WWF: The characters and the life lessons

I am a 90s kid. We had birthday parties where mothers made dinner and gifts were small with furiously scratched out price tags. We went to school on bicycles, and never owned mobile phones till we went to college, or junior college at the very least. No, we weren’t poor. We just found more joy in creativity, and often GI Joes would be ‘uncles who went to office’, and came home to their wives, the Barbies. We were the generation who loved to fervently believe in relatable fiction. For example, the WWF.

If there has ever been anything so ridiculous that has enthralled so many children and adults alike, I am not aware of it. What made the franchise so popular? Was it good timing? Was it the best alternative for kids who felt they were getting too old for cartoons? Was it the slowly increasing number of single children, in addition to the increasing number of working mothers?

It could be. In my opinion though, it was about the characters. We had a man who had risen from the Dead, a hairy giant by the name of Gonzales and a fat man with a 59” chest and 25” biceps. (Trump cards, anyone?) We had Heart Break Kids and men who could pull off wearing pink long before Hrithik Roshan did in the Indicom ad.

It was a plethora of characters with varied backgrounds and representing different nationalities. We had Iron Sheikhs and Razor Ramons, masked Mexicans and Taka Michinokus, brawling Texans and sneaky Englishmen. From the loud mouthed Jimmy Hart to the Rattlesnake, from Tatanaka the Red Indian to Tiger Ali Singh, the Indian; WWF was global long before people in Pakistan could see it on TV.

I actually learned invaluable stuff by watching WWF. To begin with, the basic concept of a TV schedule. Next, appreciating and fully understanding the joy of watching sports with your peers. At that age, I was too young to properly enjoy a cricket match with my father. I was more of an onlooker, as my dad and his friends would engage in fluent punditry. But with the WWF, I had my own voice. Voicing opinions, cheering for the underdog, appreciating a good comeback and engaging in serious banter, those were the lessons I learnt. Just like learning to survive after Bret Hart had lost the title and living with the anger Shawn Michaels’ betrayal caused.

It was because of WWF that I learnt it is always wise to have a friend who has a big TV. It is even wiser to forego that TV for a smaller one, provided the aunty makes nimbu paani and gives cream biscuits. I also learnt the concept of pit stops. A Loo break was a tricky thing – take one too soon, and people would put the bathroom lights off, or worse still, lock you in. The idea was to time it such that I wouldn’t miss much of the action, but would still not be conspicuous by my absence.

Life lessons aside, there was a lot more I learnt, or was aware of, and I can only credit that to WWF. They were very aware of their target audience, and the indelible mark they could leave on us, and yet, they did not exploit us. I learned about the Iraq War, when Ahmed Johnson had visited the troops. I learnt about the general dissent for Canadians that is common among Americans. Little things, often stereotypes, which genuinely helped me understand different cultures and their way of life. The concept of a Corporation and a Union is the best example of the caricaturesque portrayal of real events that epitomizes the WWF era. A close second would be the Nation of Domination, versus a cooler, more hep degenerates- The D-Generation-X.

WWF was a far more appealing option for me than God (except maybe Hanuman, but only because he could completely own anyone). When I was 10, and walking on a deserted road at night, I didn’t feel reassured if I chanted Rama’s name a million times. But if I imagined myself wearing The Undertaker’s gloves, all fear was dispelled, because, well, I was the Dead-Man.

I understand why parents were very anti-wrestling. Well, to be fair, they weren’t anti-wrestling. They were anti-wrestling-watching. And I can understand where they’re coming from. Has anyone ever jumped off the study table to land on a set of pillows on the bed? I have. Did that bed break? Mine did. It was a safety thing, really. There were children jumping off buildings because they wanted to be Shaktimaan. But I would like to say we were smarter than that. Also, with Owen Hart’s unfortunate demise, most daredevilry came to a grinding halt.

Owen Hart aka The Blue Blazer: Thank you for the memories.

But did they ever stop to consider how useful WWF was for them? We didn’t need iPads and Nintendos to have a fun party. All it took was a packet of trump cards, and you could leave the kids be. We actually enjoyed wearing raincoats! Remember those long raincoats that looked like imitation overcoats? The minute I wore them, I was the Undertaker, walking down the Path of Destruction. Even the bright and flashy ‘jacket and trousers’ type were acceptable. I was one of the Rockers, walking down the ring with Shawn Michaels, ready to win yet another tag team title.

Before music and good books became decent icebreakers, dinner at someone’s place was a terrifying prospect. Not only would you have to eat food you quite often didn’t like, but there were other kids there! Kids you did not know, had never met, they weren’t even in your school! Being a pretty awkward kid throughout childhood, I have no idea how I would have managed without WWF. Bring me a better icebreaker, I dare you. Recipes, say the mothers. The falling economy and Politics, say the fathers and their fathers before them. To them I say, ‘Nice try’. That special bond that was created instantly when it turned out that the random kid was also a 1-2-3 Kidd fan, that is hard to get nowadays.

Parents thought that trump cards were robbing us of our creativity and making us lethargic. I vehemently disagree. Trump cards taught us the basics of reading people’s faces, I would like to imagine. Remember, after the cards are dealt, the silent search for the possessor of the Rank #1 card? Or the far more valuable Yokozuna card? How to keep a Poker Face Lesson-101.

In fact, my first attempt at blogging, or keep a written account of anything, was the Kane-Undertaker-Paul Bearer saga. It was written on an old computer, in a meticulously updated Notepad file. I happened to read it a couple of years ago. I cringed, obviously, but at least it helped me realise what I liked doing.

The wrestling was not as gimmicky then as it is today. Most of the matches were won fair and square: what I mean is, the script did not include referees being distracted in every single match. The storylines were rich, filled with content, and could sustain an hour long discussion. Stories had solid twists in them, and the scriptwriters played and toyed with our emotions beautifully. When you think about it, WWF matured with us. The advent of the bad but cool Stone Cold, and the introduction of really, really beautiful women coincided pretty well with our puberty. Sable, Debra, Trish Stratus and Stacy Keibler – take a minute, gentlemen.

We were the target audience, and they practically held our hands and walked us till we were 15, and then they said, ‘Goodbye children, you are all grown up now. You must move on now.’ And they were absolutely right. I cannot relate with WWE anymore. It’s all muscle and vulgarity, poor execution and more frequent kayfabes. There are no more Macho Man attires or the Hulkamania fever. The originality and the quirks, that’s what is missing.

Maybe that means we’ve grown up. Maybe this is what our parents thought when we spent hours watching Raw Is War, Livewire and even Saturday Night Heat. They kept telling us, “It’s fake, you know it’s fake, why do you still watch it? What good does it do?”

I never had an answer then, and I’m not sure if my parents will buy what I just wrote, but if there’s ever an answer I’ll give, it will be this. I hope you get all your parents to read this article. I want to tell the fathers that it wasn’t meaningless wrestling, and it wasn’t just a fad. I want to make all the mothers understand what the WWF meant to us, and the impact it has had on us.

And that’s the bottom line.