Tag: Ricky Martinez

#JobberJune

wrestlebard5 Comments

I’ve got a little crush on whoever is charting the social media course for BG East lately. I have bitched and complained mercilessly for a while about the need for homoerotic wrestling companies to up their social media game. It feels like the industry is solidly migrated to almost entirely a virtual existence online (DVD’s seeming to be going the way of the dinosaur, e.g.), so relying on eyes to reach company home pages on their own seems risky these days. And any failure to engage and titillate and evoke and provoke a virtually networked audience in between catalog releases feels downright old fashioned. So I’ve noticed with pleasure BG East’s increasing social media presence, including the excellent designation of this month as #JobberJune.

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Wade Cutler

I’ve been accused in the past of hating on jobbers. I deny it vehemently, of course. Jobbers are an essential ingredient to the pro wrestling universe, and they populate plenty of my fondest homoerotic wrestling fantasies. I admit to being provoked hardest by heels and babyface heroes, but the doomed jobber is always a strongly compelling character as well. We can, and I’m sure will, debate the essence and the margins of what it means to be a jobber. I think of them as those wrestlers who routinely get their asses kicked, for whom a victory would seem an honest surprise. I don’t think of them as merely squash bait. A jobber can put up a fight, and personally I prefer it that way. But considering the sum total of their careers, when a wrestler seems fated again and again to end up beaten and humiliated, he meets my criteria for jobberhood.

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Casey Cutler

The BG East social media maven has been celebrating #JobberJune with sensational call outs to classic jobbers. Casey Cutler, Wade Cutler, and Tony Consenti completely deserve this walk of shame, and seeing their photos  suck me right back to lush, key moments in which watching them wrestle had me rock hard for the potent melodrama of seeing them earnestly throwing their hot bodies into the breach again and again, only to get trashed and tossed to the curb. My nostalgia button is punched hard with seeing this retrospective of hot, doomed hunks from across the decades.

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O, Ken Canada!

Adorably upright Ken Canada got a richly deserved spot in the #JobberJune rotation. A long-standing friend of this blog, Ken was that upstanding, earnest babyface brand of jobber. His lean muscles, lightly hairy pecs, and button nose were the sensational framework for a jobber. Especially after interviewing him, I think of Ken as this supremely earnest, eager, fully game hunk who had sensational raw material for competitive wrestling, which made his lamb-to-slaughter narrative that much more compelling.

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Reese Wells

So I’m putting #JobberJune on my recurring calendar notifications for years to come. And I’m excited to see who the social media maven at BGE comes up with next for the #JobberJune walk of shame. I’d most definitely nominate gorgeous little firecracker Reese Wells, who always seemed right on the edge of wrestling glory, only to be literally upended before the final fall.

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Ricky Martinez

Then there’s Ricky Martinez. Everything about him in still frame screamed sensationally equipped competitor, but over and over his pristine beauty was ruined by viciousness, cunning, and extravagant dirty tricks.

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Rio Garza

Surely top contender for the most popular jobber in BGE history has to be Rio Garza. I always longed to see Rio mobilize that fantasy man body to do better in competition. In retrospect, Rio’s capacity to make me call him out as a doormat has been, of course, testimony to what a compelling jobber he’s been. Being literally a winner of fan polls for best body AND possessing one of the most lopsided win-loss records on the books points to some of the most potent elements to why jobbers inhabit our wrestling fantasies. Beauty spoiled. Hot bodies broken down and laid bare. Ambition and promise crushed by an opponent more than willing to go darker, deeper, and nastier. Jobbers tell a story that turns us on.

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Tommy Tara

Tommy Tara, Christopher Bruce, Mr. E, Muscle Mask… we keep watching not because we actually expect to see them pull out a victory. Personally, I want to be held in suspense, even if I know that fates are aligned against a particular hunk in the long run. But we watch because there’s something provocative about watching a man charge into the fray courageously, without a shred of realistic hope of coming out on top. It’s less about how a wrestler stacks up against any particular opponent, but more about a psychic flaw within him that makes the tick in the loser column inevitable, despite his most valiant efforts and magnificent potential. Somebody’s got to lose, and I think it’s a relatively rare wrestler who can do it so compellingly that we’re eager again and again to watch him do it, to see what inadequacy an opponent will discover amid a hot, powerful hunk’s blatantly obvious assets for kicking ass.

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Mister E

Who’s your favorite jobber?  Post a #JobberJune reply to BG East’s Facebook page and give the jobbers some well deserved love.

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Muscle Mask

So a summer sangria toast to the jobbers, this #JobberJune. And to the BG East social media maven, the first round is on me.

