The BBC has recently resurrected the show Gladiators.
I first became aware of the show in the UK, whilst watching night-time tv in the very late 80’s under its guise of American Gladiators.
I don’t know why it was called “American Gladiators” because that’s where it started and no other country had a version of it. But they like to lay claim to things first for no reason, which is why we have the “American Superbowl” and had the “American Moon” until they lost that case in the Appeals Court – probably?
It was the stand-out show of the night and often the only show worth staying awake for.
It featured regular people with sedentary jobs, who were rightly proud that they were visiting the gym for 3 days a week and thought of themselves in good physical condition, competing against professional gymnasts, NFL players and Olympian powerlifters who visited the gym for 7 days a week and put all their efforts to shame.
The difference in their speed, agility and physical strength would make most of the challenges a non-contest. But it was great entertainment to watch the Davids and Davina’s take on the Goliaths, Turbos, Nitros and Lazers of this other world. Like watching your accountant father on school sports day take on your PE teacher in the adult 100m race and desperately wanting your dad to win but without the embarrassed humiliation of them invariably staggering over the line dead last, 3 days later.
Yes, I had crushes on the Gladiators – Hello to Lace, Ice and Diamond, if you are reading this. I’m sure many people did. The girls looked like supermodels and the guys were like The Dreamboys.
It was seconds of fun, watching adults fight each other on a high podium with giant cotton buds whilst running to your Collins Dictionary to look up the word “pugil.”
That’s your homework. Have it on my desk tomorrow morning.
I’m not sure how realistic Gladiators is. I think real gladiators fought with swords, axes, shields and maybe a mace? I think their battles would still be taking place now if they fought each other with a foam pugil stick.
I’d often think that I could score maximum points in Gauntlet because how hard can it be to run past some people seemingly carrying two small children’s Lilos or a mattress for incontinent people?
I was glad when Britain did its own version of Gladiators in the early 90’s, hosted by John Fashanu and Ulrika Jonsson. Both of whom have played under an England manager.
Wolf was the pantomime villain who seemed to enjoy his work too much but not as much as blond glamour boy, Hunter, who’d often take his work home with him.
And yes, I fancied Jet because every man and woman secretly did.
People remember the contestant Eunice Huthart because she was an all-round powerhouse. She soon became a gladiator herself (Blaze) and then went on to become a stunt woman and have a stellar career in Blockbusters. Winning Employee of the Month for 17 consecutive months.
Whilst I’m glad the show has been resurrected on the BBC, I do have concerns about the pairing of the hosts, Bradley and Barney Walsh. You’d think, as a father and son, they’d have a natural chemistry but in reality, it looks like they’ve been estranged from each other and have only just met, so cringingly awkward is their on-screen presence.
Maybe they’re just constrained by their tightly scripted lines but it doesn’t exude chemistry or warmth to the viewer and I’d rather see John and Ulrika reunited. (Not a football team).
Weirdly, in the current series, you can impress all your friends with the fact that Giant is 6ft 5”, whilst both Apollo and Bionic are 6ft 6”.
It makes you wonder what happened at that editorial meeting and whether they just drew lots for their names? Just why would Giant be called Giant when he’s not the tallest? Maybe they could have named him Tallish but that’s not very intimidating.
I asked my friends to give me a Gladiator name and all they could think of was Bozo and Weirdo. Obviously, I’m going to give them more thinking time.
So, would I sign up to be a contestant on Gladiators?
No because I wouldn’t look good in a vest and pants. I’m not a fan of heights or falling or being thrown around or being hit with giant foam things.
I’d fail to climb a rope, I’d get stuck in the cargo net, fall off a zip wire and stumble from the narrow beam and sprain my ankle.
And, as someone who always clings to the handrail on an escalator for balance, trying to run the wrong way uphill on a travelator would probably be my last failed heroic act on this planet and I’d land in a crumpled heap.
Legend would comb his slick hair and then pick up the mangled wreckage of my body and hurl me into the back of a waiting ambulance causing multiple injuries. And there I’d cower on the floor, my lameness only equalled by the jokes of Bradley and Barney Walsh.
Categories:Dad, Health, School, Sport, Television
Russ Writes 
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