jennings rampage

RIP Curt Hennig.

One of my childhood heroes, Curt Hennig, died on Monday at age 44. Hennig was a professional wrestler who worked in the WWF under the name “Mr. Perfect,” a character whose arrogance and smarminess was a real source of inspiration for me in my formative years. He was an easy choice for an idol for a kid who believed he was as smart as they came and always right, the rest of you be damned. As he said himself, Mr. Perfect was “absolutely perfect,” and that’s what I wanted for myself.

I remember being twelve years old or so, and going to a WWF event at the Lee Civic Center in Ft. Myers, FL. It was one of those five hour marathon taping sessions that were common at that point, where every mid-card wrestler on the roster would come out and beat the hell of some jobber to provide material for a couple month’s worth of television. These events got audiences by advertising a blockbuster main event, in this case, Mr. Perfect vs. Bret “The Hitman” Hart for the WWF Intercontinental Championship.

I’m pretty sure I was the only twelve year old in the entire building rooting for Mr. Perfect that night, and in the end, he wrestled Hart to a time-limit draw (technically not perfect, perhaps, but the championship was retained nonetheless). As Hennig yanked his championship belt away from the timekeeper and lifted it above his head in victory, the crowd booed mercilessly (one may say that Mr. Perfect didn’t do much to make sure the match didn’t go to a draw, but that’s just the advantage that the champion has) while I stood and cheered for my hero. I went home happy, while the mindless drones who loved Bret Hart cried themselves to sleep. It was just another perquisite to being absolutely perfect.

About a month ago, I had lunch with my friend George at a Norfok-area Hooters bar and restaurant. (If you’re not familiar with Hooters, it’s an establishment that features attractive waitresses in skimpy outfits serving beer and wings in a sports bar atmosphere.) There on the door was a poster for “Live Action Wrestling,” which seemed to be a new independent promotion testing the waters in the area. It looked like it was going to be a great card, with Ricky “The Dragon” Steamboat, The Road Warriors, Kid Kash, EZ Money, Taylor from “Tough Enough,” Ron “The Truth” Killings, and many more favorites of really big wrestling nerds. But it was the main event that sealed it for me: for the NWA World Title, Jeff Jarrett vs. Mr. Perfect. The money for two ringside seats couldn’t come out of my wallet fast enough.

The event was about three weeks ago in a local high school gymnasium, and I dragged my little brother completely against his will. It became pretty clear that Mr. Perfect wasn’t going to be there early on in the show, since they ran an angle for the crowd where Road Dogg came out and demanded a title match against Jarrett, which was granted. I was disappointed, but I still had a great time; I heckled the shit out of some indy workers like the obnoxious asshole I am (but NASCAR driver Hermie Sadler really did deserve it), got a wink and a smile from Francine for an in-the-know comment I made, and got Ricky Steamboat’s autograph. I didn’t give much thought to not seeing Mr. Perfect, since things like that happen all the time — the card is subject to change. I just never imagined it would be my last chance to see my childhood hero.