The Greatest Show on Earth

Yesterday my brother, David, was taking a stroll up on kooky Hollywood Blvd. and randomly he was handed tickets for a taping to The New American Gladiators. Any doubt as to why we'd moved to Hollywood was crushed in that instant. American Gladiators. For Free.

We went and ran into a Writer's Guild Picket Line. We don't cross picket lines. Our Dad is a union guy and that, in turn, makes us union guys. So, In a screech of brakes and a shattering of fun we turned our car around from the Sony Studios Lot and headed back for the homestead. I was deflated. I had been extremely excited to go and see the taping. Who isn't a fan of American Gladiators? AND I just found out that Hulk Hogan is the new host. Double Whammy. As a kid, I was a Hulkamaniac. I even got the Hulk Hogan Workout Kit for Christmas one year. Dumbbells, one of those hand gripper machines, an audio motivation tape, a bandanna, and an easily tearable, pre-ripped, yellow Hulkamaniac tank top. I excitedly ripped it in two before I even wore it, taped it up so it was easier to tear, and ripped it off again whenever I was around another human being. The only thing it was missing was a bleached blond handlebar mustache and mullet kit.

My original plan here was to write a blog about our experiences at The New American Gladiators show. I guess we'll have to settle for an oldie but goodie on the very same subject. My apologies if the length gets away from me. I hope you're as psyched as I am.

Let's take a little time traveling trip all the way back to the good year of our lord nineteen hundred and ninety one. The year I was in the eigth grade. More importantly, the year my brother, David, was in the eleventh grade. At the time, he attended High School at the, now defunct, ever legendary Don Bosco Technical High School in Downtown Boston. In my experience a truly magical place. Now, I don't know how they do it other places but, where I'm from, in the eighth grade they allow students to take a couple of days off to visit and experience different High Schools in the area. Figure out where they might like to continue schooling. I picked a couple of places. The first was Matignon High School in Cambridge, which I eventually chose, (because they had girls) and Don Bosco.

An all boys school, "Bosco" is best described as unruly. Located in the area of Downtown Boston people often referred to as "The Zone" or "Combat Zone." (Long ago, our Red Light District.) It was common to see ladies of the night (or "Lovelies") prowling just outside the doors of the school. Some of my favorite stories involve the years that my two older brothers went to school there.

My visit happened to be on a Friday in the fall. The date was significant way before I even told my teacher I needed to take the day off. The importance of the day is impossible to understate because it was the same day of the Don Bosco Bears football rally which my brother was in charge of planning. For weeks and weeks he had been cooking up a scheme that would put all other football rallies, everywhere, to shame.

From what I understand most High Schools tend to introduce the football team, maybe there's a mascot or a funny little skitch, or whatever, but most just go with the old "here's your football team" deal. Bosco was an all boy's school so the idea was to do whatever is going to drive the kids bonkers.

David was responsible for one of 1991's big rallies. The theme he decided on: American Gladiators.

David, with the help of his best friend Chris Hickey and I, spent weeks before the big day collecting old football helmets, wigs, costumes, any manner of stuff that would make them look ridiculous, as well as, creating gladiator names, making pugil sticks, and planning the competition. (For anyone making Crystal Meth in their basement, consider making Pugil sticks along the same lines. I know it won't get you high and make you indestructible, but it's just about the most fun anyone can have.)

On the day of the event, I followed my friend, Matt Mahegan, around the school and had a great experience. Each class brought it's own new insanity, depending on the teacher. It seemed, to me, to be a school full of kids getting away with whatever they could. Like Dickensian London or prison. In one class I remeber kids yelling at the Brother teaching every time he turned around to the chalk board. I guess he was deaf, so they'd swear at him and say all kinds of lewd, weird shit about their own genitals. The Southie kids were the craziest. And everybody seemed to know my brother, David, and thought he was a great kid. I wasn't even at the school a full day and yet I seemed to be accepted as "Little Walshy."

