I Ran The WWF Off My Rez
Cuzzin, this one time … WWF wrestling came to our rez.
Man oh man, the Sportsplex is packed ... Blackfoot after Blackfoot, cuzzin after cuzzin, ex after ex. An endless array of cheap perfumes, and even cheaper colognes, wafting thru the rez rafters.
Whoa, some Niitsiitapiis (what we Blackfoot call ourselves) are dressed to the nines - heck, to the tens! - like that Johnny Bruised Head and his ten pounds of turquoise garb, oh and Verna Raw Eater and her show stopping seven-piece neon ribbon skirt/shirt/leggings/purse ensemble.
Some Niitsiitapiis are not dressed to the nines, like me and Billy Strikes With A Gun. Me, in a hand-me-up-two-sizes-too-small-not-washed-often-enough LandBack t-shirt and my trusty used-to-say-Nike sweatpants, and Billy in the same Scarface hoodie I've seen him wear since the day we first fought/met.
I give Billy Strikes With A Gun the Blackfoot Nod, he gives me the Blackfoot Finger, all mad cause he's sitting waaaay up in the rank rez rafters, and I'm ringside with my cuzzin-sister Tammy. Before you ask, yes I bought all my favs at the concession - Meat Pies, Cheezies, Orange Crush pop to dip the Cheezies in, and of course, Deer Jerky.
Geez cuzzins, I tell ya, what a spectacular spectacle us Blackfoots beholded and beheld. Gigantic white men taunting each other, flaunting each other, mere meters from our curious Native souls. Little did I notice that the undercards were slowly overwhelming the intergenerational traumas in our giant Native hearts.
About halfway through, The Honky Tonk Man (my fav wrestler, ever! - besides Chief Jay Strongbow, of course!) heads into the crowd to grab a chair to hit The Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase.
Honky proceeds to grab the chair right next to my cuzzin-sister, Tammy ... but ... Tammy grabs the chair, too (she loves The Million Dollar Man). Tammy is real tough, toughest ever on our rez I reckon, so she won’t let go ... that's when Honky leans in and says to her:
“Let Go B*tch!” (or maybe it was "wench")
I think to myself, real loud: "NO, HONKY, NO!!!!!!"
Time thickens ... *cue slow motion
Whatever Honky said, it doesn’t go over well with a crowd of restless inter-generationally trauma-ed Natives ... so of course, they all start attacking Honky. Other wrestlers rush out to save poor Honky, too. Heck, even The Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase breaks character and yells "Leave Honky alone!"
Poor, poor Honky.
Soon, the whole Sportsplex is Blackfoots vs Wrestlers. I even seen a couple Elders doing traditional headlocks and suplexes.
Blackfoot are a war tribe, so of course we are winning. Before you can say “can you smell what the Rock is cooking?”, all the wrestlers start running away.
They jump into their big wrestler bus, crowds of wild Indians at their heels.
As they hurriedly drove off into the setting sun, we sang a Blackfoot honor song.
WWF never returned to the Blood rez.
