DotTeeVee: UNBROADCAST UK 1985 wrestling match Kung Fu -v- Rollerball Rocco plus after bout punch up!

Today's video would have been more than worth squandering the precious gift of life on if all it included was British pro wrestling from 1985, but when you add the fact the it was unbroadcast, presumably for failing to meet the unbelievably low standards for U.K. prole fodder, and it has the after match "punch up" there's no way it's not going to end up here. Unless I take a six month break from doing these and then come back with a work-shy review of some sovereign citizen compilation, but I would never do that to you.

World exclusive coverage of bogan punch-ups.

We get off to a cracking good start as the receding hairline announcer, wearing what looks like a rented prom suit, voice cracks his way through introducing the second...one. If hearing "here comes another one" while a middle-aged man's voice finally changes doesn't get you hyped I'm not sure you're considered legally alive. We introduce the lame good guy, whose a bit too on-the-nose name is "Kung Fu." He's wearing a karate gi with a wrestling jacket over it and believe it or not that's just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to fatal flaws with what you'd think would be a fairly straightforward good guy archetype. 

Fortunately his opponent is the best rassler I've ever seen. No really, let me make the case. In the first thirty seconds he gets introduced as "Rollerball," comes out to some AC/DC which brings back countless joyful memories, hops over the ropes to demonstrate agility, gives his "baby's first marital art cliches set" opponent the Stockton Slap, avoids a lame kick attempt, menaces his rival with what looks like a falconer's glove and points aggressively to a bandana he's wearing. "Look at that on me head!" as the announcer puts it. 

Rocco 3:16 says I just pointed at my own forehead.

The bottom line is that Mark "Rollerball" Rocco kicks serious backside, even if I find his gimmick kind of confusing. We've got references to a James Caan film. bird-training accessories, a stars and stripes wrestling outfit and, of course, that thing on "me head." Is he a roller-skating violence sport competitor? A self-hating Brit? An empty hand fighting master that's even lazier and more poorly researched than "Kung Fu" or perhaps the inspiration for Rex Kwon Do? I don't know and I don't care. 

If I was born in Suffolk or West Port or whatever I would have grown up idolizing Rocco instead of Hulk Hogan and the Ultimate Warrior, no doubt causing a massive alteration to my life trajectory. I'd be pimp-slapping fools and pointing at the space between my eyes instead of taking vitamins, praying, training hard and hijacking planes and crashing them on the way to Wrestlemania.

My spiritual leader.

Rollerball is holding one of the thousands of world titles that exist in this Sport of Kings and promptly uses it to whip his opponent but gets countered and taken down. "Kung Fu" demonstrates his mastery of ancient Chinese animal systems by going headfirst into the champion's crotch and then throwing the bizarrely patriotic villain into a corner so heavily padded it suggests the wall of an insane asylum more than the turnbuckles of a ring. Then Rollerball invents "hardcore" wrestling by throwing a chair in the ring and promptly getting hit by it because tossing a weapon to your hated enemy makes good sense until it goes wrong on a technicality. 

Fortunately our hero regains the advantage and ashcans the pajama-clad loser because being head-butted in the pills and then hit in the head with a chair is the kind of thing you just shrug off when you're the Hero the United Kingdom Deserves but Doesn't Need.

"This in incredible wrestling" we are told, at the same exact moment Rocco punches the man who holds the secret of the orient in the face.

The art of fighting without fighting.

We're going to skip ahead a bit. Yes, it is compelling stuff, watching two grown men perform prat falls and pretend to choke each other with cords, but we were promised a "punch up" at the end and there's only so many ways I can tell you one brave gladiator simulated an awkward hit on the other or threw him with his "opponent's" full cooperation. The match ends with "Rollerball" hitting his devastating top rope elbow, which is of course not the finish. Instead he does a vertical suplex, a transition move here in the land of the free and the home of the brave, and then gets the pin.

The announcer actually has the stones to instruct the crowd to cheer "the loser," earning some tepid applause. Sadly that was never a thing here in The States. "Let's all give it up for The Loser, Scotty Too Hottie!" Meanwhile our winner raises his hand and yells his own name. Best. Wrestler. Ever.

