The final word on Dusty Rhodes

by Nick Mamatas -  source:Village Voice
 

"all the grace and athleticism of one of Fantasia’s ballerina hippos"

Rhodes, born Virgil Runnels... is an obese fellow with all the grace and athleticism of one of Fantasia’s ballerina hippos. And yet, he strutted down to the ring like his
ankles and wrists were broken. Indeed, strutting is the wrong word for a man
whose distended stomach swayed a good two feet in either direction while he
tippy-toed across the apron to taunt his opponent. Dusty Rhodes minced about like
a Junior Leaguer who had just patted the head of her first Negro without bursting
into flame like mama always said she would.
 

"he strutted down to the ring like his
ankles and wrists were broken"

Dusty Rhodes had charisma though, and big ol’ cowboy boots, and the Bionic Elbow,
which consisted of some hand jive punctuated by slamming a flabby arm on top of
someone’s head. He talked and smelled like the owner of some backwater Georgia
rib shack-cum-whorehouse, and looked like he ate the contents of five of them,
both the ribs and the whores. How did Rhodes get and stay so famous for something
other than eating his own weight in pancakes? He was the booker.

Bookers in wrestling parlance are the people who design the matches, establish
characters, write interviews and even handle some television or live show
production duties. When Dusty was the booker, everyone knew it. If another
wrestler got popular, suddenly "The American Dream" showed up on tv as their best
friend. He even went so far as to dust off the six-man tag team championships in
the old NWA, and book himself with the legendary Road Warriors, two musclebound
boys in Chicago, as their incredibly lumpy and wheezing third man. Every
interview mentioned Dusty Rhodes. If a wrestler had just come into the territory
to work, he had to either badmouth or kiss-up to Dusty in the interview. If
someone was describing how tough they were, it was in comparison to Dusty. Had a
new finishing hold? You’d better say it was almost as tough as Dusty’s Bionic
Elbow if you wanna work in this hyeah town, boah! Needed help dealing with a
nasty opponent, pray for the Dream to come to your rescue, and he just might
mince on down to the ring and attack your foes, belly-welly first.
 

 The devastating "Bionic Elbow" - "75 pounds of pork fat
wrapped in an elbow pad  that can knock down a bodybuilder"

The American Dream, was nearly incomprehensible. His own interviews were like witnessing a heart attack, or someone screaming at a microwave oven to hurry on up with that chicken. He went on about getting smacked in the belly-welly, <wheeze> or his ol’ noggin <wheeze> but still makin’ it tuh thuh pay winduh <wheeze> being a ditch digger’s son who was now the "ballie waddah" <wheeze>. Turns out he was saying ‘bull of the woods’ which I misunderstood for nearly twenty years until Steve Corino mentioned being the new bull of the woods at a wrestling show last year.

Dusty also had a very peculiar take on the logic of booking wrestling matches,
especially title matches. Titles are most valuable to fans when they are held by
obnoxious ‘heels’ (bad guys) who cheat to win or confound the obviously superior
opponent with smart tactics, lots of cheating and cowardice, and occasionally,
outside help or intentional disqualifications. When the belt is finally won by
the ‘face’ (short for ‘babyface’ or good guy), there is much rejoicing. Unless
there is a Dusty finish.

Dusty wanted everyone to go home happy. So the faces won the belts, whether they
were tag belts, the Southern States title, the US title or even the coveted NWA
World Heavyweight Championship. The heels never had a chance; they were all
cowards and cheaters who could barely lift their own arms over their heads,
especially after 75 pounds of pork fat wrapped in an elbow pad landed on the top
of their skulls. The problem was, everyone going home happy meant that the heels
always had to walk in with the belts and the faces always had to leave with them.
Thus, the Dusty finish: the face beats the heel decisively, then some faux
commissioner, referee, rulebook or mistake causes the championship to revert back
to the heels. At the next house show or pay-per-view event, the heels again lose
the belts, only to once again have them shifted back through chicanery,
technicalities and cheating. Once, shame on the heels. Twice, shame on the faces.
Three times, shame on Dusty. Half a dozen, or more times, shame on the fans.
Dusty managed to drag entire promotions into the red with his incessant
self-promotion and his match finishes.

On most editions of TBS’ Saturday evening wrestling show under the Rhodes booking regime, the main event was just about to begin as the show went off the air. "No! NO!" the announcer would scream, "Don’t go to commercial! Give us more time! Get Ted Turner on the phone, we need him! This is the most important match in the history of our sport! We’ll have the footage for you next week!" But they never did. Next week, the heel again held the belt.
 

"Gold dust -  created by McMahon to embarrass and
humiliate Dusty (as if Dusty wasn’t good enough at that job)"

[After a time] the fans turned against Dusty Rhodes and his bogus finishes. Rhodes was unceremoniously dumped from WCW as a commentator (he was still all about the belly-welly and the pay winduh), his own son went to the WWF to become the gay-themed, movie-obsessed human Oscar statue wrestler Gold dust just to embarrass and humiliate Dusty (as if Dusty wasn’t good enough at that job). The Dusty finish is reviled by fans everywhere. As for The Dream himself, he is running a fantasy wrestling camp and making occasional appearances where old stars go to die, Extreme Championship Wrestling’s South Philadelphia bingo parlor-cum-arena, to declare himself the ballie waddah before 800 drunken fans. Just recently he was brought back to narrate WCW Classics a show on the Turner South network, where he can relieve his greatest failures to an audience of dozens.

A few years ago, the ditchdigger’s son, the American Dream, was still well-regarded by wrestling fans, who knew the stuff was contrived and fake, but who didn’t know the inside details of the graps business. Thanks to the Internet, there are no more marks, no more people who believe that one Bionic Elbow to the belly-welly can knock down a bodybuilder. Thanks to the Internet, Dusty Rhodes and his sordid egotism is a joke.

A kick in the ol’ belly-welly, if you weel?
 

Nick Mamatas