Why We Watch...Exhibit I

We watch for th' heart-warmin', chest-swellin' pride of regionalism. Before the death of the territory system, every sector of this Great American Nation Of Ours had its own breed of wrasslin' champion. Sure, there were those who strode from territory to territory like mighty colossuses, but our main draw for today, despite gaining (heh) large (hah) amounts of fame on a national stage, never really ballooned (haw) to leviathan proportions (hee!) outside the Pacific Northwest. While Ric Flair dominated the entire USA, the Northwest always kept PLAYBOY BUDDY ROSE clasped tightly to its collective bosom.

Misguided fat jokes aside, this clip is gold. From the initial Mount Saint Helens comparison to the incongruous hockey footage, this little gem is jam-packed with jets, champagne, and lovely ladies. Also on display is the trademark Buddy Rose promo style: confident, laconic, and stoned to the fucking gills (allegedly).

Speaking of which, my pal Jose Enrique claims to have spent a large part of the 80's hanging out with Buddy Rose in the North Portland/Vancouver environs. Joe says Buddy was a pretty heroic drinker (not quite like this guy, but still... Joe and his pals would be on beer three while th' Playboy was killing his sixth (and Jose is no slouch in the booze department, I can assure you). Other Jose-supplied Playboy factoids: Buddy Rose loved the sweet marijuana (of course), Buddy Rose was hilarious (duh), and Buddy Rose bought himself a pair of novelty "brass balls" to hang under the license plate of his car. This last bit of gossip should be accompanied by an image of a late-period Playboy, giddy as a schoolgirl, speeding North on I-5 so his Mexican Buddies in Vancouver (WA, natch) could weld fake testicles to his car.

God, I love this sport.