What I Remember Most About “The Macho Man” Randy Savage
Francisco Q. Delgado
“The Macho Man” Randy Savage sprinted down the entranceway. For
weeks, he endured the taunts of Ric Flair and Mr. Perfect, who
threatened to show uncompromising photos of his wife. He was battling
for more than just a championship tonight. He was fighting for love,
and all of us watching at home – as well as the hundreds of thousands
in attendance – cheered him on because of it.
I remember the wild swings in momentum. How “The Macho Man” seemed
destined to win in the first five minutes, and how in the ten minutes
after that, while Flair mercilessly picked him apart, he seemed doomed
I also remember Mr. Perfect’s acts of interference. How he hit “The
Macho Man” with a metal chair when the referee wasn’t looking. How he
slipped Ric Flair brass knuckles. And most importantly how he
disrupted the count when “The Macho Man” soared halfway across the
ring and hit his patented elbow drop.
I remember how Savage’s wife, Miss Elizabeth, strode to ringside. She
slammed her palms on the canvas, rousing her husband to his feet, and
we followed her lead, banging our hands on living room floors and
coffee tables around the world. Thanks to our efforts, “The Macho
Man” ultimately found the wherewithal to reverse Flair’s momentum and
scoop him up into a pin.
I remember the elation of a woman whose honor was restored. The
satisfaction of a husband blinded by rage for so long. What I don’t
remember are the sound of my dad’s footsteps as he walked past me
out the door. The sound of his and my mom’s hushed voices as they
spoke about the ‘other woman.’ I don’t even remember the emptiness in
the room because of my dad’s departure, enamored as I was by all the
pomp and circumstance resounding triumphant that night at
Where husbands defended their wives. Where romance wasn’t just something my mom read about in those books from Wal-Mart.
It was a feeling that I thought would last forever.