1/14/15: Off The Top Rope, Into Immortality
On Monday night’s Raw, WWE announced Macho Man Randy Savage as the first member of the Class of 2015 to enter the WWE Hall of Fame. The ceremony will take place at the end of March as a part of Wrestlemania weekend.
The Macho Man was the ultimate “pro wrestler” — a larger than-life-attraction who drew heat everywhere he went, stole the show in front of 93,000-plus in the Pontiac Silverdome at Wrestlemania III, and co-headlined one of the biggest storylines in the history of the business: the spectacular union and fiery dissolution of the “Mega Powers.”
But the way the character transcended the mat-based grappling of the then-WWF and took flight, literally and figuratively, into pop culture, made his career the blueprint for the “sports entertainers” of today. Savage was obsessed with the craft of his character and textbook in the execution of every element. It is a rare performer, before or since, who has displayed comparable mastery of all facets of the game.
Savage exhibited both a natural and practiced skill inside the squared circle, moving about fluidly as he delivered his strikes and combinations with a frantic urgency, like a video game protagonist getting in some offense before the boss inevitably responds.
The small, but dangerous Savage would weather the assault until he sensed the opportunity to scale the ropes like a lizard, exhale as he pointed to the heavens, and soar across the ring, crashing atop his opponent with a devastating elbow drop.
Was there a more dramatic, finite ending to a match when you were a kid? The DDT, the Rude Awakening — these were classic, impactful finishers. But they were executed with both feet on the ground. Savage took flight, which was uncommon in the 80’s. I can’t tell you how many times I nearly put my hand (or head) through the ceiling, attempting to launch myself onto my friends or cousins for a Macho Man elbow.
And then, there was the Macho Man on the mic, from cocky to jealous to insulted to manic, to all emotions you’ve ever felt, at once, all in one moment. The “Macho Man” moniker was infinitely appropriate: whether heel or face, if Savage’s pride was dented, you were going to hear about it.
Savage was also a standard bearer as a tweener: the bad guy you detested, but at the same time you marveled at his ability and tuned in just to listen to his gravelly braggadocio. Savage seemed ready to snap at any time, an element that made him unpredictable, whether heel or face.
There was the storytelling: whether the Macho Man was the aggressor or the one in peril, he made you care about the conflict. As a heel, he didn’t just preen, he whirled and gesticulated and brayed and sucked all the attention of the room into his personal orbit. His robes were opulent, his manager Miss Elizabeth beautiful, the gold belt on his waist shiny, his movements provocative. As a face, Savage was gallant in the face of long odds, woozily floundering after a chair shot to the knee or a snake bite to the arm. But he always seemed to find himself atop the turnbuckle again, ready to fly.
And then, there’s this: the Macho Man, Arsenio Hall, and Morgan Fairchild.
Savage (real name: Randy Poffo) passed away unexpectedly in May of 2011 at just 58 years of age.
Who knows how many more years the Macho Man would have had if he didn’t spend 20 years killing himself to entertain us.
This post was originally published to TheDropStep.com on January 14, 2015.
