Wrestling has always loved its strongmen. From Bruno Sammartino to Mark Henry, promoters salivate at the idea of a guy so strong he could snap a turnbuckle with his bare hands. In the mid-1980s, Vince McMahon thought he had struck gold with a man who could actually do it. His name was Ted Arcidi—the first … Read More “Ted Arcidi: Wrestling’s Heavyweight Paperweight” »
If you grew up watching wrestling in the 1950s and 1960s, you didn’t have to look far for a villain. Every generation gets the bad guys it deserves, and for postwar America, nothing got heat faster than a wrestler in a black robe, bowing to the crowd, sneering at Uncle Sam. That was Mitsu Arakawa. … Read More “Mitsu Arakawa: The Atomic Heel” »
The Anoaʻi family is wrestling’s royal bloodline. High Chief Peter Maivia, Afa and Sika the Wild Samoans, Yokozuna, Rikishi, Roman Reigns, The Usos, The Rock—names carved into the industry, champions of eras. And then there’s Lloyd. Lloyd Anoaʻi, son of Afa, brother of Samu, cousin of Rikishi, Yokozuna, Roman, and Dwayne Johnson, was born in … Read More “Lloyd Anoaʻi: Wrestling’s Perennial Cousin” »
Every great story has a forgotten sibling. Cain had Abel. Eli had Peyton. Mario had Luigi. And Kurt Angle—the Olympic gold medalist, WWE Hall of Famer, TNA legend—had Eric. Eric Angle, the older brother, the substitute, the stand-in, the man who looked just enough like Kurt to fool a crowd for a night but never … Read More “Eric Angle: Wrestling’s Shadow Brother” »
Pro wrestling is full of strange gimmicks, but few enter the ring blowing “Taps” on a trumpet like David Sheldon. He was billed as The Angel of Death, and for a few wild years in the 1980s, he looked the part: 6’5”, terrifying, a bodyguard for the Freebirds, one-half of The Russian Assassins, the first … Read More “The Angel of Death: Wrestling’s Trumpet-Playing Phantom” »
In the grand circus of professional wrestling, every so often two guys get shoved together by a booker and told, “You’re a tag team now.” Most of those pairs vanish before anyone remembers their names. But in the early 2000s, Andy Douglas and Chase Stevens beat the odds long enough to leave skid marks on … Read More “The Naturals: Wrestling’s Afterthought” »
Ole Anderson never smiled. At least not in public, not in the ring, and not when he was tearing apart opponents, wrestlers, promoters, or anyone dumb enough to cross him. If Ric Flair was the limousine-riding, jet-flying symbol of excess, Ole Anderson was the gravel stuck in your boot, the whiskey burn in your throat, … Read More “Ole Anderson: The Grouch Who Built the South” »
If Ole Anderson was the mouth, Gene Anderson was the hammer. He wasn’t the loud one, the promo machine, the guy who cut your ego to ribbons with his tongue. Gene was the other kind of killer: the kind who stared through you, then broke you down piece by piece until you stopped moving. Together, … Read More “Gene Anderson: The Twitching Hammer of the South” »
Some wrestlers live in the spotlight. Billy Anderson lived in the shadow it cast. Born William Laster on November 12, 1956, in Arizona, he became “Billy Anderson”—sometimes “Big Bill,” sometimes “The Black Knight,” sometimes “The White Shadow,” sometimes just the guy lying on his back while Randy Savage posed. Anderson was never meant to be … Read More “Billy Anderson: Wrestling’s Eternal Shadow” »
Professional wrestling has always had room for freaks. Not the carnival kind with bearded ladies and snake oil salesmen—though that’s not far off—but the kind who walk into a locker room and make everyone else suddenly feel like children. Jon Andersen was that guy. Born January 8, 1972, in California, Andersen grew into a human … Read More “Jon Andersen: The Strongman Who Bent Wrestling Until It Groaned” »