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Jimmy Cinnabon

Would have been champ if at the right weight

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An interesting topic crossed my mind...what wrestler who wasn't champ, would have been champ had he been at the proper weight?

My example - Morgan McIntosh at 184 instead of 197.  McIntosh wrestled up at 197 because Ed Ruth was at 184. He was shorter than Ruth and I think had he been allowed to wrestle 184 (assuming Ruth was not there) he would have won at least 1 title.  He did finish as runner up at 197 when he lost to J'den Cox in the finals.

Any other examples you can think of?

Edited by Jimmy Cinnabon

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6 minutes ago, Jimmy Cinnabon said:

An interesting topic crossed my mind...what wrestler who wasn't champ, would have been champ had he been at the proper weight?

My example - Morgan McIntosh at 184 instead of 197.  McIntosh wrestled up at 197 because Ed Ruth was at 184. He was shorter than Ruth and I think had he been allowed to wrestle 184 (assuming Ruth was not there) he would have won at least 1 title.  He did finish as runner up at 197 when he lost to J'den Cox in the finals.

Any other examples you can think of?

The chair sat in the corner where it had been for over 25 years. The only difference was there was someone actually sitting in it. How long had it been since someone had done that? Ten years or more he imagined. Yet there was no denying the presence in the chair now.

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My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Some times he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical, summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it's breathtaking, I suggest you try it.

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I believe Matt Pell would have won if he’d been able to go 174. He wrestled Askren tougher than anyone else his last two years, took 7th as a sophomore up at 184, then sucked down to 165 as a junior, failed to place, and took 3rd as a senior once his weight management was better. He just couldn’t beat Askren. No shame in that. 

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4 hours ago, Jimmy Cinnabon said:

Austin Desanto at 125?  He did beat Spencer Lee in HS for a title.

He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

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4 hours ago, AHamilton said:

My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Some times he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical, summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it's breathtaking, I suggest you try it.

This must be in the part of your Musical Disney+ left out.  

(Solid AP reference)

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25 minutes ago, MadMardigain said:

This must be in the part of your Musical Disney+ left out.  

(Solid AP reference)

Honestly Dr. Evil and myself are not that different.  I have been referred to as the "evil genius of his country" 

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1 hour ago, Wrestle81 said:

Kevin Jackson moves from Royce Alger, and Troy Steiner staying at 134 instead of bumping for Lincoln Mac

Steiner won it at 142 the year before and dropped to 134. He wrestled 142 and AA’d his first 3 years

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Kind if a rabbit hole one, but IMart could have won out at 157 and be a 4xer had he stayed at 157.

Jason Nolf would have beaten him.

I love Cenzo but Nolf is a better wrestler every day of the week and twice on Sunday.


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1 minute ago, Le duke said:


Jason Nolf would have beaten him.

I love Cenzo but Nolf is a better wrestler every day of the week and twice on Sunday.


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While I do agree, styles make matches.  Since they last met in college IMart has either improved a good amount more or is just plain better at freestyle.

What is their series record since?  If it weren't for one exchange in a 5-7 loss, IMart would be 4-0 since.  Add in that.even with that 5-7 loss IMart has outscored him 38-13, with the last two matches being techs and I don't really see how you justify saying Nolf WOULD beat him.  Could he have?  Yes.

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On 11/22/2021 at 8:18 PM, Le duke said:


Jason Nolf would have beaten him.

I love Cenzo but Nolf is a better wrestler every day of the week and twice on Sunday.


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Lots of evidence since they last met that says otherwise. Imar>Nolf>Cenzo>Imar... styles make matches and rivalries

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On 11/22/2021 at 3:20 PM, AHamilton said:

My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Some times he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical, summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it's breathtaking, I suggest you try it.

This Austin Powers quote reminds me of a short story I once cobbled together from the first words (opening lines) of roughly 35 famous novels (below).   In the age of Twitter and short attention spans, I thought it necessary at the time.   I imagine the fictional character of the narrative could win the now obsolete weight category of "Unlimited" in the college ranks.  He would pin Chris Taylor in the finals with a Soufflé before leaving his shoes on the mat for eternity.

Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby . . .  (James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man)

If you really want to hear about it the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.       (J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye)

Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.   (Charles Dickens, David Copperfield)

All children, except one, grow up.   (J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan)

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.        (Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina)

My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip.     (Charles Dickens, Great Expectations)

In the town, there were two mutes and they were always together.   (Carson McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.  (Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities)

For a long time, I went to bed early.     (Marcel Proust, Swann’s Way)

As awoke from a night of uneasy dreaming, found myself transformed in [my] bed into a gigantic insect.    (Franz Kafka, Metamorphosis)

I am a sick man. I am a spiteful man. I am an unpleasant man. I think my liver hurts.     (Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground)

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.   (George Orwell, 1984)

A screaming comes across the sky.    (Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow)

It was love at first sight.     (Joseph Heller, Catch-22)

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.  (Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita)

[She] had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress.  (George Eliot, Middlemarch)

Most really pretty girls have pretty ugly feet.   (David Foster Wallace, The Broom of the System)

Kidnapping children is never a good idea; all the same, sometimes it has to be done.   (Eva Ibbotson, Island of Aunts)

It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded [me] of the fate of unrequited love.   (Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Love in the Time of Cholera)

Of all the things that drive men to sea, the most common disaster, I’ve come to learn, is women.     (Charles Johnson, Middle Passage)

[But] it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.    (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice)

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. “Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had”  (F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby)

was to be found among the fops and fools of the coffee-houses one rangy, gangling flitch … more ambitious than talented, and yet more talented than prudent, who, like my friends-in-folly, all of whom were supposed to be educating at Oxford or Cambridge, had found the sound of Mother English more fun to game with than her sense to labor over, and so rather than applying [myself] to the pains of scholarship, [have] learned the knack of versifying, and ground out quires of couplets after the fashion of the day, afroth with Joves and Jupiters, aclang with jarring rhymes, and sting-taut with similes stretched to the snapping point. (John Barth, The Sot-Weed Factor)

And when a day that you happen to know is Wednesday starts off by sounding like Sunday, there is something seriously wrong somewhere.    (John Wyndham, The Day of the Triffids)

The sun rose slowly, as if it wasn’t sure it was worth the effort.   (Terry Pratchett, The Light Fantastic)

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.  (Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre)

The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.  (Samuel Beckett, Murphy)

Midway on life’s journey, I found myself in dark woods, the right road lost. (Dante, The Divine Comedy, The Inferno)

Someone must have slandered [me]., for one morning, without having done anything truly wrong, was arrested.   (Franz Kafka, The Trial)

Granted: I am an inmate of a mental hospital; my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of his sight; there’s a peephole in the door, and my keeper’s eye is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue-eyed type like me.    (Gunter Grass, The Tin Drum)

Many years later, as I faced the firing squad, I was to remember that distant afternoon when my father took me to discover ice. (Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude)

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Four shots ripped into my groin and I was off on the greatest adventure of my life!    (Max Shulman, Sleep Till Noon)

This is the saddest story I have ever heard.    (Ford Maddox Ford, The Good Soldier)

[But] a story has no beginning or end; arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead.  (Graham Greene, The End of the Affair)

All this happened, more or less.     (Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five)

 

 

Witness Post: Heavyweights | Henry E. Hooperimage.jpeg.63f2f5b0531bc0943f0debc54870d00c.jpeg

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