By Tim Hornbaker In today’s marketplace, there are many constants that never really change, and routines wrestling fans have grown to expect. Matches shown on television are usually relatively short, feature a number of high spots, bumps, and popular finishing maneuvers that get people cheering, and are designed to further the various feuds. The regular storylines in the WWE or TNA are supposed to be somewhat consistent, and the more dramatic the promos and scenarios are, the higher the buy-rates. For the upcoming WrestleMania show in 2012, the WWE is building up a number of key match-ups with John Cena against The Rock as the centerpiece of attraction. Decades ago, the business was not fueled by a central company calling the shots for a unit of contracted employees. Wrestling was much more unorganized, and the wrestlers themselves were independent contractors constantly traveling the circuit looking for matches. In the era of the National Wrestling Alliance when there were dozens and dozens of established territories, there was plenty of work for grapplers of all shapes and sizes. Still, there were few contract deals between promoters and wrestlers, and most agreements were sealed by handshakes. Wrestlers who advanced up the ladder to one of the board sponsored NWA championships did sign contracts, and put up thousands of dollars as a guarantee they wouldn’t double-cross the organization by walking out on the Alliance or purposefully losing a title match to an opponent not approved by the board of directors. All other matches and regionally acknowledged championship affairs were fair game, but if a wrestler wanted to ensure future work – anywhere on the NWA circuit – they had to play ball by the established rules. Shoot matches, meaning genuinely contested competitions, on a whim were not authorized. And if they did occur, the wrestler who decided to go rogue was going to hit the road with a reputation of an outlaw, and find it difficult to gain matches elsewhere. The members of the NWA routinely told each other about insubordinate grapplers and which ones to avoid at all costs. So that meant fierce collegiate champions with all the skills and strength in the world had to lay down when told, even to inferior opponents. There were no other options. That was how professional wrestling was conducted. Instead of highly competitive bouts between comparable talents or long, drawn out shoot matches that bored audiences, contests were full of “pre-arranged acts,” as one 1932 Portland newspaper called them. There was a design to the matches that excited audiences and kept people coming back to arenas week after week. If a show promised a sixty-minute main event, the headline affair was likely to go long, giving the people something they’d enjoy. Why would promoters want to ruin their own businesses by staging unattractive matches between opponents scared to go to the center of the ring because of the threat of a hooker possibly breaking their leg with a submission hold. Shoot matches have happened on occasion in wrestling history, and each incident was unique to itself. There were times when a hooker pounced on a lesser talent and twisted them into knots, or even knocked them out with legit punches. A match could last literally a couple minutes in this instance with absolutely no thought given to the people in the audience, who paid for a night’s entertainment. And in those days, there weren’t 7-8 bouts on a card, but maybe three or four, and if the main event went a few minutes, what wrestling fan in their right mind was going to be excited about the next show. A wrestler was killing the town that way. In 1923, when “Tigerman” John Pesek, a hooker beyond reproach, battled Olympian Nat Pendleton in a shoot match in Boston, Pesek won the bout in two-straight falls. But the bout went over 35-minutes and the 3,000 fans at the Grand Opera House were not witness to a hideous scene that ultimately crippled the wrestling industry in the city. The two men were both talented, but Pesek had the skills to maim ring rivals through endless submission holds. It is very likely Pesek either held back or worked moves with Pendleton, then double-crossed his foe in the finish. At the end of the night, Pendleton suffered torn ligaments, and his undefeated record now had a blemish. Shoot matches could also last hours. On July 4, 1916, World Heavyweight titleholder Joe Stecher defended his championship against Ed “Strangler” Lewis in what was billed as a bout between “possibly the two greatest athletes in the world today.” An estimated 20,000 fans were at the Fairgrounds in Omaha to see the bout, and interest in the match was worldwide. The paying audience expected a struggle for the ages – with one man