It’s Black Friday, the traditional day for early-morning shopping and turkey leftovers, a time to reflect on yesterday’s bounty and to serve up a healthy portion of Butterball “dish.”
Those who followed the match-up yesterday with “Mr. Wonderful” Paul Orndorff know that the featured doughboy, Spitball Patterson, came in for a good amount of ribbing and, due to his size, was labeled “Butterball.” If you missed it, the match is available on YouTube.
Both “match commentators” — W. A. (Wrestling Arsenal, in blue) and D. W. (Doughboy Watcher, in red) — hold very strong opinions in regards to the man they favor and each provides a cornucopia of reasons to back up their views:
WRESTLING ARSENAL: I used to believe that, in any pro wrestling match, it’s obvious which wrestler to watch — the buffer, more powerful stud — in this case Mr. Wonderful. Duh! I thought this was universally understood and agreed upon, like the Theory of Evolution. But the Project Doughboy series reminded me that different folks get off on different strokes. Some people actually favor Doughboys over Body-Builders! (I’ve also learned some folks don’t believe in Evolution — equally shocking and scandalous to me!)
DOUGHBOY WATCHER: I certainly can’t dispute W.A. in his assertion that the expectation in pro wrestling is that we’re meant to be drawn to the muscleman. Perhaps that’s where the appeal of the doughboy begins for me. I’ve always felt that there’s something inherently unfair about regular guys assigned to lose to musclemen, both heroes and heels, week after week. Even as a kid this inequity didn’t escape my notice and I grew to empathize with the doughboys. In a sense, I suspect that W.A. and I grew up conditioned by some of the very same matches. But while he was cheering on the hero, I was rooting for the underdog.
W.A.: In response to views like those expressed by D.W., I’ve begun to question WHY the muscleman. WHY do my eyes naturally and automatically zero in on Orndorff instead of his over-sized victim? Speaking of Evolution, Darwin would argue that women are naturally drawn to healthier, stronger Alphas to protect their babies and provide food — but supporting babies is not an issue for me, and I can get plenty of food at the Piggly Wiggly. So why do I never favor the Doughboy over the Dominator?
I think years of brain-washing may have, in part, caused my pro-muscle bias. From a tender age, we’re exposed to mass media that portrays buff, strong, and fit guys as desirable and worship-worthy. How many Superheroes, for example, do NOT resemble Mr. Olympia?? How many ancient statues were carved of fat dudes? Even in yesterday’s featured match, the real announcers spend several minutes drooling over Orndorff, drawing our attention repeatedly to his killer body (“Chiseled,” “always in tip top shape,” “magnificent physique,” they purr.) It’s not lost on me — even when I was a child watching wrestling – that no such praise is heaped on Spitball. (The fact that he’s actually larger than Orndorff notwithstanding.)
D.W.: In my view, muscle + strength while, admittedly, impressive doesn’t necessarily add up to sexual attraction. The gym-gods (those “Men’s Fitness” model-types), like the marble heroes from antiquity, perched on pedestals, seem to me hard, cold, inaccessible. It’s the regular guys walking among the mortals—the Irish pub bouncer, muscled enough to accomplish his job but not above hanging out for a Guinness after-hours—it’s this type of guy that sends a spark of excitement my way.
Can I cite American artist Conrad Hall here (after all, who better to weigh in on body types than a visual artist?) He wrote, “There is a kind of beauty in imperfection.” Sure, I find the buff, toned wrestler a turn-on—but add those few extra pounds, that slightly less-than-ideal physique, that vulnerability, the “imperfection;” and the attraction, for me, is amplified.
W.A.: In my brain,
MUSCLE ==> STRENGTH ==> SEXUAL POTENCY ==> HOT!
and…
FAT ==> LAZY ==> IMPOTENT ==> NO REACTION. (NEUTRAL. AMBIVALENT.)
I don’t know whether nature or nurture wired me this way — but I do know which wrestler trips my trigger — and he is Wonderful.
D.W.: Although the expectation may be that I join in the cheers for god-like Mr. Wonderful as he parades to the ring, once the camera acknowledges the awaiting doughboy, resplendent in his silver-gray tights, I know where my focus belongs—with the regular guy—the mortal—Spitball Patterson.
