I have a few odds and ends to share today. First, I'm ripping off a great idea from superherofan. He keeps a running pic in the margins of his "current #1 crush." Since I can never get enough of my favorite homoerotic wrestling boys, I decided to include a similar pane just to keep straight who's the running champion of my heart. Just to remind everyone, it's still a close competition. Gorgeous post-structuralist tattoed god of pain, Derek Da Silva, is certainly the #1 contender for the title after he lost it a couple of months ago. But just barely holding on to the homoerotic wrestling championship (in my eyes) is still beautiful Mitch Colby.
Another addition to who and what I'm tracking these days is a new find to my favorite links. PiledriveU has started his own hard-hitting blog of some of his favorite wrestling moves. What I continue to like about him is his readiness to paint himself (and you... and me) into the scene. His blog, Piledrive U, is a steamy hot challenge daring you to see if you can stand up to the devastating, humiliating abuse he has in store for you. He promises to school us over at Piledrive U. See you in class.
My final reflection for the day is born out of gratitude, yet once more, to the sharp eyes and sharp wit of 1000 Holds. As I've documented, Billy Jack Haynes gets at least a little credit for turning me into the gay wrestling kinkster I am today. I was an adolescent when I first saw Billy Jack climb into the ring. He was ripped to shreds, by far the most muscular wrestler I'd ever seen, and I was instantly in lust.
1000 Holds has a nice, brief Billy Jack match from what I think of as the prime of Billy Jack's physique. Nostalgically, my favorite memories are from before he was quite this massive. When he was about five years younger, he wasn't quite this thick and invulnerable. But honestly, the size of every muscle on his body in this match is made-to-order for the professional wrestling ring of the late 80's and early 90's.
The commentator is in awed lust with Billy Jack, just as I am. He's stunned when Steve Starr throws a shoulder block "and ricocheted off that massive chest... and Billy Jack's saying, 'come on, fella, gimme the best you got!" The commentator marvels that Billy Jack was complaining that he hadn't had an opportunity to work out in five days, reporting that he felt out of shape and disappointed that he could only bench press 505 pounds. "He's as fast as a cobra, strong as an ox." "He does it all and does it well." The only worship missing from this commentary is a reflection on Billy Jack's butt-slap on the ref at the end of this match (I'd like to be next in line. please!).
Watching Billy Jack dispatch Steve Starr so devastatingly and quickly takes me directly back to being a teenager, staying up after everyone else has gone to bed, adrenalin pumping in anticipation of seeing Billy Jack's stunning body climb through the ropes. It was just Billy Jack and I, really, with the lights out, only the flicker of the television screen casting shadows around the living room. I was always rooting for him to clamp on that fullnelson that no one could escape, but secretly (I'd never have admitted it to Billy Jack), my most passionate pleasures accompanied the sight of his muscles overcome, his superhuman body tortured, and his face contorted in suffering humiliation.
Thanks, 1000holds, for the flood of happy memories.