A couple of years ago the family went to a state fair. One of the exhibits was SEE THE WORLD’S SMALLEST WOMAN!!! Against all judgment, I paid the 50 cents to take a look. And there she sat—a tiny little short person on a bench, dressed in some stupid column. I’m not sure whether she was humiliated (or just numb to the horror), but I sure was. A truly low moment.

I bring this up because a few days ago someone I know asked whether I’d like to work the bell at an upcoming professional wrestling match at New Rochelle High School. The event is a fundraiser for the girls’ basketball team, which seems sorta noble. Hence, I agreed. Then I asked who was on the card …

“The big name is Super Fly Snuka,” I was told.

Super Fly Snuka? Isn’t he 100? Or dead?

Answers: No and no. He’s 60-something, and for $20 you can see fat, old, sad Jimmy leap from the top rope in a high school gymnasium.

In other words—where’s the little woman when I need her?

4 thoughts on “Super!”

  1. I remember hearing him on the radio recently and it was really sad. Sounded like the dude took way too many hits to the head with the ol steel chair, it was like he had no idea where he even was. A far cry from the 80’s legend.

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