walking away the victor. What they got instead was a match that nearly ruined professional wrestling, not only in Omaha, but across the Midwest. Sports-writers in important cities along the east and west coasts added to the calamity by negatively remarking about it by way of their typewriters. Lewis and Stecher wrestled a immensely slow and colorless draw lasting a reported five hours. Because of the nature of the shoot match, neither grappler wanted to put themselves in a vulnerable position, and the two danced around the ring for a majority of the bout. Spectators were disgusted by the gruesome scene and gamblers lost small (and sometimes large) fortunes. The Omaha World Herald, which was clearly in Stecher’ s corner, as he was from nearby Dodge, blamed the lack of excitement squarely on the shoulders of Lewis. A writer for the paper remarked that, “It was impossible for Stecher to throw Lewis,” because he was a “wrestler, not a foot racer.” Fans littered the ring with seat cushions and talk of the disaster circulated the world. The wrestlers had to repair their damaged reputations and earn back the trust of fans by delivering more enjoyable performances – which both did in the years that followed. But the lack of agreement before the match and the missing prearranged spots to keep the audience’s interest were not handled properly, thus, it failed on all accounts. Imagine had they settled on a finish, giving one or the other a victory, and built toward a high- interest rematch. They would’ve doubled or tripled their money. No one walked away unscathed, and it was a crucial lesson for those involved, learned the hard way. Another notable shoot match happened in 1954. Women’s wrestling was mostly a stable industry under the management of Billy Wolfe and world champion Mildred Burke until the early 1950s. That’s not saying there wasn’t plenty of controversy and shenanigans, mostly on Wolfe’s part, but the business end was running smoothly and generating lots of cash. Although Burke and Wolfe were married, they were not a normal couple, and Burke had a long affair with her husband’s son from a previous marriage. Things slowly deteriorated, and there was immense pressure on both individuals to secure their futures in the industry. Burke was still the women’s champion, but performing in a male-dominated profession, and Wolfe had all the key contacts throughout the NWA. The Burke-Wolfe feud was intensely bitter. So bitter that Burke feared for her life, and required protection. Wolfe pushed Burke’s rival, June Byers, and the latter won world title recognition in a tournament at Baltimore. Soon thereafter, Byers received the favorable bookings across the Alliance that Burke used to command, strangling the latter’s income significantly. After Burke and Wolfe came to a financial arrangement that gave her complete control of the women’s booking office, and effectively retired Wolfe, Wolfe decided that he wasn’t finished in wrestling, and reneged on their deal. Now, he had her money, and was back trying to put her out of business. Again, Wolfe was using his contacts through the NWA and influence in the press to injure Burke’s good name. There were few options for her, and as the weeks and months passed, more and more people accepted Byers as the women’s world champion despite the fact that Burke had never lost the belt. The only way to rectify the situation was a title unification bout between the two champions. Burke didn’t trust Wolfe in the least and was not about to lose her valuable title to Byers or anyone else on her ex-husband’s roster. The potential paydays for a series of matches around the country between Burke and Byers was huge, yet Burke wasn’t having any of it. There were too many factors that jeopardized both her standing in the wrestling world and her personal life. But because she needed the money, she agreed to a single bout against Byers in Atlanta on August 20, 1954. Sporting a knee injury, Burke went into the affair somewhat handicapped both physically and mentally, and was facing a premier athlete at the top of her game. The match was for all the marbles, and neither wanted to give an inch. During a rough initial fall, Burke’s knee forced her to concede verbally, and she went into the second fall still determined to win. Like most shoot matches, their movements were deliberate and seemingly uninteresting to those expecting a colorful back-and-forth battle more in tune with the rest of the card. Needless to say, fans were not thrilled. The second fall ended unsatisfactorily when officials stopped the match after one hour and three minutes. Despite the fact that Burke was announced in the arena as retaining her championship, Byers was publicized as the undisputed