“I was like ‘O.K., Dallas, O.K.,’ ” Roberts says. Over the phone, Page suggested that Roberts give yoga a try, too. Hall of Famer, said that Page’s yoga had done nothing less than help him “reclaim my life.” At least 40 current W.W.E. He had already helped Shawn Michaels, a three-time world champion and one-half of the ’80s tag team the Rockers, use D.D.P. Page, who once wrestled in a purple vest and sported a long greasy mullet, now wore his hair closely shorn and traveled the country promoting what he called D.D.P. He successfully used his own form of yoga, which he combined with more traditional strength-building exercises and calisthenics, to repair his injured spine and return to the sport an unlikely champion at 43. Page had become an oddity even among wrestlers. Two years ago, Roberts received an unlikely phone call from Diamond Dallas Page, one of his best friends from the circuit. Jake (the Snake) Roberts with Page in 1993, before yoga. His use of pills, alcohol and cocaine, once recreational, turned into feverish addictions. But Roberts was miserable in retirement he missed traveling the circuit with his buddies and performing in front of tens of thousands of fans. After his career petered out in the late ’90s, he performed sporadically at events in Europe until he hung up his snakeskin boots for good in 2011, at 55. But like many of his contemporaries, he had a difficult time walking away from the limelight. Roberts was a first-rate entertainer and, despite the scripted nature of his sport, a gifted technical wrestler. “You don’t play around with people like me,” he was fond of saying, “because people like me don’t play.” Roberts would then place Damien atop his stunned foe’s chest, his face contorted in a menacing taunt.
His signature move was the ghastly DDT, which required him to grab his opponent into a front face lock and then fall backward, driving the victim’s head into the mat or the arena’s concrete floor. During his prime, from the mid-’80s to early ’90s, Roberts, a lithesome 6-foot-5, was often joined in the ring by Damien, his pet Burmese python, which he carried in a canvas sack. This year’s gathering was devoted, in part, to the induction of Jake (the Snake) Roberts. A deafening “hoooe!” greeted (Hacksaw) Jim Duggan (Nature Boy) Ric Flair earned a high-pitched “woooo!” Hulk Hogan, who arrived in a black suit, black bandanna and yellow wraparound shades, sent hundreds of so-called Hulkamaniacs into a fit of rapture. Now they wore fake championship belts and chanted ecstatically as retired stars strutted by in big ‘n’ tall tuxedos and sequined gowns. Throughout the preceding week, these fans traipsed up and down Bourbon Street until 2 a.m., screaming the names of their favorite wrestlers into the night. Instead, once a year, W.W.E.’s former stars relive their glory together, on a stage, face to face with thousands of their most fervent admirers.
The world’s most popular fake-sport organization, World Wrestling Entertainment doesn’t maintain a brick-and-mortar Hall of Fame - no bronze plaques to commemorate its greats (the Ultimate Warrior, Superfly Jimmy Snuka), no interactive widgets to teach young fans storied techniques (“the camel clutch,” “the piledriver”).
Ddp yoga before after professional#
A horde of screaming middle-aged wrestling fans gathered one Saturday evening in April at the Smoothie King Center in New Orleans to celebrate professional wrestling’s Hall of Fame induction ceremony.
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