"Not popular here, Rocco!" says the announcer as the boos rain down. Well, he's popular where it matters, on a 2016 blog written by a deeply troubled human derelict.

Let me tell you something, brother!

It's time for an amateur hour interview with the Man of the Hour, complete with a microphone that only works selectively and some of that Blair Witch camerawork. In spite of these considerable obstacles the victor lays down the law, claiming what looks like a bowling trophy then stuttering through a shortlist of his nicknames including "The Man with the Plan," "The Master of Disaster" and "The Maniac." If they made a star-spangled shirt that had any or all of those slogans on it I would buy it and wear it until either it fill apart or I did, just sayin'.

Still, we were promised a real fight and boy do we get one as the man who lost clean as a sheet in the center of the ring attempts his revenge and obviously pulled punches are exchanged. This quickly ends, since we have to go to the "fight of the month" in New York. "And look out for Cyndi Laupher!" Truer words have never been spoken.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rSR_YkqqNR4 

 Komment Korner  

What a load of time wasting crap Electric power cables allowed in the ring Ref allows safety padding to be removed This was a farce right from the start 

I did watch 5 minuets... what a load of rubbish.

That is NOT I reapeat NOT wrestling. The wrestler is punching and kicking and that is not allowed in wrestling so it is FAKE!  

in a REAL fight there are no rules and YOU CAN DO ANYTHING to survive an attack on your life even kill the person trying to kill you.

Oh dear. I wouldn't have watched that then and didn't really enjoy it now. :-(  

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.

News You Can't Use: NFL Finds That Patriots Used Underinflated Footballs

We've reach the point in the calendar year where more people are tired of some football than ready for it, yet a story of massive importance and endless chances for innuendo has just broken, a few weeks before the big Katy Perry concert with accompanying sportives. Apparently a league that generates more annual revenue than the GNP of most eastern European nations has issues with inflating their balls. Instead of the expected big balls, we got shriveled up little soft ones. It's a story AC/DC would love, assuming they were into sports instead of old age dementia and murder-for-hire plots.

The Patriots used underinflated footballs on Sunday night.

We blew most of the $20 equipment budget on pizza for after the game and Katy Perry, so you can see why this happened.

The next question is how did it happen?

Please leave the bee-keeping, Sherlock Holmes. We need you to make one more big score.

The league inspected each of the Patriots’ 12 game balls twice at halftime, using different pressure gauges, and found footballs that were not properly inflated.

No, this does not mean a corrupt testicular cancer charity will be ruining an entire month of football next year. Also, I like how they noted the problem and then did nothing to correct it. Yup, gone flat. Oh well, it's not like this is a huge billion dollar event or something.

According to ESPN, 11 of the 12 game balls were found to be underinflated by about 2 pounds each. The NFL specifications say they must be inflated to 12½ to 13½ pounds.

This rule is right under the one that forbids robot players and right before the one that explains in about 10,000 words how to determine if it's a "catch."

If the Patriots are found to have deliberately doctored footballs, the organization can be fined a minimum of $25,000, and if the NFL finds the incident egregious, the Patriots could potentially lose a draft pick.

It would be like fining me two cents and then telling me I have to skip a Wednesday blog post sometime this year.

In 2007, commissioner Roger Goodell took away a first-round draft pick and fined Patriots coach Bill Belichick after determining the team had spied on an opponent.

"Sneak in and get their plays. If anyone asks why you're there, claim to be Peyton Manning."

The Patriots defeated the Colts, 45-7, on Sunday night to earn their eighth Super Bowl appearance in franchise history. The next day, the NFL confirmed it was investigating whether the team used underinflated footballs.

Much like the time my Dungeon Master cheated and forgot I had Mordenkainen's Faithful Watchdog cast, this should lead to fantasy football do-overs. My 13th level Half-Dragon Fighter/Magic User/Colt's Starting Quarterback never really died, because of soft balls.

The Colts reportedly grew suspicious after linebacker D’Qwell Jackson intercepted Tom Brady late in the second quarter. A softer football is easier to throw and catch, especially in rainy conditions, as was the case Sunday night.

