A Sit Down with Man Man, World Champion

Part of the Kayfabe Interview Series

From the outside, Lionel’s Luau is an unassuming Hawaiian BBQ joint, nestled between San Diego and Los Angeles, in the nape of the ever-expansive Southern California landscape. Town residents would likely mention proximity to these two cities when asked where they’re from, and the restaurant itself ironically suffers a similar fate within the town and the Kartigna Shopping Center where it is situated. “Just past the Save-A-Lot,” “right next to the old Citi Trends.” “If you see a school uniform store, you've gone too far. If you’re by El Pollo Loco, you haven’t gone far enough.” I didn’t assume that its’ obscurity, a lack of reviews or a functioning website, was completely intentional, but the more time I spent in the restaurant, beneath the warm lighting and leis hanging from the ceiling like jelly fish tentacles, wriggling around a dark wood church pew of a booth, I found myself in a perfect location to speak with the most elusive of company. 

I usually start my interviews describing the outfit that my guest has on, but I had both lighting and the obstruction of a half-eaten baby pig to dissect first, the latter of which told a story better than an outfit ever could. Our eyes met as he rotated the carcass around on its glass plate, beginning his work on the other half; that’s when I saw the glimmer of his golden front tooth, framed like a photograph.

 Elusive, but flashier than ever, the man generations remember as Man Man donned a golden pinky ring on his right hand, his eating hand, which clutched the tiniest golden fork. Standing to greet me, I noticed this flair didn’t stop at the tooth or the hand, a three-piece burgundy suit, a button-down that he opted out of wearing in place of a few gold necklaces, and an abundance of taco meat on his chest. 

He embraced me like one of his own, friend or son, I’m unsure. He possessed a strong handshake from a hand that enveloped mine the same way his 6’5” shadow blocked all light sources nearby. His aura matched my father’s descriptions of watching him every Saturday morning with his cousins in their rural Georgia home. It was hard to imagine such a force could fit in such a small TV box. Upon sliding into the booth, I noticed a small clock ticking next to the tray of sugar packets that my momma told me gave you cancer, trying to avoid the bones of the pigs in my peripheral, and I naturally found an entryway into my sit-down with Man Man. 

Reporter: I must have gathered like 6 more questions the moment we laid eyes.

Man Man: Well, shoot away youngin’. 

R: I guess the first would be, am I on the clock? And if so, sorry I’m late.

Man Man: Brother, we all on the clock in one way or the other, you know? Sometimes in more ways than one. If you’re talking about this clock right here– this is for me. The owner over there, Steve and I have an agreement that lunch is on the house if I can finish this baby pig in 45 minutes. Don’t come through town often– only when I need to think, but you have to make the most of opportunities like these, don’t you think?

R; Looks like you’re well ahead of pace.

Man Man: A sense of urgency is always beneficial. But it’s a thin line between being urgent and rushing.

R: Do you think the owner regrets making the time so long, or the pig so small?

Man Man: Ehh. Look around you. It’s emptier than the Omni after I left for The Federation. The pig’s probably been dead for weeks and he’d rather give it to me and hope I spend money on drinks or a dessert and he’s won. Nothing is ever what it seems. That’s why I’m drinking water. 

R: Can we pull on that thread for a moment longer? Things aren’t what they seem?

Man Man: Sure. We’re in Lionel’s Luau, A Hawaiian BBQ joint owned by Steve. Who the hell is Lionel!? I’ll tell you. Lionel is the original owner who died and left the business to his son, Little Lionel. Okay, well then who the fuck is Steve!? I’ll tell you. Steve is the husband of Little Lionel’s ex-wife who got the restaurant in their divorce settlement. Motherfucker ain’t even Hawaiian. I’m 95% sure he’s Samoan acting like he’s someone else. Haven’t seen that one before.

R: I see what you mean. I assume that coming from wrestling, things not being what they seem is kind of the name of the game. Do you have any thoughts on the move some wrestling companies are making to showcase the backstage aspects of the show, all but admitting that there’s some sort of script tied to the product instead of leaving that— illusion up to the fans to sift through?

Man Man: Oh, I hate it. But I understand it. You have to realize that the product has way more eyes on it now than when I was working for them. It was easy to breeze through someone's town and make them believe that you hated the guy across from you in the ring more than anything in the world. I think the way things are set up now though, they leaned in on the reality of it because of all the eyes and I think the focus has shifted from, “They tell me this is real, but that punch didn’t look like it was,” to “I know this is scripted, but she looks really upset at the way she got slammed or, I wonder if he’s really hurt or just faking it.” The first question took 50 plus years for them to come out and answer. Only time will tell how long the second set of questions can live for. Especially in this fast-food society.

R: Which reminds me— congratulations of the 40th anniversary of becoming the first Black man to win the World Title. 

Man Man: Thank you. That stuff doesn’t mean much to me, though. 

