Back in the 1970’s and 80’s, there simply wasn’t enough pro wrestling to be found. You could flip all around the dial (I know from experience) looking for some shirtless men, preferably in combat situations, and find precious little. You might stumble upon some shirtless strippers on Donahue, or maybe a body-building or diving competition. Once in a while, some cowboys would strip to the waist and fist-fight on Gunsmoke or the Big Valley, but those jewels were precious few and far between.
It was a wasteland. Some of you remember those bleak days, I’m sure. There were days we were satisfied to see even Bugs Bunny or the Three Stooges getting in the ring, because at least we were able to watch some shirtless rasslin.
But once a week or so, you’d find the Holy Grail, the oasis in a vast desert — that hour long episode of Big Time Rasslin that held your attention from the cheesy but oddly erotic opening video montage until the closing credits started rolling, sometimes in the middle of an exciting match, as the announcer reminded you to attend the matches in person if you wanted to catch all the action. The weekly wrestling fix was a stark, unflinching, gratuitous display of bare, Grade-A beefcake, lingering shirtlessness on proud display the whole time, in match after match.
We weren’t too picky about the bodies back then, either. The wrestlers didn’t have to be buff or muscular or perfect (although a little fitness was a nice bonus). The important thing was that they were shirtless, bare-chested, a ringful of flesh on display. That made the hours of channel flipping worthwhile, and you were certain to remember the time and channel where you found a pro wrestling program so you could tune in for more the next week.
Back in the Victorian age (1837 to 1901), publicly displaying the body was taboo. Even at the beach, dudes had to wear long, skin-covering body suits (which had to be so uncomfortable for swimming). It was considered too indecent, too sexy, too alluring for men to expose their bare torsos for others to observe. God forbid, someone might be turned on by the sight of a naked chest. I believe part of the appeal of the Tarzan stories, which first appeared in 1912, was the attraction to the exposed savage, the nearly naked hero, his muscular body clad only in a loincloth as a reaction to conservative attitudes of the day. Tarzan was a refreshing and empowering contrast to the buttoned-up, fully clothed decency that persisted at the turn of the previous century. Pro wrestling also launched around this same time, and some of the excitement and enthusiasm for the sport probably was rooted in the revealing outfits worn by the athletes. No head-to-toe body suits for these proud athletes!
Our culture has slowly been getting over those Victorian hang-ups for over 100 years, thanks in part to the unapologetic bare-chested spectacle of pro wrestling, where they’re proud of the male body. Getting in the ring shirtless exudes masculinity and confidence, as if to say: This is how I look. Take it or leave it. Better learn to love it, because I’m determined to appear shirtless; it’s my right as a man. This hyper-masculine, devil-may-care attitude is contagious too. Seeing the pro wrestlers proudly strutting their stuff makes the viewer want to take off his clothing too and experience the pride and freedom of shirtlessness. Ever take off your shirt while watching an episode of pro wrestling? Come on, be honest, we won’t tell anyone.
Beginning in the 1970’s and 80’s, growing attention has been drawn to the beauty of the male physique. Idealized male bodies, lean and perfect, now appear in movies, in advertising, and on fashion run-ways. Check out the display of Jake Gyllenhaal’s body in Prince of Persia, or Brad Pitt’s body in Troy, if you want to get an idea of how society currently expects the perfect man to look. This same body consciousness and striving for perfection has also been applied in the wrestling ring, as more and more pro wrestlers are looking more and more perfect (and plenty of issues and dangers have come along with that.) I can tell, by the way, which pictures you guys are clicking on, and I can tell the really fit muscle-men are your favorites.
Wrestling fans are spoiled these days, with images and matches all over YouTube, Blogs, websites and social media, and on Pay-per-view. There are plenty of websites where you can order DVDs or download rassling shows if you still haven’t had enough. Wrestling fans can now afford to be picky and to insist on perfection in their wrestlers’ bodies. But let me put a plug in for diversity in body types, for showing some love for the chubby, or hairy, or super skinny pale bodies along with the buff and perfect. Let’s sing the body electric. Let’s celebrate the range of man-flesh they paraded before us once a week back in the Golden Age of pro wrestling and we loved it.
You are right on about the overload of riches of pro wrestling these days. In my formative years pro wrestling only came on Saturday afternoons, and it was an Event. At that time Bob Backlund was the heavyweight champion – cornfed athlete, bullchest blond, handsome and more muscular (at that time) than any of his opponents. Every week he’d be put up against a nasty Heel contender, suffer hard in the middle of the match but then rally and retain his title. Those mid-match beatings were always my favorite part. Good being taken down by cheapshot Evil. I’d be watching TV alone in my room, lying face down on the floor with a pillow tucked under my chest (because I was a wrestler with big pecs!) and frottage as I saw hero Backlund enduring abuse after abuse. Best yet were those times when the cheating got so out of hand (foreign objects, 2-0n-1; hey, this was the 70’s) that the ref would call off the match and the Heel would be disqualified and Backlund ruled the winner, even though he was in pure agony outside the ropes or rolling in utter pain midcenter. He look a beating above and beyond decency and we all knew why – just to punish him! Dazed look as the ref raises his arm. Yet next week he’d be back full form to take on the next opponent. THAT’s the wrestling I like.