Randy Savage: More Than Macho

I am not sure why, but there was a big graduation ceremony when I left preschool in 1988. Everybody had to dress up, and although I don't remember much, I do recall lining up right before we walked to the stage. One of my teachers was fixing the collar on my shirt, when suddenly, a familiar song played: Edward Elgar's "Pomp and Circumstance."

Excited, I asked my teacher, "Why are they playing Macho Man's song?!"

It has always been Macho Man's song to me. At both my high school and college graduations, when "Pomp and Circumstance" started, I let out a loud "Oohhh yeeeeeah!" And in reply, somebody would shout, "Dig it!" or "Snap into a Slim Jim!" It always got a good laugh.

I know graduation isn't a big deal, but the memories of Macho Man always made it a fun occasion. That's why it was no surprise that after he passed away, his fans bombarded all the "Pomp and Circumstance" videos on YouTube. To me, that was a greater testament to his popularity and significance than all the video tributes and blogs combined. I've seen and read most of them, and even though it has been 5 days since he died, I am still coming to grips with it.

If I had to rank my Top 10 favorite professional wrestlers of all time, "Macho Man" Randy Savage would definitely be near the #1 spot. During the WWF/WWE's peak in the 1980s, when cartoon characters like Hulk Hogan and the Ultimate Warrior reigned supreme, Savage was the only champion I actually liked. As bombastic as his promos were with his signature gravelly voice and flamboyant gestures, when he hit the ring, he brilliantly used that intensity to enhance his down-to-earth wrestling style. That's why when he delivered his simple elbow drop from the top rope, it was like watching a god dive from the heavens. Look up any video of him dropping the elbow, and you will see nothing but a trillion camera flashes from all over the arena. It's spellbinding, but only because he made it spellbinding for his entire career.

Persona aside, Savage was actually an excellent wrestler. Everybody mentions his classic WrestleMania III match against Ricky Steamboat in front of 93,000 fans. From what I gather, he rehearsed every second of that match with Steamboat again and again and again. Savage was notorious for his perfectionism, and it paid off not only at WrestleMania III, but in just about all his matches. He gave the Ultimate Warrior the best match of Warrior's career at VII, he brought out the best in Hogan at V, and I will never forget jumping for joy when he pinned Ted DiBiase for the world title at the end of IV.

Perhaps the most profound memory I'll have of Savage was his reuniting with Miss Elizabeth (who was his wife in real life) after his then-career-ending match at VII. It was as thoroughly moving as pro wrestling could get. The storyline was so perfectly developed, and judging from how loudly the crowd popped when he lifted her on his shoulder, and again when he opened the ropes for her, Savage added depth to the meaning of "macho."

I never met Savage, but I always believed that he was a good guy. I don't know how to describe it, but there was something genuine about him. The fact that he gracefully left professional wrestling early on, and didn't damage his legacy like other old-timers reinforced my respect for him. He didn't need wrestling to keep afloat in his later years. He appeared to have a wonderful life outside of the ring, and he seemed to have a firm grasp on what mattered beyond the pomp and circumstance. After he passed, I was happy to hear that my assumptions were correct. My friends who had met him told me he was kind and humble. And unsurprisingly, every wrestler who worked with him had nothing but fond and touching things to say.

During many high school car rides, my friends and I played a song Savage recorded for the WWE in 1993. We thought it was hilariously bad, and we had fun imitating him and singing along with the awful chorus:



Somehow, as horrible as that song is, it felt all too poignant on May 20th.

At the end of the day, Randy Savage didn't need the cowboy hats or colorful sunglasses. He didn't need the jackets with the streamers hanging from his arms. He didn't need to be as big as Hogan or the Warrior—his charisma unquestionably dwarfed both of theirs tenfold. For all his "macho madness," Randy Savage always came across as more than just a cartoon character. He defined spirit. He defined intensity. He defined passion. And he will always be a beloved icon because of it.