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My accolades to the "jobber". Wrestling fans abroad can recall the days that the man without ring entry music or ear catching name had gotten brutally pulverized,humiliated and then pinned(not always in that order). The days that have passed were the days the "Iron Mike Sharpes" of the wrestling world were hit by a Macho man splash or a Jake Roberts DDT. The headache that ensued was only trumped by a further thwarting to clear the ring for a post match celebration, or worse being doused by a python. These are the memories of the thirty year old man-boy that writes today. Saturday night's main event and Saturday morning wrestling with the reoccurring list of events at your nearby venue. So many times losing my voice standing four feet tall on top of a seat at Madison Square Garden,or the same little boy squirming in between adults to just somehow make it to the barricade to run my fingers across one of the performers(wrestlers). The amount of memories are uncountable and unforgettable. Although many would disagree there was much to be said for knowing that the out of shape, pale gentleman with the awful haircut and even worse attire was to be punished at the hands of the star of your show. We wrestling fans all would root for the "face" although the foregone conclusion and boo and chant against the "heal" although the foregone conclusion. The fact remained, the Ravishing Rick Rudes and the Rockers of the old WWF would always prevail. We always knew it but were always drawn to it. To see the Honky Tonk Mans neck breaker or Curt Hennigs perfect plex slapped on the poor Barry Horowitzs of our wrestling world was always validity that the jobber was to be pinned and paid, half.

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