Popitekus vs Super Muneco

1989. I was twenty seven, but going through a definite premature second childhood. I rediscovered Lucha Libre full throttle when our antiquated “Jones Intercable” finally added Galavision to our cable line-up, and I could watch the Friday night Arena Mexico or Arena Coliseo show on Sunday afternoon. On top of that, Fizzy, Pat Hoed, Greg Regalado, Steve Gerber and I began making monthly Friday night treks to Auditorio de Tijuana in my beat up old-Oldsmobile station wagon. We had been thorough Negro Casas marks for several years, and were now becoming ecstatic fans for cats like Javier Cruz, Atlantis, Pirata Morgan, El Dandy, Yoshihiro Asai, and Felino. Add to the mix that had just gotten acquainted with Konnan, who was in his Tijuana rookie years, a guy who was studying the intricacies of his new profession with the fervor of a grad student.

We dug the above-mentioned luchadores for things like smooth technical wizardry, keen rudo and tecnico sense, and bitchin’ motherfucking topes.

Yet I remember clearly remember when the four of us were chugging the Olds to the even older San Bernardino Arena on a hot Sunday afternoon to check out Red Bastien’s WIN Lucha Libre TV tapings. On the drive there, we chatted about recent lucha shows we saw on Galavision, about the coolness of folks like Jerry Estrada and Satanico, our standard fare.

And then we touched upon another wrestler we liked, and we experienced something stronger than nodding approval; this was more like a symbiotic electric high-five upon the mention of a tecnico called Popitekus.

I have no recollection who brought up the name Popitekus that day, but we immediately agreed that he ranked high on the cool factor.We raved about this dark Coppertone heavyweight who looked like a hybrid of Teddy Ruxpin and Gigantor The Space-Age Robot. Yes, Popitekus stood out in the crowd.

To put things in perspective, we were marks at that time for five-star matches. We put way too much emphasis on the pro wrestling star-ometer. Popitekus was a good worker, but by no means a five-star match wrestler.

Yet the more we talked in the car, we realized that we were unapologetic Popitekus fans. What did we like about Popi? This behemoth tecnico with dark brooding eyes contradicted by a childlike smile, which naturally lent him that “Idolos de Los Niños” aura, ultra-emphasized when Dr. Alfonso Morales would shout “Supeerrrrrrrr Popiiiiiii!” during the televised action.

Popitekus Is All The Rage Between Falls!

Popitekus dwarfed his rudo foes, who would often sell the size difference with a wince before locking up with. Yes, Popitekus probably could have gotten away with doing “big man” spots… but he worked lucha style, from the first Látigo-start highspot to the six-man tag team topé finale. He took the backdrops and dove out of the ring.

Hard as he worked, Popitekus was not a natural five-star wrestler. We were five-star wrestling fans. Yet I found that I was digging Popitekus more than most flawless five-star high-throttle wrestlers who gave us high-throttle five-star matches.

The more we saw Popi, the more he achieved cult-fan status for us.

What was it about Popitekus? For me, Popitekus was fun. Popitekus was enthusiasm. Popitekus stood out even in a Lucha Libre zone. Popitekus was one of several figures that reminded me that the pursuit of lengthy, perfectly executed wrestling matches was not the reason I became enamored with pro wrestling when I was a kid. Fun lured me into the madhouse of wrestling fandom: Freddie Blassie biting his foe, John Tolos drooling during interviews, wrestling hippies, dynamic heros battling vile heels.

Don’t get me wrong. I still appreciate five-star matches. But I dig the fun aspect with greater intensity, be it kitschy camp or old-school histrionics.

As we approached San Bernardino on that Popi-bonding day, Pat cried “Supeeerrrrrrr Popiiiiiii!” in perfect Dr. Alfonso pitch, and that became our battle cry every time we hit any wrestling event. Every one of us tried to belt out our own rendition, but only Pat Hoed (who later became commentator extraordinaire Larry Rivera) could do it justice.

Another Haircut For Popitekus! You Rocked, Super Popi!

I saw Popitekus live only once, and I could not have seen him on a better night: 1991 in Tijuana in a hair vs mask vs Super Muñeco (another wrestler who taught me that a wrestler dressed as a puppet is way more bitchin’ than a wrestler with a collegiate appearance)

Did I say Popitekus wasn’t a five-star wrestler? On that evening he and Super Muñeco delivered a five-star bloodbath. The match couldn’t have started more beautifully: Super Muñeco in the center of the ring, holding a huge bag of candy… children hitting the ring, all over Muñeco like ants at a picnic. I’m telling you— there were so many kids in the ring, you could hardly even see Super Muñeco.

And then the loud screams of children broke out! They scattered and jumped out of the ring fast as they could, because the new rudo version of Popitekus hit the ring and trashed Super Muñeco smack in the middle of his candy fest! Popi trashed Muñeco, who juiced big-time (there is something truly eerie about a masked puppet bleeding), and a sweet slobber-knocker of a stip match began. This was a sweet violent brawl sprinkled with planchas, topes, and chairshots. The heat was beautiful, amped up when Popitekus bled along with his foe.

As in all of his career stipulation matches -save for one- Popitekus lost the final fall and his hair. After the show, Fizzy and I made no pretensions of being cool that night— we were not leaving the arena until we got our pictures taken with Popitekus!

We caught him as he walked down that huge tube-like exit at the Auditorio. After we obtained our photo op, a man carrying his little daughter in his arms walked up to Popitekus. Popi had a bandage around his head, and had behaved like a bad-ass son-of-a-bitch earlier that evening. But the father told her “See? That’s Super Popi, the guy you liked on TV!” She obviously remembered the tecnico version of Popitekus, and looked a little apprehensive. She mellowed once Super Popi gave her the sweet tecnico treatment, and both dad and daughter left looking happy.

A few years later, Popitekus joined El Verdugo and Hombre Bala to form a trio called “Los Cavernicolas.” They were decked out in thorough caveman gear and face paint. They were a hit, though I feel Popitekus’ charisma shone more effectively sans the new look. Popitekus was cool simply as Popitekus! But what the hell… as long as somebody enjoyed watching “Los Cavernicolas,” I won’t knock it! It’s all about having fun.

This past Monday, July 12, Hilario Vargas Ruiz —Popitekus— fell victim to thrombosis, brought on by diabetes. He passed away, and was laid to rest the following day. He was fifty three years old. In his obituary on Popitekus, D.R. Luch Steve Sims eulogized “And this death has actually brought a greater outpouring of sad memories and sighs than did the death of Scorpio Sr, at least at the various places I visit. It seems Popitekus made a great impression among many who followed wrestling in the 1980s and 1990s as the lovable big guy.”

You left a great impression on me, Popitekus. You will always have a fan in me.

As Steve Sims concluded wonderfully in an e-mail he sent me: “Oh, to just hear one more time, Dr. Morales from 1989 going “¡Super Super Super Super POOOOOOPI!” for the tope suicida!