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Friend’s passing brings back fond childhood memories

Posted: Aug 7th 2016 By: Joey Sprinkle - CTNewsOnline.com

When I was a child, I had two passions: the Kansas City Royals and professional wrestling.

I spent many a Tuesday night at Convention Hall in my hometown of Sedalia, Mo., watching All-Star Wrestling live and in person.

When I wasn’t chasing down autographs of those larger-than-life mat giants, I was tuned in to All-Star Wrestling on Saturday mornings on Channel 41 out of Kansas City, Mo. That program was followed by Wrestling at the Chase from St. Louis.

I have vivid memories of attending the matches in person. After all, it was the only thing my mother and I ever “bonded” over.

She would take me to the shows and allow me to purchase an 8-by-10 black-and-white photo of my and her favorites, and she even allowed me to put them on the living room wall with thumbtacks.

I remember talking to a young rookie in 1975 who was sitting in the back of the building, watching the matches.

We struck up a 15-minute conversation before he said he had to get ready for his match. I told him, “Good luck, Mr. DiBiase.” That up-and-comer was Ted DiBiase, who went on to World Wrestling (Federation) Entertainment fame as “The Million Dollar Man.”

I also remember flipping through wrestling magazines — where my weekly allowance was devoured — when I came across a tag team that somewhat resembled The Masked Interns, the baddest of the bad guys at the time who always cheated to beat my heroes.

I ripped out that picture and, with all the determination a 10-year-old could muster, chased my favorites, Mike George and Jim Brunzell, all the way back to the dressing room trying to convince them that I knew the true identity of the nefarious Interns.

Then there were the “lady” wrestlers.

Often a special attraction, the women were still a long way from becoming “divas.” But rather than enhanced, erm, physical features and “beauty” that could be wiped off with a wet tissue, these ladies could actually wrestle.

The Central States territory, as it was known before Vincent K. McMahon’s national takeover of the genre, featured two female wrestlers on a regular basis: “heel” Betty Niccoli and “babyface” Jean Antoine.

I absolutely adored Jean Antoine.

She was my Daisy Duke, my Charlie’s Angels, my Olivia Newton-John and my Valerie Bertinelli — but with muscles (as they were).

For a young boy who thought “cooties” still existed and had never heard the word “hormones,” I was smitten.

I was amazed a year or so ago when not only did Jean begin popping up on Facebook wrestling pages, but we began corresponding as Facebook friends. Perhaps it was my charm, but I’m more inclined to think she appreciated being remembered.

We shared wrestling stories in the same breath that we shared political and religious beliefs.

Jean Antoine passed away peacefully Thursday morning after a long illness.

No doubt she’s in a better place.

We have been led to believe that, through faith, there is no more suffering — no more aches and pains that come with growing old and mistreating our bodies through sports when we were young because we thought we would live forever.

Goodbye, Jean. And thanks for the memories.