R: Come on– with all due respect, it has to. So many people, my father included, said the moment changed their lives, made them believe they could be at the top. The president quoted you in the inaugural address

Man Man: I admit that was pretty cool. But I don’t feel like I made the strides I wanted to for other Black people in the industry, especially since things went downhill after I won. It’s funny to me now because that weight, that responsibility, I denied for a long time. And when I was finally ready to acknowledge it—it wasup in smoke.

R: Did you see that Eddie K has a title shot next month. What do you think of him?

Man Man: I think he’s a fine wrestler. Solid on the microphone, from what I’ve seen. I live in the country now, so I don’t have cable or anything fancy like that, so I can only catch what I can when I’m in town like here. But I don’t think he’ll win. If he does, it’ll be one of those historic moments that will bring eyes to the company. So that option is never off the table. But how long do moments last? They won’t give him any interesting storylines or opponents worth their weight. Most of the good Black wrestlers ain’t with the Federation, so as long as he’s there, he’s just like me. A nigga in a suit with his titties out. 

R: Do you feel like the moment doesn’t matter because you still hold resentment toward The Federation? 

Man Man: I don’t deny that I resent them, but I believe the moment doesn’t matter because there’s a generation of kids who have no idea who I am because my history belongs in the hands of a place that stopped acknowledging me the moment I walked away.

R: This seems like a perfect segue. What’s the story with your falling out with the Federation as you remember it?

Man Man: You see, when I first started wrestling, the only role there really was for a Black man was as Nada Noir. You see, he was this masked luchador-type wrestler that was Senior’s brainchild. His idea was to fill a heel spot on his roster with this Black supervillain that he could replace whenever he wanted, city to city. When things moved to television, he wanted consistency, so he decided that he would finally settle on one wrestler playing him all the time. There was an open call. “Looking for Black Men, roughly 6’0 feet tall, 180 pounds.” Average Joe. I had made a little traction on my own working the smaller, Southern wrestling circuits, and had saved enough money to make the audition all the way up in New York City. Took a 30 hour bus ride. Of course, no one told us what we’d have to do or what the audition was for, nothing but the fact that Senior was hosting. It ended up being 9 of us there. It was less of an audition and more of a ritual. 

R: What were some of the things this audition/ritual consisted of?

Man Man: Of course, there was violence. Both self-inflicted and against one another. I know you want to get this thing to print, and I’m not trying to bring up any old skeletons. At least not on the record. But there was this sex doll there that– let’s just say I was thankful that I showed up before anyone else, and was first for every challenge.

R: So, is this how you broke into the industry?

Man Man: In a way. I lost the challenge, but was in the final two. I guess I impressed Lambert so much that he decided to keep me around. I think he knew that I was the only person out of the group who could walk away and still bring in some money for a company. And he was right. So, he wanted me to bring in money for his company. I was at the right place at the right moment in history, it seemed. 

R: What do you remember about the night that you left the company?

Man Man: Well, I remember I was going up against Hogan, and I was supposed to win, clean. It was a September. Very rainy for a September. George, who played Nada got in a car crash that afternoon on the way to the venue and was in critical condition. I was at the hospital all day with him. Senior didn’t come by once, only called because he was looking for me. The nurse handed me the phone, and he was pissed at me because I wasn’t at any of the rehearsals. “Don’t you know I can send you back where you came from?” Could hear Hogan’s ass breathing in the background. You know he stole my whole shit right? I was Man Man, double M, way before he was double H. 

R: I did not.

Man Man: I got a ton of lore for you. More than you probably have time for. Anyways, I just knew when I got to the show, plans would be changed and I’d be dropping the title not a week after I had won it. I told him I was on the way, and before he hung up, he told me to check George’s bag for the mask and that he needed me to run double duty that night. My only friend in the industry was about to die and I had to go out there as him and as myself and for everyone who looked like us and loved to watch their wrestling on TV and see us. Maybe the weight was too much. But I stayed with George that night til he passed. Dropped the title off at the arena and I didn’t look back. 

R: Do you regret leaving?

Man Man: The only regret I have is that I didn’t show up and ruin the show live and in color. 

R: I must hear how you planned to do that.

Man Man: Now, we’d need a second interview for that one, brother. I guess it’s good I didn’t. But I wish I did. That’s my true opinion. But the whole situation just taught me that you’re never really free until you can break the chains of what’s holding you back. It took me a really long road to realize that, and I’ve been happier ever since.

R: Safe to say that the best days are ahead of Man Man?

Man Man: Every day with breath in your lungs has the chance to be the best one, young brother. Don’t you forget that.

R: Do you still get in the ring?

Man Man: Of course. I’m a trainer now. I train the folks in my neighborhood and teach them the ins and outs. I make champions. 

R: Are there any matches or places where we could see them in action that you’d like to name drop?

Man Man: I don’t think we want eyes on us just yet. It’s more peaceful the way it is right now, but maybe some other time. You’d be the first one I call, though.

R: I’ll be waiting by the phone. 

Please note that all characters are purely fictional, in spite of any coincidences.