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Christopher Bruce, where all jobbers end up

Gear Named

wrestlebard2 Comments
It took Stay Puft mere minutes to correctly answer all 5 questions in yesterday’s Name That Gear quiz! Now that’s a good eye for homoerotic wrestling gear! There were other players who also correctly identified all 5 homoerotic wrestlers from their gear, but it was definitely Stay Puft doing it first. With Topher running the board last week, and SP sticking a fork in this one in record time, I may have to start making these quizzes a little harder again. That’s not to say that SP doesn’t deserve the laurel leaves for the week, so let’s take another look at what he saw so quickly.
Gear #1 belongs to…
Thunder’s Arena’s Big Sexy, of course!
 
Specifically, Big Sexy has his hands very, very full with the muscle stud juggernaut, Ace Hanson, in No Holds Barred 3. In his recent interview with Joe at Ringside at Skull Island, Big Sexy seems to indicate that he may have his own little fetish going on with those pink and lime green trunks of his. At least he seems infatuated with that particularly attractive gear. I think we all need to pitch in and buy Joe a plane ticket to south Florida to take Big Sexy up on the offer to wrestle him, with Joe getting dibs on wearing the pink-n-lime trunks!
Stay Puft correctly nailed gear #2 as belonging to…
…muscle jobber boy extraordinaire, BG East’s Troy Baker.
This is another example of an iconic homoerotic wrestler who, if you don’t know, you must instantly stop reading this blog, click over to BG East, and order a Troy Baker DVD – nay, a couple of them, with at least one of them being Troy’s Wrestler Spotlight. This mouthwatering shot of Troy’s golden trunks wedgied high between those unbelievably aesthetic mounds of muscle that are his ass cheeks comes from his Wrestler Spotlight DVD, where he faced off out of doors with Jarret Cole. The term “golden boy” seems somehow completely misplaced on anyone else, so those metallic gold posing trunks epitomize Troy in homoerotic wrestling.
Gear #3 belongs to…
…BG East’s Josh Avery.
There’s just something about homoerotic wrestler’s named Josh sporting egos the size of watermelons over at BG East. Josh pulling out the headgear and gloves (take note, Ace, it has been done… just sayin’…) was always nice storytelling. Meeting up with muscle jock Adam Killion for Mat Hunks 3 may have been more than Josh bargained for, but nothing keeps the babyface badboy from pulling out the gear and raising his game another notch.
Stay Puft instantly named gear #4 as belonging to…
BG East’s Muscle Mask.
I still find it astonishing that this masked musclehunk jobs. All that muscle looks like it’s hard earned and built out of something other than just hours at Gold’s Gym. That, and that big granite chin of his always make me intuitively expect him to open up a can of heel whoop-ass. So watching him felled by one opponent after another is fantastic storytelling, as I watch in wonder at the big, intimidating muscle hunk brought screaming to his knees.
Finally, gear #5, indeed, belongs to…
BG East’s “Tarzan” Tyler Reese.
I own this match in which Tyler faces Ricky Martinez in Ringwars 10. First, Ricky dominates the wild one commandingly, which, let’s face it, must have even surprised Ricky. All is said and done, really, until Ricky goes a little too far, humiliates a little too much, takes below-the-loin-cloth liberties in dishing out humiliating punishment over Tyler. As a result, Tarzan Tyler taps into his inner beast, making Ricky sorry he ever stepped foot in the ring. The priceless moment comes early on, though, when the boys are giving their all, and suddenly, Tyler’s eyes go wide as he looks up toward the camera in panic. The leather tie at the side of his loin cloth has come undone, and he’s holding it up, quite literally, by a string. The scene cuts awkwardly, panning back to Tyler suddenly geared up securely once again. When Tyler abandoned the loin cloth and cut his hair short, I lost my infatuation with glimpsing his bare ass cheeks. There just wasn’t the fun of watching in anticipation of another delightful wardrobe malfunction.

So thanks again to Topher for the most excellent suggestion of a new Name That genre. I expect we’ll see future editions of Name That Gear, but regardless what the future holds, this moment, this week, it’s Stay Puft who’s on top of the Name That heap. Nice work!

Users Behaving Badly

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The internet is quite a forum for letting it all hang out. I certainly don’t share the depth of intimate details with perfect strangers that I encounter face-to-face, that I’m willing to share with personal strangers who remain faceless on the other end of an internet connection. The medium is a remarkable venue for confession, community, and self-disclosure. Clearly, it’s also a medium ripe with opportunities to behave poorly.

