Have a Nice Day (8 page)

Unfortunately, success seems to have gone to the Dude’s head as he shows up at a party in the Foley living room, where the swinging party animals are still sitting on the couch flipping through their wrestling periodicals. The Dude is now smoking stogies and throwing down brews, as he sports the same tinfoil belt around his waist that the original Dude wore in Frank Foley. The Dude is rude and crude, but seems to be especially intent on ruining the life of John Imbriani, once he’s informed that “Imbro’s engaged to a nice Irish girl.”

“Oh, really?” asks the Dude.

“No, O’Riley” comes the answer. The Lizard then offers the Dude a hundred spot if he can steal poor Imbro’s girl.

“How can you do that to him,” a peeved McNugget yells, even managing to get up off the couch for a moment, but still holding an open wrestling magazine. “Ya never liked John anyway.”

The Lizard hears this and is perturbed. “Yes, I do,” he states. “And I even wrote a piece of poetry about him.” With that, Zuck then proceeds to read a piece of poetry that I had actually written two years earlier. I guess you could say that John was kind of like my Al Snow back then, and I’m sure he’s going to love seeing this in print.

About Imbro by M. Foley

One day while walking, I overheard some girls talking, about John so I listened real close.

They said John Imbriani has a half-inch salami, hes short, hes Italian, hes gross.

To see if its true, I took a good view, in the mirror at his full-length reflection.

What he saw made me flinch, it was a half inch, and thats when he had an erection.

With that, Imbro, who was five feet four and 200 pounds, jumped off the couch. As a running back in junior high school, he had once rushed for 350 yards in a single game and had a compact, muscular body somewhat like former wrestler Ivan Putski. Like Putski, Imbro attempted to level the Lizard with a “Polish hammer,” but the 130-pounds-soaking-wet Lizard was able to avoid the horrible-looking hammer, and sent Imbro to the ground with a flurry of elbows to the head. As he worked over a stunned Imbro, the Dude made his move, and with a simple “Play your cards right, and with the Dude you’ll spend the night,” walked away with the poor little Italian guy’s girl.

Tragically, Imbro, who in real life was a junk food junkie, was found in his bed (the Foley couch) amid a plethora of Ding-Dongs, Fritos, and candy bars, that had been handed to him in a dream by the Dude, who was brandishing a guitar and singing a touching ballad entitled, “Hey Imbro.”

Hey Imbro by M. Foley

Hey Imbro, give this chocolate fudge cake a try.

Hey Imbro, you know I want you to have a piece of this apple pie.

Forget that youre a short little Guido, have another bag of these Fritos

Have another soda, because nutrition is a dirty word

Oh yeah, hey Imbro, Oh yeah, hey Imbro

Hey Imbro, I think that youve been acting awful rude.

Hey Imbro, dont be disturbed, because you lost your girl to the Dude

Sit here and have another soda. [At this point, I forget the words and ad lib]

Your dads as old as Winnie Winosa,

Have another Ho-Ho, cause nutrition is a dirty word.

Oh yeah, hey Imbro, oh yeah, hey Imbro

With that, Imbro is handed the dreaded snacks that lead to tragedy. Scott Darragh was the first to find him, and immediately spotted lines of a white substance on a mirror on the ground. A simple test revealed his deepest fears. “Oh no, Imbro’s back on the sugar,” he cries. “I’d better call an ambulance.”

The next short shows a haggard Dude, presumably after a night of erotic pleasure, still dressed in his Dude wear and mirrored shades. He turns on his radio and immediately hears a news flash about his deceased little buddy. The touching scene fades out as a guilt-ridden Dude weeps openly into his hands.

A press conference is called, and Dude (who is now clean-shaven, due to the fact that the climatic wrestling scene was filmed last) admits the error of his ways, and dedicates his big “backyard match” to the memory of Imbro. In a tribute to Jimmy Snuka’s legendary nonsensical interviews, I used an exact Superfly quote in admitting that “I can break a bone out there, and I’m talking about any part of a bone.”

