Growing up, we all were made to understand that adults were expected to carry themselves with a certain (boring) dignity, reserve, and self-respect. Adult men seldom went around shirtless in public unless at the beach, and they generally didn’t sit on the floor, let alone roll around on the floor together for some friendly rough-housing as we boys would occasionally do. That could mess up your hair, cause perspiration stains, or get dirt on your trousers. Adults with class were expected to resolve disputes through discussion or via the legal system, not with shouting matches followed by physical domination. Once you reached a certain age, it was all business suits, work clothes, or uniforms for you, and sitting still at desks or on furniture all day, and avoiding physical contact with anyone outside your family. Those were the rules.
Part of what felt so shocking, dangerous, and alluring about televised pro wrestling to a young viewer was that the smothering rules of decency and respect were thrown out the window, replaced by an exhilarating freedom, loosely enforced regulations, scenes of animal brutality, and plenty of physical contact. Here was a weekly show where all the men strutted around shirtless, unrestricted by clothing, proudly displaying their bodies without apology or shame.
Then these grown men would willingly shed their pride and dignity by getting down and rassling around with each other on the floor to see who was stronger, which you never saw happening on other boring television shows your parents made you watch like Meet the Press, 60 Minutes, or Partridge Family. In this fascinating circus of violence, anyone who had a beef with another man could settle it in the ring, the loser being broken in a painful submission hold which was way swifter and more satisfying than discussing your differences or suing the person who wronged you.
This weekly violation of society’s rules and regulations offered a welcome relief (release) for the frustrated young male feeling totally smothered by the socialization process — having to forever sit still, wash behind your ears, stop grab-assing, etc.
Perhaps no wrestling hold better demonstrates the degradation, physicality, drama, and politically incorrect aspect of pro wrestling than the Boston Crab. This hold was hyped as a deadly back-breaker with no hope of escape. The victim’s bare body was put on display, grotesquely bent in the wrong direction. The resulting agony was gut-wrenching. The wrestler applying the hold wanted to deliberately harm — possibly injure — the other man, which was considered too brutal, inappropriate, and illegal in the reserved, respectable world of adulthood. And the victim’s face was pressed into the dirty floor, the classic pose of defeat — a position that no grown man with dignity and pride was ever supposed to assume.
The victim would then exhibit a facial expression of pure agony, tossing aside the calm, expressionless, professional mask that grown men were supposed to wear and adopting the appearance of an enraged beast or a crying child or a lover in the throes of passion. This was rarely seen on television or in society in general, so it was something you definitely wanted to explore further each week when they would televise another exciting episode.
