By Bob Comeans
They have green skin.
Our first ever color television had just arrived from the Lazarus department store. It was set up, plugged in, and as it happened, the first show I ever saw on a color television was Big Time Wrestling.
Two men in a ring, locked in a wrestling hold of some kind, and they were green. My father spent several minutes trying to adjust the color controls, as I sat there, watching in fascination.
I think I was just as fascinated by the wrestlers, as I was by their Hulk-like skin color. Green men, did however, add another layer of interest to the mayhem I was witnessing.
I quickly became an avid fan. Saturday morning, watching Big Time Wrestling, was something I didn’t miss. Gordon Solie made the calls ringside as Bobo Brazil, Mark Lewin, The Sheik, Wild Bull Curry, and many others battled it out on local television.
There were the good guys, Mark Lewin, who I rooted for, and the bad guys, Wild Bull Curry, who I hated with a passion. I would be screaming, spitting, and biting couch cushions because no matter how many eye gouges, cheap shots, or chairs to the head Wild Bull Curry did to my hero, Mark Lewin, the referee always seemed to be looking the other way.
Mark Lewin was getting the cheap shot beat down of his wrestling career and it was all I could do not to dive into the television set to help him out against this evil monster of a man.
Wild Bull Curry was a six foot, 200 pound ball of maniac glee. He earned his nickname by winning a wrestling match against, you guessed it, a wild bull. He was a promoter’s tough guy dream come true.
He looked the part, and he was the part. Part crazy, intimidating, muscular, and crazy black hair. He had the wildest, bushy eyebrows that just added to the wildest, scariest look in those eyes of his.
I always hated Wild Bull Curry, so he must have been doing his job. He was the best villain I ever despised, and though I hate to admit it, he scared the heck out of me. He was the kind of guy I never wanted to cross paths with, in any kind of direction.
Years later I was working downtown at the Columbus Dispatch newspaper, up on the fourth floor. Being a big time newspaper you never knew who you might run into on your comings and goings, back and forth to work each day.
And then it happened,
As I entered the elevator one afternoon for the long, slow ride up to four, a man stepped into the elevator behind me. I’d have recognized those wild bushy eyebrows anywhere. I couldn’t breathe, speak, or move. He had me cornered and there was no referee in sight.
Wild Bull Curry.
I don’t know why, but he didn’t throw me down the elevator shaft, bite my ear, or poke me in the throat. But, if he could smell fear, I knew he was smelling me.
They say there are no atheists in a foxhole. I say there are no atheists, who are stuck in an elevator, with Wild Bull Curry.
I somehow managed to survive, and I conquered my fear that day. I had met the enemy and the enemy was me. Wild Bull Curry walked out of that elevator, and out of my life.
The next time, I’m taking the stairs.