I’ve noticed an uptick in the number of people attempting to comment on this blog using non-Latin-based characters and embedded with multiple links. While I sincerely appreciate the international following that the blog might attract, just be forewarned that any comments with embeds will be rejected, and the only non-English comments permitted will be those written in Swedish (ask Swito). I do my best to be a generous host, so I expect my guests to behave themselves appropriately. Embeds with potentially dangerous links are bad manners. To those of you who might want to comment with embeds linked to spyware or other noxious tricks, I think someone needs to sit you down and teach you a thing or two about manners.
Similarly, the large number of notes I get each day notifying me that I’ve won Britain’s national lottery are just bad form. No I will not give you my bank account number so that you can deposit the millions of pounds to which I have miraculously become entitled. I won’t give you my bank account number so that you can give me your dead husband’s millions in oil revenue from Africa. I won’t give you my bank account number in order to assist you in a most profitable business venture. I could not, would not in a house. I could not, would not with a mouse.
I’m just talking about good manners. Don’t try to steal what doesn’t belong to you. Don’t prey on the naive. Don’t bilk the simple-minded or gullible. It’s just bad form. And to those of you who persist in angling to cheat and steal, trick and betray, I can only hope that someday someone will powerslam your ass so hard your teeth rattle, climb on top of your chest, pin your throat to the floor and spit in your face until you submit, relent, and think better of your bad behavior in the future.
Manners, gentlemen. Manners.

Breaking Down the Unbreakable

wrestlebard2 Comments
When I was about 7 years old, my older brother offered to let me punch him in the stomach. “Sure!” I said, since he was always bullying me. I swung for the rafters, not really knowing how to put much behind a punch, but fueled with a desire to make him hurt. He winced, but his flexed abdomen was none the worse for wear. “Now it’s my turn,” he said ominously, beginning a gut punching session that I had never agreed to. He was often a dick that way.
So gut punching tends to take me back. These days, I more often identify with the puncher. Perhaps I’m living out my fantasy of what I should have done to my brother when given the free shot. Frankly, though, I don’t really have my brother in mind when I see Ricky Martinez’s tasty ass planted on Troy Baker’s babyface as he humiliates the goldenboy while rapidly pounding Troy’s stunning abs.
Vinny Trevino’s double fisted pounding on Patrick Donovan is an awesome example of the erotic testing of a muscle stud’s core. Patrick was destined for this moment of agony painted across his face from the moment he stepped into the ring with this badass bodybuilder. He should have known that outweighed and outmuscled, there was nothing but humiliating pain in his immediate future. But cocky overconfidence is a jobber’s bread and butter, and so Patrick squeezed into his pink and white trunks banking on his ring-veteran savvy to overcome Vinnie’s power and youthful invincibility. Fifteen minutes later, Patrick is on his back, clutching desperately at Vinnie’s wrist, screaming in pain with his ankles in the air. Very nice story.
In babyblue and white trunks, Justin Pierce was similarly suited up for a devastating pounding from the fists of sadist musclepunk, Joe Mazetti. The systematic picking apart of the muscle stud who has complete faith in his own invincibly shredded abs is absolutely awesome. I want to see the muscled babyface on his back, writhing in pain, with his pride-and-joy six pack quivering and defenseless. I want to see Justin owned. Joe does not disappoint.
Sadist extraordinaire and aptly named, Kid Vicious never fails to deliver. His relentless attention to Steven Thomas’ wall of muscle is a work of art. With Steven’s wrists bound overhead and his lower abs bright, bright red from being used as a punching bag, Kid drives home the point that some beautiful bodies are simply made for suffering, and when it’s done right (KV always does it right), it’s a win-win-win situation.

Not that KV needed it, but he does take advantage of a 2-on-1 scenario at times to break down Steven. The 2-on-1 gut pounding is a particular delight for me. I know, I know. Not everyone is into a double-team beatdown. I’m a big booster of the 2-on-1 most of the time. When two gorgeous muscle sadists, Daz and Big John (where the hell did those two priceless gems disappear to!?) capture and immobilize infinitely arrogant Mr. Joshua Goodman, Joshua’s truly marvelous, ripped abs are primed for punishment. It’s not like Daz or Big John needed to double team Mr. Joshua. They’re both powerful and nasty enough to have broken him and his lamb-to-the-slaughter partner, Kieran Dunne, singlehandedly. But the double-team, like the gut punching session itself, is about the story of breaking down the hunk who believes he’s unbreakable. Much more than just about a decisive victory, it’s about proving the arrogant face wrong, destroying his ego, transforming him into a humiliated piece of property who will never again be able to strut and preen without one eye looking over his shoulder.

So when SteelMuscleGod offers to let his sidekick use his abs for a punching bag on YouTube, I’m seeing so much potential opening up for SMG. I’ve suggested that Lon Dumont do the honors of welcoming SMG to America (admittedly, in order to see more of Lon as much as to see SMG in the ring). BGE has a whole stable of hungry studs who could do the honors nicely, though. Who would you suggest to roll out the red carpet for SMG’s debut in the arena in which his godlike status was clearly born to be tested?