Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Rednecks

I've dragged my ass long enough in writing this post. Part of that is due to A.J. not being able to get the above picture to me, but my own lackadaisical atttitude deserves a good chunk of the blame.

Two weeks ago, I finally made my first trip to Preston County, the country right next to Morgantown, home of the annual Buckwheat Festival (a fact that is given top billing on the "county seat's" town sign as you enter). My reason for going: the second annual wrestling tournament, which I'm sure will be placed on the town's sign in the near future.

These are mostly regional wrestlers who travel the country looking for venues where people with no money will drop 50 bucks for the family to see a bunch of sweaty guys grope each other. Virgil already beat me to the post about this event (but she was, after all, practically running said event), and she describes the wrestlers like so:

The wrestlers who come are from a regional group, and they generally fall into one of a few categories: 1) too old to be on TV 2) got cut for being bad (drugs, etc.) 3) got let go because they were no longer needed 4) up-and-comers who *might* make it to the big leagues, if they're very, very lucky 5) people who love to do it but have no shot in hell at being successful on a grander scale because they're, say, 5'7" and the current system prefers you to be at least 6'4". That's pretty much the range of our wrestlers for this event.

Obviously, we weren't dealing with Hulk Hogan here. But the wresting tourney was for a good cause. Virgil is the assistant director for the area's literacy program, and this event was created to raise money for it. As you can imagine, West Virginia kinda has a need for said program.

I'm convinced that half the people at this thing were 100% sure that what they were seeing was real. After all, there couldn't possibly be any real-world ramifications from a 400-pound man beating a man senseless with a chair. Surprisingly, the women seemed to be the most devoted fans. I'm sure seeing dozens of 300-lb women egging you on as you grope a man gives some of these wrestlers a few seconds to ponder certain life choices. (Did I forget to mention that Preston County has a crippling obesity epidemic? My bad.)

I found the whole thing pretty fun. It was so ridiculously over-the-top, and I'd criticize it more, but I watch shows about laser-wielding space aliens and genocidal robots. Even so, I had a few favorite characters:
>> "The Maestro" - a bearded gentleman who came out wearing a sparkling cape to the tune of Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York." He jumped up on the ropes and taunted the crowd by shouting, "OOO LAA LAA!!" Needless to say, our Preston pals didn't like this guy. Them city folks ain't welcome here. I'm told, though, that The Maestro was the fan favorite last year, and he had the same persona. Not sure what happened in the intervening year. Virgil has a few choice comments about meeting the "real life" Maestro.
>> "The Lumberjack" - exactly what you'd expect... a guy in a lumberjack-themed outfit. The crowed loved this Canadian woodsman. He did carry a pretty wicked axe.
>> "The Thrillbilly Ox" - He was a personal favorite. The guy was bald, over 400 pounds, and wore coveralls. It was pretty impressive actually given that he had surprisingly skinny arms and legs but this mammoth torso.
>> "Bobby Eaton" - Imagine any member of the band Poison trying to be a wrestler today - mullet and all. That's pretty much this guy. He was seen wearing bifocals and hobbling out of the center at the end of the day. I suppose even the most rocking wrestlers succumb to the harsh buzz kill of time.

I have to make special mention of my boy Eugene. He's the guy that I have my picture with at the top of the page. You can't pass up a guy who looks like Superman's own personal Billy Carter. Eugene jumped into the ring during one of the intermissions, and you could get your picture taken with him for five bucks. There was a HUGE line. Eugene was probably the fan favorite. After much cajoling from Batmite and A.J., I decided to get my picture taken with Eugene. I was easily the tallest one in line. The kids loved Eugene, which was sort of endearing until you realize that Eugene looks like a Michael Jackson scandal waiting to happen. Batmite and A.J. got their picture taken with Eugene as well:

Picture shamelessly stolen from Virgil's blog

A.J. (name changed to protect the embarrassed) is actually from Preston County. Watching her hide her face while muttering "Oh God!" during several parts of the show was added entertainment value. While she probably thought her Al Capone hat would hide the fact that she was from the town, no apparel can mask the shame one feels when confronted with your hometown's finest.

Anyone who managed to get out of Kittanning knows exactly how she felt.

After the event was over, I stayed to help clean up. I went into the bathroom at one point where I got to meet some sort of homeless man with mental disorders. I'm at one urinal, and he's at another. Here's our conversation:
Homeless Guy: "Hey bub, how's it going?"
Me: "Fine"
Homeless Guy: "Hey bub, do you know where Reedsville is?"
Me: "Not really. I'm from Morgantown."
Homeless Guy: (after a pause) "Hey bub, do you think you could give me a lift to Morgantown?"
Me: "Sorry bub, my car is full." (His friendly moniker was contagious.)
Homeless Guy: "Well hey bub, you take it easy."
Bub then went to anyone would listen to ask for a ride. Each time he started every sentence with, "Hey bub!" I felt bad for the guy, but the last thing I wanted was to end my enjoyable day by hearing "Hey bub, do you know what a pair of scissors to the sternum feels like?" while I'm in my car.

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158 days remaining until the Preston County Buckwheat Festival. I wouldn't miss it for the world.