Red Headed Geek: My Short and Painful Career as a Rasslin' Manager

By Billy C. Wirtz

Neither an exposé of the dark underbelly of wrestling nor a justification of its existence, Red Headed Geek is a loving, firsthand look inside the regional wrestling circuits of yesteryear by a former manager who's been tossed from the ring, bashed with a folding chair, and had painfully honest conversations with the wrestlers themselves. Billy C. Wirtz gives a distinct view of the strange world of wrestling, offering a look into the actual workings of the business and the underlying reasons for its popularity, as well as an explanation for its status as an often maligned and misunderstood subculture and its vital role in American working-class entertainment. He recounts his painful on-the-job training—explaining certain practices and dispelling some commonly held myths and beliefs—and discusses his personal and professional relationships with wrestlers such as the Fabulous Moolah, Diamond Lil, Sir Oliver Humperdink, and dozens of others, from the legendary to the never-heard-ofs. The book also contains a glossary of wrestling slang for those who aren't as familiar with the sport. For the die-hard fan or the total nonbeliever, this book presents one man's honest perspective and observations on a fascinating subculture.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Independent Publishers Group
• Release date: Dec 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781615473335

Book preview

Author

Acknowledgements

There are several places in this book where I discuss the principle of right place, right time. This book is the ultimate example of that.

Go to any bookstore, find the section titled How to Be a Successful Writer, and I’ll bet that not one of them will advise: Hang out in a 24-hour drugstore and talk to the clerk in the checkout line. But that’s exactly how it happened for me. I was sitting in the all-night Walgreens in Cocoa Beach, talking with Joanna Golden about a recent magazine article I had written. A gentleman in line turned and asked: Are you a writer? I replied that I was. He then asked: Are you published? Once again, affirmative. It was my turn, Why? He answered: I’m a publisher.

Unfortunately, in today’s cyber-world, anyone who contributes poetry to the Little People for Constitutional Amendments blog can (and often does) call themselves a writer. Likewise, anyone with enough bucks to get any of a few hundred printing companies to publish their 400-page treatise The Secret Connection between Nostradamus and Michael Bolton can call themselves a publisher. Fortunately for both of us at the Walgreens, neither of us was in that boat. We exchanged some emails, had a high-power luncheon at Papa Vito’s Pizza, and eventually produced the book you now hold in your hand.

I could spend a good 10 pages on the people who deserve to be listed in this section, but I’ll stick to the ones who played a direct part in helping me get this done. First and most obvious:

Bill Jelen, publisher of Holy Macro! Books. He has been an absolute joy to work with, his checks have all cleared, and I hope this is only the beginning for both of us. Along with Bill, the other members of the Macro! empire: Tyler Nash, Scott Pierson, Kitty Wilson for copy editing, and Shannon Mattiza for the way cool cover design.

Ted and Claudine Wirths, without whom I wouldn’t be here.

David Wirths, the best brother a guy could ever wish for.

The Fabulous Moolah, for all the encouragement.

Katie Glass, my teenie weenie meanie.

Bob Doershuk and John Bordsen, my two mentors, the guys who taught me the finer points of the writing craft.

Joanna Golden, for putting me in the right place at the right time.

Dr. Russell Meetze, the man who saved my life.

Mickie Jay, Steve Keirn, Mike Graham, Diamond Dallas Page, Sir Oliver Humperdink, and Tim Parker, my brothers in the wrestling business.

Ken Coble, my dear friend, adopted brother, and technical advisor to this volume.

And now for everyone else, in no particular order of importance, but equally vital to the completion of this project:

Harold, Victor, Mardi, Roger, Judith K., Judith L., SideShow Bennie, Harry T., James T., Tommy D., Fast Eddie, Bob, Warren, Bird, Linda Sue, Larry and Bruce at Hightone, Amy, Hossman Allen, John Swain, and the staff at WFIT, KPIG, and WNCW.

A special thanks to Papa Vito’s Pizza in Cocoa Beach, where the deal was struck.

My eternal thanks to each and every one of you. My apologies to those of you I didn’t name here, but you know who you are.

The F Word

I wish I could take credit for the following story, but it was told to me years ago by one my best friends, Aaron Cross. I could waste a lot of words discussing the attitudes of the public about wrestling, but this pretty well sums it up and makes for a good starting point. Buckle your seat belts.

Back when I was in high school, I ran around with what my mom called a rough crowd. Prominent in this group were Jack Moore and Wynn Thompson. They were both thick, burly fellas, very strong. But in other ways, they were quite different from each other. Wynn was mild-mannered, kind of quiet, and, despite his carousing, a gentleman. Jack— or Jolly Jack, as he was known—was also laid back . . . when he was sober. Get him drunk, and in his own words, he was the proverbial bull in a china shop.

