This has been a year of big losses for me. I lost my job, my dad, and my dog, in that order. 2023 has been a bit of a Ragnarok.
Speaking of loss, the wrestling world—and the world period—lost Terry Funk in August, about a week before I lost my dog.
After my rat terrier Monkey died, I stayed at my friend Shane’s for a few days because my dogless apartment felt intolerable. One night I showed Shane—a casual wrestling fan—the classic Funk match against Ric Flair from Baltimore that I enjoy just as much as their famous “I quit” match.
The Baltimore match included one of the best post-match brawls ever, involving the recently retired Great Muta, the somehow-still-wrestling Sting, and the sight of Flair’s hair turning Christmas colors thanks to his own blood and Muta’s green mist.
Shane ate it up, but then who wouldn’t? Flair and Funk are on a short list of wrestlers who are plausibly called the GOAT, and you could argue they were never better than in 1989. Every chop was like a stick of dynamite going off, and every punch and facial expression was on point. Funk was at his evilest, and Flair, usually pretty evil himself, was at his noblest. This was Shakespearean wrestling, like King Lear putting Hamlet in the spinning toehold.
We also watched the WWE tribute to Funk and a hardcore match between Funk and Cactus Jack, from when the Funker was even more middle-aged and crazy.
After sleeping about 12 hours—which seems to be my grieving/depression pattern, yikes—I muddled my way into the next day, trying to stay out of Shane’s way, since he actually had work to do.
In between Krameresque bouts of mooching food, I started reading one of Shane’s comics (manga, specifically) that had arrived that week.
This classic and wacky manga—combining comics and wrestling, just like Schmiolence—was so far up my alley it massaged my prostate. I expected, and received, a goofy, high-energy, action comic. But there was also a coincidence that made me wonder if The Gods were smiling upon me for once.
See that fellow with the stars on his trunks? He’s a participant in the international wrestling tournament that comprises much of this book. And his name is Terryman, from Texas, with a penchant for using the spinning toehold. Yep, I had no clue that this popular manga featured a character 100% based on Terry Funk.
I had to interrupt Shane’s capitalism to share this coincidence. Was Terry Funk everywhere? Maybe not, but in the 1970s and 80s, he was mega-popular in Japan. In fact, he was recorded-an-album popular, so appearing as a manga character wasn’t a stretch.
I don’t know what the point of this story is, other than I like Terry Funk—his brand of middle-aged and crazy wrestling eases the pain of living, as Allen Ginsberg once put it.
And this year, I need all the easing I can get.