It's so easy to throw I was intercepted!

According to Newsday, Jackson gave the ball to a member of the Colts’ equipment staff, who notified coach Chuck Pagano, who then relayed a message to general manager Ryan Grigson in the press box. He contacted Mike Kensil, NFL director of football operations, who then told the on-field officials at halftime.

The NFL, it's the tattling league! "That guy ran into me, I'm telling Mr. Kensil!"

The game is a corrupt mess, but we still have classy and family friendly halftime entertainment.

Mike Carey, working the broadcast booth for CBS, surmised that “It looks like they still spotted the ball for a kicking ball, waiting for one of the ball guys to come down and give them a regular ball.”

Imagine the glory of being one of the "ball guys" and providing "regular balls" to interested parties.

It’s possible that cold temperatures affected the pressure of the footballs, but it was an unusually warm 51 degrees at kickoff.

Cold weather changes pressure? Sounds like witch talk to me.

The Patriots led, 17-7, at intermission, and outscored the Colts, 28-0, after the officials seemingly corrected the ball issue.

Great job kids, go and get your tokens.

Full Story

Komment Korner  

Aaron Rodgers says he deliberately over-inflates the balls 

Tom Brady must be getting youth enhancing drug treatments as well.

Soooo, they scored more in the second half with the "correct" balls

The dude doth protested too loudly.

So why does each team get their own balls?

I'm dick to my stomach right now.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.

DotTeeVee: Mike Mentzer with Nantucket Nautilus Rock Video

Today's video is the sort of thing that I would want to survive civilization's collapse and remain as a testament of "This is who we were" to whatever intelligence discovers the ruins of humanity. It represents the cultural, spiritual, and yes, physical pinnacle of the thumbed ape. I'm talking a rocking AC/DC song, a man that will never dunk a basketball but has still managed to become a more compact version of a Greek statue and the magic that happens when they combine to answer the "What would happen if a sawed-off bodybuilder was on stage with a glorified garage band" question that I was forced to carry like an impossible burden until the weight was lifted by the glorious light of this 2 minute and 54 second video that's not available in anything resembling high definition.

Without even so much as the usual "Are you ready to rock?" or "1-2-3-4!" preliminaries we get right to awesome power chords combined with state of the art 1980 effects. I'm not sure why they even bothered, because this journey into vision ends after a few seconds, but I guess it could be used at LSD fantasy camp or something. "This, campers, is the sort of visual hallucinations you might have if you were to actually go to this wonderful dreamworld that you must never experience because it's bad for society. Now let's all pretend this spoonful of sugar is The Ticket."

 Everything is like, so significant.

The simulated acid test is quickly replaced by a better image of "Nantucket Nautilus." The name might call to mind limericks and sea shells, but the actual human resources of the group are unfortunately caught in the uncanny valley between the seventies and eighties. Half of them look like failed applicants for Poison and the other half resemble rejects from CCR. It's a little jarring, to say the least. The singer is bouncing around and clapping, the band is rocking and it looks like this will be little more than an embarrassing VHS tape labelled "My Band" that you might find in your Grandpa's basement.   

All is not what it seems though, because after some obligatory shots of rocking out we abruptly cut to a shirtless man who is well south of six feet tall and jacked up beyond all belief. His demeanor is confused confidence, his facial hair is something out of classic "R Rated" movies and I'm forced to wonder what cosmic force led to this chocolate bar of thick, solid and also tight ending up in the peanut butter jar of righteous cock rock. Calling the sum greater than the total of its parts seems an almost criminal understatement. It's like we added 2+2 and somehow got 17,454,484,004.  

I woke up in a strange place, hung over on too much creatine. 

The five feet nothing of sculpted ivory actually flicks the hair on one of the band members, seemingly barely controlling his Napoleon Syndrome and Gear fueled aggression. It's like the room was booked for both the man who actually lifts and the not quite eighties rockers at the same time by accident and the guy was all, "Hey, you can still both do your thing, there's plenty of room." Seriously, Mr. Mentzer has the demeanor of someone who expected a private area to pose in, didn't get his way and is now protesting in the most passive aggressive ways possible in between trying to pretend he really is the only one there. It's not the sort of thing you see everyday, suffice it to say.