One day Wynn’s parents were out of town, so we borrowed his dad’s VW bus and rode around a wooded section of town, drinking Schlitz malt liquor out of 8-ounce cans and chasing it with Ripple.

Jack was riding shotgun, and as all guys who ride shotgun do from time to time, he spat out the window. Unfortunately, in his Schlitz/Ripple-altered state of consciousness, he didn’t notice that the window in question was still in the up position, so he landed a big one onto the glass. This upset Wynn—it was his dad’s car, after all—and he told Jack to clean it up. Jack just grinned and spit again. Wynn told him to stop, Jack spit again, again Wynn told him to stop, and this time Jack hit the window with his fist. It shattered.

Wynn pulled the car into the woods and stopped. He got out, Jack got out, and the rest of us did, too. It wasn’t merely going to be a fight, but a battle royal between two bruisers. Wynn was steaming mad, but he just somehow couldn’t throw the first punch, so he got into Jack’s face and started talking smack about his mama. Jack just spit again—and grinned. Wynn started talking bad about Jack’s car. Again, nothing from Jack but more spitting and grinning. After a moment of deliberation, Wynn leaned in and slowly whispered, Wrestling’s fake.

It was on.

Hey, Boy!

Hey, boy!

I was strutting back from the ring, having just completed my first night as a professional wrestling manager. I looked up just in time to see a large black fist coming toward me.

The next thing I remember, I was being pulled into the dressing room. Someone was handing me an icepack to help relieve the throbbing sensation now spreading across the left side of my face. As my eyes began to focus, I became aware of a roomful of professional wrestlers applauding and congratulating me.

One of them pointed to the door; on the other side of it, the corrugated steel walls reverberated with the sound of 200 delirious wrestling fans chanting Red Headed Geek. My boss, Steve Keirn, stuck out his hand and said, Way to go, Reverend. They really hate you. You’re doing great!

You Want to Be a What?

1- Why I Wrote This Book . . . and Some Thoughts on Wrestling

When I began writing this book, I thought I’d tell a few wrestling stories, reveal a few insider tidbits, and maybe even convince a few nonbelievers that there is indeed a degree of authenticity and importance to professional wrestling.

I went to the local chain bookstore, and not only were there at least two dozen tell-all bios by wrestlers, there were several written by wrestlers’ wives, one or two by wrestlers’ therapists, and even a new-age self-help book written by the infamous Bobby The Brain Heenan.

Does anyone read wrestling books? Doesn’t pro wrestling appeal primarily to rednecks and the less educated? Isn’t this the same bunch that believes Elvis is alive? The answer to all three questions may be yes, but there are a couple other kinds of wrestling devotees, who fall into two main groups: what I call smart fans and in-the-closet fans. Then there are the skeptics.

Smart fans are aware that the outcome of a wrestling event may be predetermined but enjoy the show anyway. These fans include English professors, tax lawyers, jazz musicians, elected officials, and virtually anyone with a B.S. in something. Newsletters are written for these fans, foremost among them The Wrestling Observer, published and written by Dave Meltzer. The Observer is a brilliant piece of journalism. It was one of the first publications to expose inside secrets of the business. Meltzer uses insider terms—you’ll learn more about those later—and he’s a damn fine writer. He’s also highly opinionated. Even though they pretend not to care, the wrestlers read every single word of the Observer, often making career-changing decisions based on what Meltzer reports.

I’m willing to bet that within hours after the first porno website was launched, some smart fan started a wrestling site. Of all the . . .

The second easily identifiable group of wrestling fans are those who just can’t quite come out of the wrestling closet. These are the ones who, in the middle of a Vietnamese restaurant, will look across their bowl of pho and ask me, Didn’t you used to be a wrestler or something? When I explain that I was indeed involved with the wrestling business, there is an inevitable pause, and then, I used to watch that stuff as a kid. It’s all fake, right?

Well, yes, for the most part, the outcome of an individual match is predetermined. However, really great wrestlers have the ability to make even the most cynical pause and say Gee, that looked kind of real. Just like in any other sport, there are good wrestlers, and there are great wrestlers. The difference lies in the wrestlers’ ability to suspend your disbelief. And that suspension of disbelief is necessary to sell tickets, especially to the general public, most of whom qualify as skeptics.

There’s almost nothing better than converting a skeptic into a fan. I’ll bring a friend or two, if they’ll promise to keep an open mind and respect the less enlightened fans around us. It usually takes a match or two to for them to lose their agnostic detachment.

The transformational moment usually occurs around the third bout. The ref has his back turned, and the bad guy seizes the moment to deliver an illegal kick

Reviews for Red Headed Geek

[bjkelley · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I was only aware of Billy C. Wirtz as a musician and knew nothing about his career as a wrestling manager. This was a nice look at some of the things that go on behind the scenes in professional wrestling. I deducted 1/2 star, because the book was so short (136 pages).