It was time for the fateful match, set in the Zucker backyard, as passing cars whizzed by us on that cold January morning. The Grand Lizard was calling the action along with Steve Zangre, and the Lizard had a list of thirty wrestling cliches on a piece of paper to refer to liberally throughout the match. My opponent for the big match was Danny’s younger brother, Teddy, who was using the name Big Dick Zuck and who used wrestling’s most devastating maneuver-sodomy. “Welcome to the backyard match,” beer-toting referee Scott Darragh began, “rules, are there are no rules.” With that, the match began, and Dude fought off a Big Dick slap to the face with a flurry of really fake offense, culminating in the deadly palm thrust. Things were really going the Dude’s way until a big “Dude Love, you suck” echoed in the chilly East Setauket air. Uh-oh, it’s taunting by Ishmala, Zangre informed the audience. It was true, the former champion had made his way to the Zucker backyard, and as Dude turns his attention to the fat bastard, Big Dick seized the opportunity and leveled me with a wiffle ball bat to the head. A hell of a swing, too. For the Dude to get out his blood supply, which was in a Jif peanut butter jar, Ted was supposed to parade around with the bat, so that the camera could get off the Dude, who needed his privacy. But he forgot, so the Lizard’s commentary was a little suspicious as he said, “Look at Zuck, he’s parading around with the bat. Teddy, Teddy, parade around with the bat. Ted, you need to parade around with the bat. He’s parading around with the bat. He’s showing the fans he’s number one.”

When the camera goes back to the Dude he is “busted wide open.” With the Loved One in trouble, Big Dick proceeded to grab him in what the Lizard described as “the big ball grab.” “He’s really got a handful there,” Zangre expertly added. Even with his testicles in turmoil, the Dude had the presence of mind to feel the warm flow of blood streaming down his face, and when he touched the juice and saw the red residue, his scrotal suffering seemed to disappear. With that, I wound up a punch that missed by about six inches, and began a comeback that was Ricky Steamboat-like in its intensity.

Using his hidden resources of strength, the badly bleeding Dude was able to counter with a backbreaker that left Big Dick twitching. Off camera, someone snapped a twig on cue, leading Zangre to speculate, “I think he broke his back on that one.” Even with the taste of red food coloring and corn syrup dripping into his mouth, the Dude was able to continue on, and carried the wounded Zuck to his landing pad of mattresses and cardboard boxes in the middle of the Zucker driveway.

“Look at this,” the Lizard yelled. “A lot of guts, pride, and intestinal fortitude.” Then the Dude pulled the ladder from the side of the house, and began climbing slowly as the camera showed Big Dick on the landing pad. “Look at Zucker, he’s busted wide open. This is a … vendetta,” the Lizard screamed, as he searched for a cliche that hadn’t been used yet. Also, Big Dick was definitely not busted wide open, even though the Dude was about to be … again.

“Look at Foley, he must be fifty, sixty, seventy feet in the air,” Liz dramatically stated, in what had to be one of the greatest exaggerations in sports-entertainment history. “He will die tonight!” With that, the Dude took off from the roof of the circa 1878 Zucker house, which was probably a legitimate thirteen feet in the air. The dive was completely inspired, and was actually performed without a whole lot of fear. The fact the Big Dick rolled out of the way and avoided certain injury did nothing to taint the beautiful leap.

With Dude in a daze, Big Dick covered the champ, and referee Scott Darragh put down his beer in time to make the three count. There was a new champion, but he wasn’t done with the Loved One just yet. In a flash, he bent Dude over, pulled down his shorts, and appeared to violate the former champ with one quick thrust. “Oh, it’s the sodomize. Dude Love has been sodomized,” a frantic Lizard yelled, as his man rolled around in agony, having been “busted wide open” in a sense never meant for pro wrestling. Thanks to the magic of clumsy editing and my trusty Jif jar, it appeared as if blood was soaking through the Dude’s long gray underwear and shorts ensemble.

Like most people who are the victim of an uninvited anal intrusion, the pain the Loved One was feeling was at least fifty percent mental, and in his shame, he takes off through the woods, while the Lizard follows, shouting “Dude, Dude, come back Dude,” as my friends laugh hysterically.

As the camera faded out, you could hear the faint voice of cameraman Ed Fuchs saying, “That sucked.”

“What do you mean?” I asked Ed. “I thought that went great.”

“Yeah,” Fuchs admitted, “but you jumped too soon, I didn’t get it.”

“Too soon?” I whined. “I told you to zoom out as soon as I flashed the Snuka sign.”

“Hey I’m sorry,” Ed apologized, and then added, “Do you want to see it?” Sure enough, the Dude’s awesome leap was but a blur, and a few minutes later, I found myself on the Zucker roof again, but this time suffering from a severe case of testicular nonfortitude.

