It saddens me to hear about the recent murders and suicide of the professional wrestler Chris 
Benoit and his family. How tragic. For whatever reason some are trying to make the case that steroids made him do it. Despite the demons that Benoit (pronounced Ben-wah) faced, he simply became a murderer.
It’s not the fault of the professional wrestling business.
It’s not the fault of his doctors.
It’s not the fault of his fellow wrestlers.
He’s the fellow who strangled his wife, smothered his son and then hanged himself.
This is a hot story as professional athletes of all stripes have apparently been using steroids (supposedly illegal) to bulk up their bodies for the sole purpose of enlarging their sports statistics. It’s big business, worth millions. It’s the next level for public adulation. It's not the organic food business.
Pro ‘rasslin’ is entertainment just like the other professional sports, the movies and even now America’s political scene.
One of my favorite wrestlers is Ric Flair, Nature Boy. He’s not only an athlete, he’s a terrific performer, entertainer and a good public relations man. (Photo at the top right is Courtesy of David Matthews of www.rfgolds.com) Flair is a blond-haired, 6-foot-1-inch 240 pound guy who has paid his dues. He spent years traveling the pro wrestling circuit for North Carolina promoter Jim Crockett. He and his colleagues appeared on Crockett’s taped television shows and distributed all over the mid-Atlantic and south. Once the shows aired, the wrestlers hit the towns throughout in Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee and Georgia.
Flair, now 58 years old, is still going strong as a star for Vince McMahon’s World Wrestling Federation/Entertainment (WWE). He learned his craft well traveling to National Guard armories, high school gymnasiums and any facility that could handle a crowd of paying customers. The wrestlers traveled four and five men to a car to save expenses.
I met Ric Flair in 1980 before he won the National Wrestling Alliance’s World Heavyweight Championship. Here’s how it happened.
I was a member of the Virginia Athletic Commission. Our commission licensed all pro wrestlers and promoters. The state received fees and percentages from the gates.
In the spring of 1981, Ric Flair was on a Friday night pro wrestling card in the Lynchburg, Va., City Armory. My son, Chris, loved television wrestling. In those days his favorite was the colorful Ric Flair.
I advised the promoter that Chris loved Ric Flair. I asked if he’d introduce him and possibly get an autograph. About an hour before the first match, Flair and his fellow wrestlers drove up in a black Cadillac Coupe de Ville. They came in through a side door. Ric agreed to meet Chris but wanted to dress in his wrestling outfit.
In about 15 minutes as we stood a few feet from ringside, the crowd milled about the armory and excitement was in the air. A table was set up near the ticket-taker. Ric Flair in his togs walked up and introduced himself. He and Chris shook hands. Then Flair took him by the arms and asked, “Chris, want to wrestle me? Think you can beat me? Wooooo!!!!” That trademark roar brought the crowd’s attention to us.
Already, smiles turned to serious business. I didn’t know what was coming next. But Chris did. He just beamed and held on to Ric’s big fist.
Ric asked him again, “You want to wrestle me?” Chris said firmly, “Yes.”
“Then, let’s arm wrestle,” Ric said. “You’re a pretty strong guy.”
And at the table, Flair bent over, Chris bent over and they clinched right arms. Flair gave the go-ahead signal, “Okay.” Before we knew it, Chris slammed Ric’s arm down. Flair grinned sheepishly and promptly declared Chris the winner, raising Chris’s arm. The crowd roared.
The “winner” beamed and loved that moment.
“Wooooo!!!!” said Flair. He hugged Chris and off he went to the ring where the crowd yelled and screamed. This time, Flair won his match. Ric always says, “To be the man, you have got to beat the man.” Chris was 12.
Several months later, the then 32-year-old wrestler, born as Richard Morgan Fliehr, would win his first NWA Heavyweight championship. Pro wrestlers are superb showmen, great athletes and great at make-believe. His ring persona today may be the “Dirtiest Player in the game.” In my book, Flair’s a real champion. © 2007 Harry Covert.
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