Joe Mazetti – Page 2 – Sidelineland

Yesterday’s post sparked some interesting conversation. It also got me to thinking about all the jobbers that have caught my eye as I’ve fed my wrestling kink. Despite my proposition yesterday that every jobber should have his day, it did occur to me that there are, perhaps, a very select few jobbers that I never tire of seeing crushed. It may irk some of you to hear me now say that even I have a pantheon of jobber gods who, perhaps, I might never get bored with. If reconsideration of my argument yesterday irritates you, please refer to my standing opinion on consistency.

Wrestling Arsenal describes Kenny Kendall as “everyone’s favorite jobber.” Somehow I feel less special now. I always came to attention when Kenny climbed into the ring. He possessed a sweet (sweet, sweet, sweet) body, and every time there was the introductory close-up, I was captured by Kenny’s handsome face. I can’t remember ever seeing a match that Kenny won. He wasn’t always squashed, but as far as I remember, he was always beaten nearly unconscious.

Kenny’s trunks were always a distraction to me. He inevitably wore them a size too small and riding up his ass crack. As if his meaty glutes weren’t eye-catching enough, Kenny inevitably ended up on his hands and knees with his ass lifted high off the mat.

As far as I can remember, I never got tired of seeing Kenny get the shit kicked out of him. He suffered sweetly, and frankly I always thought he could probably do a job for days. Sadly, he was often in the ring with significantly out of shape heels who, I have to imagine, get the blame for so manny Kenny jobs being tragically short. As long as Kenny wore those crevice-cradling trunks with the double “K” stitched like grandma’s sampler on his left cheek, then sure… I’m okay with seeing Kenny endlessly job.

Wracking my twisted brain, I can’t say that there are many more jobber gods who could make it into my pantheon of endless jobberhood. Perhap the BG East’s Muscle Mask might qualify, if he had a longer career to consider. As JoshH commented yesterday, there’s something simply mouth-watering about the image of a stunningly muscled man like Muscle Mask being manhandled. The mask may be blurring my objectivity here, though. I’m a sucker for a hardbody in a wrestling mask, any day of the week.

So Kenny Kendall is definitely drinking ambrosia on Mt. Jobber-Olympus. Muscle Mask has yet to fight some more Titans before he can definitely join Kenny in the pantheon of eternal jobber delights. I’ll continue to consider who else might be worthy of jobber-deity status (feel free to help me out).

Have you ever instantly fallen in lust with the hot stud leaning against the wall across the bar, only to discover on closer inspection that he’s not really all that? Back in the day before video streaming (I feel like Grandpa talking about serials on the radio), all we had to decide what gay wrestling videos we wanted to purchase were stills. I’d see some pics of exactly “my type,” (whatever the hell that is), and like Pavlov’s dog I’d pull out my… credit card and send off for a tape in order to possess the handsome stud. Of course, they typically package these tapes as collections, and usually I’d be in lust with only two or three of the wrestlers. Then when the desperately anticipated moment arrived, I’d rip open the envelope, sprint to the TV, and pop in the tape.

Not infrequently, though, those objects of my lust turned out to not turn my crank so much. In my first BG East purchase, Troy Milan, who I was ready to swoon over, was actually a little annoying when you added audio and saw him actually move on the mats. He was way too much go-go and not enough throw down.

Then out of no where, Joe Mazetti blew my mind. I never would have picked Joe out of a crowd of hunky men as the one who would make me sweat. But seeing his sadistic sneer, particularly with the audio on, and I was surprised by lust!

Chip Slater did the same thing to me. The profoundly cleft chin is, I admit, a turn on for me. But otherwise I was not expecting Chip to send me over the moon. But he’s a freaking god on the mats! He twists his opponents into pretzels and laughs at them. He absolutely can’t help himself from torturing his opponents’ balls, and he himself appears to have balls of steel.

Soon after discovering Can-Am online, I thought I was entranced by bodybuilder Paul Perris. Oddly, when I actually brought him home, his doing the splits didn’t send me over the moon the way I thought it would. On the other hand, Troy Lucas completely took me by surprise. In motion, in the grasp of sadistic Johnny Lightening (who missed a spot shaving his ass), Troy rushed to the front of the line of my favorites on Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3.

One final example: I thought I was purchasing Fantasy Pro Wrestling primarily to ogle the mysteriously, concisely named “Matthews” (sort of like Cher: he’s so hot he only needs one name).

But popping it in, I quickly discovered that Matthews was not the apple of my eye (and he may only need one name because that’s as much as he can remember). I was glad that Hector Alvarez beat his ass for disappointing me like that. On the other hand, Buck Wyld turned out to be worth every penny. It’s not that Matthews doesn’t have all the right parts in the right proportion. He just doesn’t move as sexy as a hot man can move (and he’s creepily quiet). Buck, on the other hand…

Anyway, like falling in love with the B-Side, I appreciate the unexpected gems that catch me by surprise in the collection tapes. It’s a nice lesson to remember to be open to having your assumptions challenged. Sometimes the hot guys posing across the bar aren’t the sexiest ones in the room, even if they might catch your eye first. When it comes to homoerotic wrestling products, between the boys who disappoint and the boys who pleasantly surprise, all in all I generally come out on top. And on those rare occasions when I’m left with a hollow, unsatiated feeling, if it’s a BG East product I’ll at least get to enjoy the trailers (I’m a BIG fan of the trailers).