Doo, doo, doo, looking at his backdoor.

Meanwhile the poor man's AC/DC doesn't seem unduly bothered by the presence of a nearly naked man of below average height and far above average definition and striation. When he messes with the keyboard player, the guy barely seems phased. Then again, the Casio guy is the absolute dregs of the world of heavy rock and is probably used to being treated poorly by his own fellow musicians, let alone someone who keeps a detailed diary of his protein intake.  

Speaking of AC/DC, is anyone else depressed by the news of guitarist Malcolm Young leaving due to dementia? I mean, I can remember the days when they were relatively young and rebellious and now they're getting Alzheimer's and probably falling in tubs or having cardiac incidents while sawing wood. It just doesn't seem right. Can we get back to talking about lifting super heavy, please?

The bodybuilder keeps messing with the singer's hair. Someone might claim there's something less than 100% hetero going on here, but not me. Besides, this cover version is awesome, complete with an added "Lord!" by the singer after the line about getting beat up, as if he can hardly believe that being in a band might get you physically assaulted.

Possibly by a roid-raging manlet. Just hypothetically speaking.

 Maybe next time pair this guy with a Judas Priest tribute band.

The lyric "It's harder than it looks!" takes on new, unfortunate connotations with a shredded man in bikini briefs dominated the shot. We finally get the actual posing and the same part of me that wants to believe in pro wrestling and the promises made by our president also wants to believe that this guy wasn't regularly shoving foot-long syringes directly into the buttocks. Fortunately, these issues are swept away by some awesome soloing. Yeah, this combination just somehow works. If only they had a local shit band play "She's Got the Jack" after every Barry Bonds dinger he never would have been suspected. 

I also like to pretend that keyboardists and bassists actually contribute to a band's sound.

While I experience the aural equivalent of the double jackpot my eyes are attacked by alternating shots of horrible feathered hair and gigantic traps, tris and delts. Overall, it evens out. For reasons unknown (STEROIDS!!!!) the muscleman takes the chauffeur's hat (I've got to go work my other job right after this gig!) of one of the band members and starts wearing it. There's probably deep symbolism here, but for an AC/DC audience that needs to have songs like "Sink the Pink" explained to them it's probably a lost cause to try something more subtle.

We finally get a good look at the drummer and let's just say steroids aren't the only needle drug being used around here.

Looking good!

More posing and more rocking! Someone needs to make a six hour loop of this, seriously. You'd think it would get old, but it doesn't. Suddenly, just when it looks like smooth sailing to the finish the singer gets sick of being touched by a man who keeps badly damaged issues of "Muscle and Fitness" under his bed and shoves him away! Faced with this shocking and unexpected defeat at the hands of someone who probably doesn't even know what a "fly" is, let alone regularly perform them, our diminutive hero decides the answer is to up the amount of gay manly toughness by appropriating some sunglasses from another, less truculent musician. 

The end result would not be out of place in the Village People. 

  The average person's mental image of "bodybuilder."

A guy who looks a lot like Meatloaf is just totally rocking out. This video is like the roof of the Sistine Chapel, both in being glorious divine art and in containing countless small details. And just like that, it ends. The song isn't finished, it just cuts off, as if recognizing that a critical mass has been reached and anything more might actually be too much to handle. 

Komment Korner  

If we can send a man to the moon, we can figure out how to make a music video this awesome.  OBJECTIVELY!

My gaydar just detonated, destroyed a 747, blew a hole in the ozone and took out a few planets for good measure.  Damn.

He was high on mogadons.

the real TERMINATOR!

Hey guys. Fabulous clip. My good friend used to be a fatty. He revolutionized his body from 283 lbs of pure fat into 216lbs of massive muscle mass. That shit was outrageous! I just registered personally coz I wish to boost my body shape. He made use of the Muscle Building Bible (Look in Google)...

 

Check Out My Books!

Aaron Zehner is the author of "Posts from the Underground," now available in paperback and e-book. Read free excerpts here and here.

His first novel "The Foolchild Invention" is also available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.