titleholder because she won he only fall. Wolfe used his connections all over the wrestling map to tout her victory and dispel any belief that Burke was still a claimant. That’s all he wanted anyway. He wanted to use the Atlanta match to stifle Burke’s claim to the championship and hype Byers. It worked perfectly. People to this day still consider the Burke-Byers match a work. If it was an elaborate ploy, a worked shoot to build up some excitement, why weren’t there any further matches between the two? Why didn’t they wrestle all over the country? It meant big money, and Burke and Wolfe needed it, but never happened. In fact, they never wrestled again. So why would anyone in a sport that is 99.9% worked, wrestle a shoot match? They wouldn’t unless prompted by some external factors. The top two reasons were likely personal and financial. Not everyone in wrestling were best friends, and there was plenty of animosity and swindling to go around. It wasn’t like the WWE today, where wrestlers are contractually obligated to behave a certain way in the ring. Back then, there were legitimate reasons for shoot matches to take place on occasion. The last example of the stars aligning to produce a rare shoot happened in the Pacific Northwest in 1932. A highly-skilled welterweight by the name of Wildcat McCann, who’d appeared in numerous AT shows taking on all comers, was repeatedly issuing challenges to world title claimant Robin Reed. Reed, a former Olympic gold medallist, was no certainly no slouch, but wrestled for a rival promotion in Portland run by Virgil Hamlin. The goading in the press was becoming too much and the local athletic commission saw McCann as a logical contender. So Hamlin and Reed had to confront the situation head on. The two decided that to earn a title match with Reed, McCann first had to wrestle and beat a hand-picked opponent. This was a perfect example of utilizing a “policeman” in pro wrestling. The term “policeman” didn’t refer to one of the blue uniformed individuals standing in the aisle way, but a wrestler of significant ability who warded off challengers to a specific championship. “Policemen” were commonly used in the heavyweight division, particularly by Ed Lewis and Jim Londos. Reed and his promoter picked Pete Metropoulos, and on March 9, 1932, McCann and Metropoulos wrestled in Portland. Their match was completely out of the ordinary and the Portland Oregonian newspaper commented that it was “one of the most hectic and weird mat affairs ever staged” in their city. McCann proved his mastery by winning the first fall by submission, and the second was given to Metropoulos by default after a stunning display of brutal warfare. In the final fall, McCann “flipped Pete onto the boards” and was declared the winner. The Portland Boxing Commission met some time later and fined both McCann and Metropoulos $50 for failing putting forth their best efforts in the Portland match. A wise sports writer noted: “Yes, the commission has fined two men for wrestling on the ‘square’ and letting others know that they won’t stand for anything but horse-play … the match was terrible, but don’t forget it was on the up and up.” If you can believe it, they were actually fined because they gall to wrestle a real match. But it was a horrible presentation, and witnesses to the spectacle probably applauded the penalty. In a sport that thrived on secrecy, it is difficult to know for sure which matches in history were definite shoots and which weren’t. There are other famous incidents, including the double-crosses of Wayne Munn and Danno O’Mahoney, as well as Ed Lewis’s matches against Ray Steele and Lee Wykoff. While shooting matches are a relic in pro wrestling’s past, there are different kinds of dangers that grapplers face on a day-to-day basis. Wrestlers today must adhere to a much faster paced style, and if they spend too long in any one hold, they certainly risk triggering loud “boring” chants. It is just how things are, and the slam bang style that people are accustomed to continuously force wrestlers to up the ante – risking their bodies to perform high spots which are thoroughly dangerous. These moves are inspiring, but you’d never see Lou Thesz or Danny Hodge performing them. However, if you needed a wrestler for a shoot match, either of the two latter individuals would fit perfectly. Thanks to Jeff Leen and Roger Carrier. Check out Leen’s must-read book, The Queen of the Ring: Sex, Muscles, Diamonds, and the Making of an American Legend, which discusses Mildred Burke and the 1954 shoot match at length. Tim Hornbaker is the author of Legends of Pro Wrestling, the ultimate wrestling reference, due in stores in July 2012. |
Shoot Matches: A Relic of Pro Wrestling’s Past |