lady through and through. She wasn't a wrestling supporter or fan, but she was a fan and supporter of her "little duffer," me.

Cagesiders, I'll be back next week with a more lighthearted affair and possible multi-part article (depending on how much I ramble) called The Power of a Wrestling Win. And if you want to read more of my Fanposts click here. Thanks for reading.

The FanPosts are solely the subjective opinions of Cageside Seats readers and do not necessarily reflect the views of Cageside Seats editors or staff.