When wrestlin' was rasslin'

Comes now the sad news that Bobby "The Brain" Heenan has died, and also "Pretty Boy" Bobby Heenan.   You have to be a uniquely singular presence to have not one but two nicknames, even in professional wrestling. But that was Pretty Boy The Brain.

He was another of those giants who cast large and indelible shadows over the Golden Age of pro wrestling, when men were men, wrestlin' was rasslin' and villains like Black Jack Lanza (whom Pretty Boy The Brain managed) and Baron von Raschke always had something illegal tucked in the waistband of their trunks.

Usually it was a set of brass knuckles, and Black Jack or the Baron would pull them out at an opportune time and commence slugging Dick the Bruiser with them. That would go on for awhile as a trickle of blood ran down between the Bruiser's eyes, and then Bruiser would blink once, blink twice and commence whaling on Black Jack/the Baron.

This was because Bruiser, as we all know, had legendary recuperative powers. And it was also because Black Jack/the Baron were cads who deserved to get whaled on by him.

Or, you know, by Wilbur Snyder. Or Pepper Gomez. Or Yukon Moose Cholak or Mitsu Arakawa or or any of the other stars of that glittering era.

It was the era before steroids, and before the cartoon characters those steroids produced. Most of the wrestlers of Bruiser's era looked like regular guys, albeit really big regular guys. If they were sculpted by anything, it was Budweiser. Or so it appeared.

Anyway ... here's to Pretty Boy The Brain Bobby Heenan, and an era long gone. May he and Bruiser hoist a few together off in the Great Beyond, just to show there's no hard feelings.

Although Heenan might try to slip Bruiser a mickey. Just, you know, for old time's sake.