Heaven's wrestling card

Heaven's Wrestling Card

When the lights in the arena

go on for the last time,

and the spotlight hits the announcer

as he makes the "quiet" sign.

From inside the squared circle,

the last time they call my name,

may I always be remembered,

for who I was and not just for fame.

I wrestled for a living,

lived with conflict all my days.

Sometimes I lived on the good side.

Sometimes I had evil ways,

but always I was a contender

and a cut above the rest,

and always I was in there trying

just to be among the best.

So when Heaven calls for wrestlers

and the word comes down from afar,

please Lord, at least allow me a spot

somewhere on the undercard.

I promise that all those angels

will get a damn fine show.

Please Lord, when you need wrestlers,

call me, I'll be ready to go.

Author's Note: I wrote this poem in 1998 after a particularly exciting wrestling show that had a rather sad beginning. All the workers filed out in a solemn procession and lined up around the ring. 10 bells rang out in acknowledgement of the life of a wrestler passed away recently to that date. My mind drifted, as it does, and I tried to capture the wrestling soul in verse.

~ Bob Liddil May 2006

A Wrestling Fan In Heaven

The arena's a little darker now, then it was at the last show
and the workers are all walking out, kinda sad and slow
The bell is speaking softly in a sad and mournful way
and the audience is on its feet, a fan has passed away

The bell tolls ten for wrestlers when the final call is made
out of respect and out of love a ringing homage paid
so many of them are now gone to join that heavenly show
and now a much beloved fan has a seat in the ringside row

A true wrestling fan's in heaven now, he's in that heavenly crowd
cheering for the great ones, standing tall and walking proud
while those of us who are left behind fondly remember him.
he's in heaven's wrestling arena, working out in God's own gym

So toll ye bell, for a fan today, ring farewell and a fond goodbye
he would want the show to go on, so we'll cheer rather than cry
he would want the babyface to win and the cheating heel to pay
A true wrestling fan's watching the show from heaven on this day

It is not only wrestlers who pass away but fans as well. This was written right around the time of the passing of a beloved fan, whose name escapes me. He was a tiny guy who rode an electric scooter and was known and respected as a pillar of the fan community.

~ Bob Liddil May 2006

WRESTLERS AND THE SHOW

Bad guy like an ill wind
strides into the room,
face fixed in an expression that is grim.
Hands held high for accolades,
glaring at the fans,
making sure every eye is fixed on him.

He enters the ring defiantly,
crosses over to the ropes,
climbs up and flexes his body for all to see.
Waves for the fans to shut up,
all the louder for them to boo,
as he tries to shout them down aggressively.

He's the heel you know, he's arrogant,
he hates the fans and it shows
he wonders why he's stuck in this one-horse town.
He personifies the meaning of bad,
and he's a little jazzed and a little mad
and it's for sure he won't be settling down, even with the girl he found.

Hit the good guy's music,
like the lightning before a storm
the beat announces he's on his way and primed.
While his opponent's talking trash,
he enters the arena in a flash
shakes hands and kisses babies that he finds

He climbs into the ring
as the heelman ducks for cover
to the roar of crowd applause and high approval
shouts a catch phrase to the wind,
winks at grandma and shouts it again
and poses for the photographers' perusal.

Locked up when the bell rings
they struggle for advantage
they push and shove, neither wanting to give in to the other
hip toss and a supplex,
body slam and a superkick
and the heelman sends the baby home to mother

Silence in the arena,
the crowd have all gone home
no one left inside but four ring slingers
they're tearing down the ring
because that is their thing
and the PA's playing a song by a country singer.

Wrestling is a nomad's life,
a hundred little towns
hot dogs with no onions and warm sodas
nobody around to teach
a young wrestler just how far to reach
a truckload of Darth Vaders but no Yodas

The lights off now,
the wrestlers are all gone
one small boy lies sleeping and he's dreaming
about the romance of the road,
and how wrestling is the mother lode
and deep within his heart he's on the top rope flyin'

So hearken ye performers,
go out and do your job
no matter how tired, bored, lonely or aching
you're the stuff of dreams
to little kids, grandpas and teens
go out and shine because it's memories your making.

And when it's all said and done,
it won't be whether you lost or won
but how you played the game that makes you a winner
be the best that you can be
and let your light shine for all to see
be a hero whether you're a saint or sinner.

It is important to me to capture the spirit and soul of wrestling in these poems. With this one I believe I may have succeeded beyond expectation.

This Poem is dedicated to Ron Ivy and Gary Johnson, and Dr. X, Three men who know about life, wrestling and pain.

~ Bob Liddil May 2006

This Page is dedicated to the following members of the wrestling community who inspired or tutored me. Some have passed on and some are still with us.

~Billy Campbell who understood "cool" and how to live to the fullest

~Bobby Wilson ~Ron Ivey ~The Armstrongs `The Black Sheep- Bobby Doll and Danny Roland

Everyone who worked in the late great PWA ~Sika The Wild Samoan ~Marcel Pringle

~Jerry Reiner who taught me and still does

~Dwayne and Leigh Anne Henderson who teach without knowing they do

~Tommy ~Tyrone ~Curtis ~Heath ~Gary ~James ~ Eddie ~Steve ~Don ~Bill H.

And thousands of wrestling fans on the NW Panhandle of Florida

~ Bob Liddil May 2006