Yeah, it’s true, the Dude was chickening out big time. The roof looked a lot higher, the landing pad looked smaller, and I really didn’t foresee a happy ending to this take. In truth, the boxes that had helped break my fall were now crumpled and almost useless. Finally I got the nerve and jumped, but it was far from the dynamic leap of minutes earlier. No height at all. But at least we had our dive on tape. It’s just too bad that the World Wrestling Federation didn’t see the first dive, and it’s also unfortunate that many Internet people incorrectly assumed that the stain on the Dude’s shorts was a big poop stain from the impact of the fall, instead of a bloodstain from the impact of a weenie.

The next scene is a tearjerker, as Dan and Felice are shown at their picnic table after sharing the whole sordid story. “There’s one thing that I don’t understand,” Felice asks. “From what you’ve told me, you and Mick Foley weren’t even good friends, and when Dude Love was around, I thought you were in Ethiopia, teaching women how to give blowjobs. Why are you so upset?”

“Because, Felice,” Dan answered while taking off his Groucho glasses, “I am the Grand Lizard of Wrestling.”

Felice is shocked at this astounding revelation, and responds by announcing, “Yes, Danny, now I understand, and yes, I will marry you, but there’s one thing I need to know. Whatever happened to Dude Love?

Dan gets a little misty when he thinks of his bunghole-busted buddy, and sadly states, “I don’t know whatever happened to him, but wherever he is I’m sure he’s too psychologically scarred to ever wrestle again. Come on, Felice, let’s go.”

With that the happy couple shuffles away, while the love theme from Officer and a Gentleman plays. No, not “Up Where We Belong,” which was a big radio hit, but the slow violin music that played while the camera afforded us a nice view of Debra Winger’s tiny boobs as she lovingly rode Richard Gere. While that music plays, the camera slowly pans up a giant evergreen tree to find a shirtless, drooling Dude about twenty-five feet in the air. The camera goes to black and a video montage airs to the music of Jethro Tull’s “Elegy,” which is about as nice a piece of music as I’ve ever heard.

The movie was odd in that despite the bad jokes, bad wrestling, and horrible acting, it was actually pretty touching, and I have seen people (no joke here) fight back tears as they watch it. I have also heard that someone had offered $2,000 on the Internet for a tape of the entire movie, as only clips have been shown on TV. I sincerely hope it doesn’t get out to the public, as it’s kind of special to watch it every several years with friends knowing that it is a completely private showing. If The Loved One surfaces, I’ll hunt down the Grand Lizard and make him suffer, as he and I are the only ones with a copy of the landmark film.

When we were nineteen and drunk in my parents’ house, none of us ever dreamed that our little movie, or at least portions of it, would be seen by millions across the world. I also had no idea that The Loved One would allow me to get my foot in the door to the world of sports entertainment. In March 1985, my dad called me with exciting news-professional wrestling was coming to Ward Melville High School. “I talked to the promoter,” my dad told me, “and he said that if you come to the show, he would talk to you about becoming a wrestler.” Man, I couldn’t wait. It was going to be a loaded-up card, and I was going to be there.

I drove the five hours from Cortland, New York, in nervous anticipation of what the evening would have in store for me. I even got a speeding ticket by the Johnson dairy stand, where we used to stop for ice cream on the way to my grandmother’s house in Wayland. Even a ticket from a state trooper couldn’t ruin my mood, as I thought about suplexes and pile drivers, and getting to meet some of the guys.

I arrived at the Melville gym (now, as I mentioned, the Jack Foley gym) at around three o’clock, as the ring was just arriving. My dad introduced me to promoter Tommy Dee, a man with all the flash and sizzle of a UPS truck. I asked Dee about becoming a wrestler, but he didn’t offer any encouragement. “You have to find somebody to train you” is all he said. He then asked me if I had any wrestling videos, as the wrestlers might like to watch them in the dressing room.

“Yes sir, I’ve got a great collection of MSG matches,” I informed the unsmiling Mr. Dee. “I’ll go get them.” I hurried home, picked out half a dozen videos, and started to walk out of my tiny room, when I stopped and turned around. I looked at my desk and saw The Loved One sitting there with Dude Love on the front of the box, and the words, “a journey into greatness starring the B.P.” Without thinking why, I grabbed the tape and headed out the door.

When I got back to the gym, a television monitor and VCR were waiting for me. Lacrosse practice was just letting out, and the guys who were sophomores when I was a senior were very happy to see me. Like I mentioned earlier during the Dave McCulloch fight scene, for some reason kids looked up to me, and many of these people in the Ward Melville gym were the same kids who had looked up to me three years earlier.