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| No one did it better than The Brain. No one. Photo Credit: WWE.com |
It's the reason why people loved him even as they loved to hate him. You make someone want to throw garbage at you, threaten your life, say heinous things about your parents and offspring, and you've got your hooks in them. You live inside their brains, and once you're there, it's hard to be removed from the premises. If you stay there long enough, you can be loved, even if your shtick doesn't change too drastically. The guy whose bloodied image you lapped up to sate your vicarious lust for vengeance will turn rose colored once enough time gets between your desire to see him get put into a meat grinder and the present day. Even if he still makes you boo him with full throat like a drunk Philadelphia fan unloading on a Dallas Cowboy or New York Met, deep down you respect him for the ability and have a special place in your heart for the dedication.
Ability and dedication were two things Heenan never lacked. He was witty to a fault. For better or worse, he wasn't afraid to delve into references that went over people's heads or even cater to the lowest common denominator. It wasn't so much that he had one well to go to, but that he had range. Again, it might not have been the most politically correct, and it's not wrong to call some of the most problematic moments out, but the point is that he always went in, and when he went in, he knew exactly the right place to go. He never stabbed in the dark. He always had the innate sense that the thing he was about to say was going to cut not only his target but that target's fans in ways that would get a rise out of them.
In the '60s through the early '80s, it would be to stoke a bloodlust. When Vince McMahon paired him with Gorilla Monsoon, that true outcome for vicarious vengeance was joined by a second one to make the audience laugh. Granted, being able to make people seethe with rage or split their sides are kindred abilities. One person's joke is another's microaggression. But it's not necessarily that duality of verbal excellence that made Heenan a hallmark, but again, how deep he was able to derrick for the reaction is what made him impressive. He seemed so natural at finding the turn of phrase that would get the biggest rise out of whomever, and while jabronis like myself strain and strain and strain some more to be witty, often failing and only coming up with the best lines with severe l'esprit de l'escalier, he made it look easier than Michael Jordan made making clutch shots. No one should ever compare Heenan to the best in any other field. Those people should be compared to The Brain.
The innate ability he had allowed him to remain dedicated to the act long past the sell-by dates of even some of the best comedians or wrestling talkers. And yet Heenan never stopped quipping as long as he was in the public eye. Even at his Hall of Fame induction, weakened and squeaky-voiced, he was sharp as ever. It was of course for the love and devotion of those listening, but his heyday was a time when he'd orate to present a reason for the characters he antagonized to want blood from him. At a time when not every fan was in on the joke, or if they were, weren't too cool to wear it on their sleeves and instead got immersed in the experience like it was real, that was a proposition that could've threatened his life. And yet, when it seemed like he got those fans angry, he'd double down to get them to the point of apoplexy.
It was that same dedication that made him become the butt of so many jokes when he transitioned from wannabe lawyer palling around with Nick Bockwinkel and the Blackjacks to affable co-star to Gorilla Monsoon. He wasn't just great at throwing the verbal jab, but he could take the physical comedy, whether it be bumping wildly for Ultimate Warrior or Crusher Blackwell, or sight gags like riding into WrestleMania IX on a camel seated backwards or getting his face embedded in a sheet cake. He never half-assed anything. Even while working disinterested in a three-man World Championship Wrestling booth, giving the appearance that he wasn't into it, he was still adding to the commentary, to the narrative, even if Eric Bischoff was in the process of ruining Tony Schiavone as a play-by-play commentator. If you want to disparage Heenan's WCW work, go ahead, but it's discounting a lot of heavy lifting, especially him going full bore into putting Bill Goldberg over. It was uncharacteristic for the chickenshit-loving, sarcastic and conniving Brain to get full bore behind a clean-cut monstrous babyface killer, but he did it, and it only added to Goldberg's mystique.
It's easy for 35-going-on-36 year old TH to wax nostalgic and poetic about a wrestling figure based on his talents in an analytical and critical way. The true mark of a professional was how they would manipulate the feelings of someone not as in the fade, whether it be a fan that is more "IT'S STILL REAL TO ME" about watching it or a young child, say, like 10-going-on-11 year old TH. Yeah, Heenan drove me nuts with his antics, even if by the time I started watching regularly, he was in the twilight of his managerial career. I got the FULL HEENAN experience with Ric Flair in WWE, and it made me not like Flair as a doe-eyed definition of the word mark, but I always enjoyed Heenan on commentary. He resonated with me because he was different. I could overlook supporting the villains, because he gave me something to aspire to in other areas, like crafting a narrative. When we used to wrestle at home, despite all the warnings from WWE not to do just that, and it wasn't my turn to "work," I would commentate the action doing my best Heenan. It wasn't any good; I may have gotten slightly wittier over the years, but man, the well's not even that deep now. But that didn't stop me from trying. My wrestler avatar was always based more after Hulk Hogan or other ubermensch heroes, but Heenan was the model for my critical eye, which after all those years, turned out to be the more accurate predictor.
So that's why this one hits the hardest. It could also be that Heenan never had the lurid stories of malfeasance out of the ring. He didn't bust a union. He didn't physically intimidate his girlfriend at best or throw his life away with booze and womanizing. He didn't bully folks backstage, nor did he defecate on people's belongings for kicks. Most importantly, he was so far above any bar set by the fan-friendliest wrestlers that he was on Mount Everest while everyone else was by the Dead Sea. Stories told about him go above and beyond expectation. It just all seems so unfair that this guy would spend the last 15 years of his life in so much physical pain, robbed of his ability to speak by the end, and die at a far-too-young 73 when others with blacker souls and less to add live longer.
But then again, karmic justice isn't real, or else a whole legion of people alive now would've been stricken in the womb before they could do their evil. Bobby "The Brain" Heenan gave the world 73 years of life that are worthy of song and epic poem. Even if it seemed like he was far removed from life that he might as well have been dead for the last few years, this one still stings pretty hard, much in the same way that when Randy Savage died after nearly a decade avoiding the business that made him famous that it hurt bad. Heenan was that special, and since all of us who remain mourning him have the footage, the memory of his voice and his antics, he will remain special forever. Godspeed and bless, Bobby Heenan. Rest in peace. Rest in power.