Wrestling with bad memories
Thanks to a reader, I recently relived my most frightening moment in Houston, followed a week later by my most embarrassing moment.
It was a video of maniac pro wrestler Jake “The Snake” Roberts threatening me on Sunday morning television. I’ve had a videocassette of this for years but nothing to play it on. It’s been a long time since I watched. It’s wilder than I remembered.
Let’s jump in Mr. Peabody’s Wayback Machine … .
The late ’80s. I had just arrived in Houston. I was new in the city, new at my job and pretty overwhelmed with doubt. Houston was much larger than Phoenix, where I’d held my last job. What if readers here didn’t like my stuff? What if I didn’t fit in? I wanted to work for a larger newspaper in a bigger market. But had I made a large, big mistake?
One thing I did know was the pro-wrestling tradition in Houston. The headline match for a Feb. 14 bout at Sam Houston Coliseum was Jake “The Snake” Roberts versus “Dirty” Dick Slater for the North American championship. I had inside information that Roberts was going to lose. So I did a note in my column: “Bet the ranch on ‘Dirty’ Dick Slater.”
Back then, they would tape the matches at the Coliseum and air them Sunday mornings on Channel 39. I woke up, sat on the couch in my underwear and waited to hear details about Slater’s big win over “The Snake.”
Announcer Peter Birkholz introduced the “new North American champion … Jake Roberts.”
Huh? That’s not supposed to happen!
In character, Roberts was an intimidating, scary dude. He was pretty scary in real life, too. They’ve made two movies, “Beyond the Mat” and “The Resurrection of Jake the Snake,” about his personal demons and self-destructive lifestyle.
On that Sunday morning, he’s staring straight into the camera, a mean scowl on his face, and he’s talking straight at me. I was shaking in my tighty whities. (Author’s note: I have since switched to boxer briefs.)
Roberts: “You know, it’s like a dream come true when you get to the top. When you start out in any professional sport, you’ve got a lot of promise in your own heart. But a lot of people may not believe in you. A lot of people may not think you’re quite the man to do the job. I came into Houston on Valentine’s Day, and I thought I was ready. And then some guy brings me a newspaper clipping. Ken Hoffman, you know, sometimes it’s better to keep your mouth shut and thought a fool than speak up and tell everybody what you are. Because, my man, you inspired me, I want to thank you for that. When I read this, ‘A sure bet that Jake Roberts would not be North American Heavyweight Champion.’ You told them to bet the ranch. Well, Ken, any ranchers come knocking on my door, I’ll send them to you because the real people of Houston know what kind of man I am.”
Check it out: Go to YouTube and search: “Jake ‘The Snake’ Roberts threatens me.”
Later I was told that promoter Paul Boesch was furious with me for giving away the outcome of his main event match. Yes, the plan was for Roberts to lose. But Boesch switched the script and had Roberts win, just to prove that matches weren’t prearranged.
He wanted to send me a message.
Message received. That was the last I messed with Paul Boesch.
Here’s where this story goes from frightening to embarrassing
There used to be a show here called “Good Morning Houston.” It came on Channel 13 after ABC’s “Good Morning America.” The hosts were Don Nelson and Jan Glenn. It was one of the highest-rated morning shows in the U.S. during the ’80s.
They called and asked, “Would you come on the show? We’re going to have Paul Boesch on, too. You guys can talk about Houston wrestling. And we’ll do a fun bit with you wrestling against Jan.”
It was that kind of show. Glenn was a workout queen who could take me, easy, in real life. But this is wrestling. The outcomes are scripted. I told them, “OK, we’ll dance around for a minute and go to commercials.”
The interview portion with Boesch did not go well. He was old school and absolutely hated that I let readers peek behind his curtain. During the interview, he glared at me and said, “If you think it’s all an act, how about you step into the ring with one of my wrestlers?”
Uh, no, thanks. The interview went downhill from there. Boesch was in no mood for me.
“OK, after the break, Ken is going to wrestle a mystery opponent (Glenn).”
I was surprised when Glenn came out in a belly-dancer costume. She looked like “I Dream of Jeannie.” The referee was weatherman Doug Brown.
Earlier, we had worked out how the “match” would go. Glenn and I would circle each other, then she’d throw me over the “Good Morning Houston” desk. She’d pull me back, get on top of me, throw a few pretend punches, and Brown would stop the match.
Just for a surprise, I went to a party store and bought a small bottle of fake blood. When Glenn threw me over the desk, I smeared the fake blood over my face. Glenn pulled me back in front of the camera and started whaling on me. Adrenaline or Wheaties took over. She was really hitting me! Hard!
The weatherman, conditioned by his profession to be wrong about everything, just stood there. He didn’t stop the match like he was supposed to, didn’t pull Glenn off me. I was on the floor, on live TV, my face covered with fake blood, getting pummeled by a fitness freak who didn’t know her own strength.
This was all within the first month of my new job in Houston. It’s gotten better.
Post script: A few weeks ago, I bumped into Glenn at a delicatessen. First time I’ve seen her since she punched me out. She could still take me.