It was a half day and not too long after lunch we got the call to file down to the gymnasium. If it's one thing I remember clearly it's the size of the Don Bosco gym. Huge. More like an airplane hanger. And on this particular Friday in the fall of 1991 the gym would be turned into an Arena for American Gladiators. As soon as everyone filed into the arena, the festivities were underway. The football squad was announced and that business was taken care of, somewhat hastily, with a few speeches from coaches and the like.

Then the lights were dimmed and some carnival music was played as announcers introduced the competitors. (The announcers in this case were friends of David who were really funny and eventually got into some trouble for advertising feminine products during non-existent commercial breaks) The competitors were a bunch of ragtag bunch of misfits chosen for their character status in the school and amount of yelling they'd bring out of the crowd. And yell we did. As they jogged out to the killing floor they were greeted by "Boos", "Hissssses", "You're Going Downs", "Ya Mutha's", and the shout of their individual nicknames.

Then the limits of the P.A. and the gym were put to the test with the introductions of the Gladiators. The place went dark and, "Rock You Like A Hurricane" by Scorpions boomed through speakers. A spotlight from the top corner of the gym centered on a locker room door and my brother's gang of goofballs charged out wearing all manor of leotard (one and two-piece), old school high-tops, knee socks, and prostheses. Armed with pugil sticks and crazy hairdos the Gladiators sprinted into the gym as each one was announced. Once assembled they looked like a hairband full of wrestlers that needed a place to rock but couldn't find a stage. My brother's character was named Chief J. Smegma (due to the statue of liberty headdress he wore), and one of the most memorable characters was "Vestite."

















Half woman, half man, all beast: "Vestite," like all of the Gladiators, was wearing a melange of clothing items collected from home. For some reason our crazy mother has always been a fan of costumes and rediculous clothing. (An affinity David and I have inherited.) As a result my brother was able to outfit and transform all of his High School buddies into the freakshow badasses they became at the Rally. What made "Vestite" an individual was the tighter than tight clothing and armor plating he/she adorned. In this case, the armor plating was made up of plastic ass cheeks and giant plastic titties. But the crowning achievement was the bulge in his pants. "Vestite" had a package that was clearly visible - through the leg of his bicycle shorts - all the way to the back of the bleachers at the top of the gym. In a Catholic High School no less... Impressive.

Even before the competition started the crowd was screaming for blood. The games paralelled those from the T.V. show. There was Tug O' War, The Joust, Powerball, Assault, and The Eliminator among others. The Tug O' War and Joust were exactly as you'd expect them to be: quick and ugly. People in football and hockey helmets pummeling each other with sticks, ropes let go, and geeks smashing down on flimsy wrestling mats. The highlights were The Assault and The Eliminator. The first being an excuse to fire tennis balls at a hapless student. There were bunkers set up all around the gymnasium hiding nerf footballs for the competitor to toss at a target. The Gladiators were standing on some staging with several tons of tennis balls. Whenever the whistle was blown the competitor wouldn't make it a single step before the gymnasium would rain green.

The whole event was hilarious. It ended with "The Eliminator," a glorified obstacle course. It's exactly how you'd imagine it with tires, hurdles, and cones but also one crucial difference. Bloodthirsty sickos. The challenge wasn't only to make it to the end of a makeshift obstacle course. It was to stay alive. The same goes for the whole competition. If the competitor took a lead, even for a moment, you could see them sparking the fury in The Gladiator's collective eye. From flicker to flame, fire to Armageddon. In recollection most of these competitions seem a little one sided. (No different than a guy, who auditioned at the mall, being broken in half by another man, twice his size, on national television.) God help anyone for crossing those guys. They were hilarious, ugly, and mean.

To the very last, the students were going ape-shit for the Gladiators Rally. I have no idea if the Bears won or lost that footbal game but whenever I envision that day my mind fades out slowly... First, the kids in the stands. Then, the competitors and the music. Finally, The Gladiators slowly dissapear, waving and posing for the crowd that's no longer there... until all that's left is an empty gymnasium and one sound, cacaphonous... Thousands of berserk Don Bosco teenagers chanting "VESTITE! VESTITE! VESTITE! VESTITE!.." echoing into eternity.

Somewhere there should be a trophy case for great ideas, well executed.

-Chris