^ Not pictured: The Confederator.^
Hidden
deep within the chronicles of television lore that I just made up for
this month's story, there's a mostly forgotten American Gladiator
whose tale I'd like to share. Born in Woodland, Alabama, on the day
of the moon landing, the fourteenth child of Travis and Trish Taters
accomplished his lifetime goal when he got a Lynyrd Skynyrd tattoo on
his back in junior high. After that, he still kept striving. He went
on to become a foul-mouthed, muscle-bound showman on TV. As an
often-censored Gladiator, Richard “Dick” Taters left an obscure
legacy in northern states such as Wisconsin, but in the deep south,
plenty of folks know the legend of The Confederator.
In
order to express the triumphs and downfalls of The Confederator,
whose lifetime record of being the most arrested American Gladiator
still stands today, I enlisted the e-mail aid of Nitro, a former
Gladiator who now resides in Las Vegas, where he divides his time
between doing push-ups on the sidewalk beside a collection hat and performing his one
man show: “Saturday Nitro Live.”
Nitro's
response was that of a sworn enemy to The Confederator. Now, I will
admit that Nitro's criticisms of The Confederator seem exaggerated,
but regardless, as Wisconsinites celebrating the 238th
birthday of our favorite country this July, we should give Nitro the
benefit of the doubt:
Hello
and USA, USA, USA everyone in the Dairy State! Nitro here. Check out
my KickStarter site and leave a donation if you care to know my real
name. Anyway, the rumors about The Confederator and his rebellion
against the American Gladiators are all true. I didn't like him one
bit. We got along like peanut butter and bacon, or like Stonewall
Jackson and any Southern General loser you can think of.
I'd
say the most impressive thing on his resume was that he claimed to be
“Party Buddies” with the creator of the show. Sure, the guy could
lift a pinball machine above his head just like the rest of us and he
was a bodyguard for Jerry “The King” Lawler for two months, but I
wouldn't call those REAL credentials. Hell, I took a bullet for OJ
Simpson (pre-scandal) just to land an interview.
On
his first day, I gave him the grand tour of the arena. When we
finally got to The Eliminator, Dick Taters had the gall to scoff at
it.
“You
call this 'The Eliminator'?” he said. “This crappy mound of
pads 'n' plastic ain't nothin' compared to me: The CONFEDERATOR.”
He
then spat a stream of tobacco onto the sacred inclined treadmill. It
was the first of countless times he spat on The Eliminator. He often
did so while shoving medicine balls on ropes at contenders as they
crossed a balance beam.
Early and often, The Confederator raised hell. During practice, he
used to shoot the tennis ball gun at people. Stagehands, janitors, it didn't matter. When told to knock it off, he'd holler that he had “done
it for Shits and Giggles." Those were actually the nicknames of his
two “bestest pals” from Alabama, who got to carouse around the
arena. Shits and Giggles dared The Confederator to shoot tennis balls
at everybody.
For
his morning commute, The Confederator rode a Honda 3 Wheeler to the arena. Was it
street legal? I doubt it. Plus sometimes he'd be chugging from a
bottle of moonshine with one hand, blaring an air horn with the
other, and steering with his knees. You call that professional?!
There
was a TV set up in the weight room, and the Confederator always
insisted that his shows be played. Reruns of The Dukes of Hazard
were his favorite. His childish lack of compromise erupted in his
infamous “Dukes vs. A-Team” brawl with Tank. (June 8th,
1992.)
He
hated The Atlasphere event, mostly because of the name. “I ain't
gonna use no word what sounds like it been given by some Harvard boy
from Europe!” he once screamed. “When The Confederator spins at a
contender to knock that sissy off a crater before it shoots up smoke,
I calls it a 'Round-y Cage,' thank you very much.”
His
trouble-making went overboard. We knew he was a threat to our union
of Gladiators when he tackled Gemini, our unitard-wearing brother in
arms, off of The Wall. In case you've been living in a freaking cave
forever, The Wall was an event where contenders got a head start in
climbing up a steep cliff-like thing before we Gladiators
demonstrated our upper body strength by tracking them down by
climbing super fast. It was awesome.
Well,
as the two tussled on the floor, a fiery Gemini called him out right
away. He demanded to know What in the name of Mr. T?! was The
Confederator's problem.
“You's
a slow climber!” the southerner said. “It's survival of the fittest!”
After
that firestorm, my fellow Gladiators and I united in our opposition of
The Confederator. We took a stand against that dirtbag's antics. One
night he crashed a Jacuzzi party at Zap's condo, and within minutes,
he was drunkenly taunting her for, “Doing the Human Cannonball like
a girl!” She hammer punched him in the sternum and bit off his
earring. Zap could be a pretty righteous babe.
Around
this time, The Confederator got dumped by his girlfriend, who
happened to be the chick who played Snow White at Disney World. Well,
Blaze did some homework on their breakup and found out why she left
him, which turned out to be because he wanted to invite her coworkers
into the bedroom and “Let the Dwarfs watch.” What a sick-o! We
sure as heck gave him hell about that. And he battled back.
Only,
he battled with the mindset of a conman. For two weeks he acted out
of character. He was kind and calm, and then he cordially invited the
gang to home town for a charity event. We should have been suspicious
since none of us had ever heard of a Civil War reenactment for
charity, but I don't know, sometimes American Gladiators do stupid
things. Once we put on those blue uniforms, the townsfolk at the park
changed. They started booing us. An old guy whipped his dentures at
me. Then The Confederator and his “bestest pals” stormed over the
hill, waving that Confederate flag. We took aim with our muskets and
pulled our triggers, but it was no use.
“Southern
man can't be hurt by no invisible bullets!” The Confederator
taunted. He then clubbed Gemini with his musket and shoved Zap into a pricker bush. Meanwhile, Shits and Giggles hurled sacks of skunks at us.
We were forced to retreat. It was the worst defeat suffered by the
American Gladiators at the hands of The Confederator. Plus we found
out later that day that the “charity” was just a way to pay off
his gambling debts.
We'd
had enough of his crap. When he returned to Universal Studios, we jumped him in
the parking lot and pummeled him with the pugilist sticks from Joust.
When it was all over, he wobbled against his 3 Wheeler with two black
eyes and a swollen lip. He cussed and spat and declared his
intentions to secede from the American Gladiators.
“Nah,”
Gemini said, his pectorals heaving. “We're keeping you in this
union of American Gladiators.”
That
was the truth. We kept him in our union, where he got perks like
freedom of speech and a dental plan and all that shit. He was kept in
the union, but he was demoted from Gladiator to janitor, and he
couldn't call himself The Confederator anymore.
We
proud Gladiators put that bonehead in his place. Sure, there were other incidents, like that
time he tried to assassinate the president of the network, but he
didn't succeed. Probably because the attempt was made with a tennis
ball gun.
When
the show ended its run, Dick Taters was almost broken but not quite.
He returned to the job he always loved the most: Being a bodyguard
for Jerry “The King” Lawler.
I
guess there are worse jobs out there. Once I'm done sending this
e-mail, I just might send my resume to The King. Unlike Taters, I've
got a strong work ethic. Plus I graduated high school.
In
closing, keep your feet on the pedestal and swing a mighty pugilist
stick, America!
Sincerely
USA,
Nitro
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