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Why I Wrestle by Ric “Wild Boy” Tipps

February 4, 2014 Leave a comment Go to comments

By Ric “Wild Boy” Tipps

I attended the Southern Lankville Restrained Gymnasium and later spent two years at University. I learned printmaking and spent all day making stamps. The stamps were for no purpose whatsoever, I just kept making them. The University had to buy little storage boxes for the stamps. Finally, they came in and said that that was enough of the stamps and that I could stop making them or leave. So I left.

I traveled North and it was there that I came into contact with the great old grappler Andy “The Thousand Dollar [Lankville] Man” Lezcano. Andy was really worth about a thousand [Lankville] dollars. He was a gorgeous man with a beautifully-sculpted physique. We strolled arm in arm through the boulevards, discussing great events, the thing about the stamps, theology and also knocking over people. Our favorite was when we could pop an old woman just right with our shoulder, sending her bag of groceries flying into the canal. We were hellions.

Andy and I decided to have a postcard made of us wrestling together– this is the postcard you see represented here. We spent all day picking out our trunks and Andy had his hair dyed. I will never forget the day I answered the phone. “Your postcard is ready, Mr. Tipps,” the man on the other line said. I couldn’t believe it. I just let the phone drop. My mouth was wide open and remained so for hours. Andy came along then and rolled me down to the haute papier in a wagon.

We passed that postcard out everywhere. We took it to men’s clubs, boxing gyms, salons, and billiard halls. It was arranged that we should wrestle there. I was given the sobriquet “Wild Boy” by Andy himself. “Well, you are a little wild, aren’t you boy?” he asked me, licking his lips. I became flushed and commenced with awkwardly making the bed. “Yes, yes, I suppose I am,” I said.

I suppose it was the match at the Lankville Upstairs Center for Activities that really thrust us into the public eye. We wrestled for nigh two hours and brought along special glass vials of fake blood and ooze that we broke open at intervals. By the time the match was over– it was I, indeed who triumphed– both of us were covered in blood and gore. The men were thrilled.

The next day, Brock Belvedere himself had an article about us. For a little while, we made good money on the Small Motel Girl Wrestling circuit– we’d usually spar in a downstairs room. But we couldn’t compete with those girls. The men would wander in and out of our room restlessly, waiting for the main attraction. “We ain’t no second fiddle to these broads,” Andy said one time. “We’re stars. We should be getting top billing.” I agreed but at that moment we were entering a chocolatiers and I felt it best to end the conversation.

Of course, Andy died. It was during a Challenge. That’s all I can bear to remember about it.
I still wrestle. But I experience an exquisite ennui when doing so.

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