Where Have the Costumed Crusaders Gone?

An Article Appearing at SavageScience.Com
by Staff Writer, Mike Wilkerson

I can remember the first time that I saw a guy in a cape. It wasn't Superman, it wasn't Batman. It wasn't even Darth Vader, the one who kept me awake at night in the darkness of my bedroom, waiting the next rise and fall of that distinctive, unforgettable respirator (insert ominous-darth-vader.wav).

It was Evel Knievel - the true daredevil that first caught my eye on television, his short but original white blue and red pinstriped cape flapping in the wind, a glint of recently-waxed white enamel making me squint to see the proverbial true-superhero who often rode (and broke his ass regularly) a motorized white stallion carrying him over hill and dale, semitrucks and more. What it makes me also remember is a different time inside the fighting game/wrestling arenas where costumes were not just an accessory for fighters - they were the draw of fights, along with wild, daunting personalities that were not just a face or attitude, but a stamp that each would try to grind into their opponents forehead.

So where have all the Costumed Crusaders of the ring gone? Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) offers us a variety of now tattooed heroes both male and female who wear striking, logo-rich clothing, but do we have any that use that "costumed touch" to their advantage or to rile the fans?

Here in the states we're often treated to the likes of Jason Miller - who oozes crazy, daunting, and BIG, thanks to the addition of an occasional cape, gold sequins, monstrous bling and piñata- decapitation galore. We marvel at fighters like the Dutch Melvin Manhoef overseas, who strides towards the ring, towing his "handlers" behind him via a gargantuan, spiked dog collar and train that could pull a locomotive - his pseudo-gladiator tunic-shorts bouncing as if to invite doom to his opponents. We see all manner and size of fighters from the new, growing list of diminutive 145 & 155ers, to the monsters like new wrestling-realm transplant, Brock Lesner, who when he appears on screen looks like a full male playmate spread shoveled into the confines of a microscopic picture frame. We see wild-haired, disgustingly satisfying skill sets from the likes of Uriah Faber and Clay Guida, who seemingly collect strength and testosterone from their wavy, anarchy-ridden locks as the take on their most recent rag doll, but truly gone are the days of yesteryear when a cape, a giant ridiculous hat, a feathered robe or would grace our eyes, intimidate the meek, and somehow help that fighter put the psychological beat-down on their opponent.

So I ask again, where have all the Costumed Crusaders gone? Will we ever seen the bristled uniforms of what was a galactic power of the Soviet Union preside over the Octagon? Perhaps the always-starched brim of a drill sergeant's cap poking a soon-to-fall opponent's forehead in brazen defiance? Tell us what you think here at The Savage Science and also remember to tell us about your memories of your favorite dashing, dolled-up ring heroes of days gone by.