Pro wrestling is filled with heroes and villains. It’s the way it’s always been. And, usually, at some point, the hero beats the villain and all is well in the world.
In recent years, that line is a little more skewed. Good guys get booed. Bad guys are cheered. There are “tweener” guys who act all bad ass and cheat or whatever, but still get cheered.
For the most part, I’ve been a fan of the good guys. I don’t mind the tweener folks and, sometimes, I enjoy cheering for the bad guy. But I usually go with the normal view of pro wrestling and cheer the good guys.
I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll say it again — when I watch wrestling, I want a little believability for a few hours. I know it’s a show and I’m fine with that. But I want to be entertained and I want to believe. Make me cheer for you or make me boo you. That’s your job. The Internet has made it harder because you have groups who always go against the norm. And that’s fine.
Alas, I need to go back in time.
It was in the mid-80s and it was a Sunday night. The (then) WWF was holding Wrestlemania — I think the second one, but this was before the days of pay-per-view. You had to go watch it in other places. I wasn’t getting to do that as I was still a wee lad and was home. The WWF was on that night on some network with an old taped show.
On that show were the Rougeau Brothers — Jacques and Raymond. At the time, they were good guys. I started liking them. Eventually, they turned heel. Bad guys. Those crazy Quebecois wrestlers! What did they know? Alas, for some reason, I stayed liking them. They were arrogant, but funny.
I still consider them one of my favorite tag teams of all time.
They started doing a gimmick where they basically threw aside Canada as their home and adopted Memphis and became the “All-American Boys.” They still wore colors somewhat connected to Quebec (well, the light blue anyway) and their outfits had some fleur-de-lis on them, but they carried small American flags and handed them out.
At a show one time, I actually received one. I still have it. When they were still good guys, they were in my town for a small show and I got Ray Rougeau’s autograph. Jacques wasn’t signing, unfortunately. A few years later, when Ray was working in the front office, the WWF came to my town again. I had the chance to chat with Ray for a good 30 minutes. It was truly a great conversation.
But I digress…
They also had a catchy theme song, too. Have a listen in the video below:
For years, I’ve been a bit compulsive about this theme. First, it was just to get it and have it. The theme never appeared on any of the WWE theme CDs, so it wasn’t until the age of YouTube that I actually ever found it. Then, from there I needed to know the lyrics.
Think about this for a moment — the Rougeaus probably had this theme hit somewhere in the late 80s and ran for a bit. I never knew the French part of the lyrics (outside of the Parlez-vous Français).
So I constantly searched.
I asked some French-speaking friends. They never came through for me. Even after taking French in college, I had no clue.
My quest was simple. Find out what the hell they were singing. You could say I was searching a bit compulsively.
Finally, I’ve cracked the code.
You see, I decided to go to Nicky. I figure if she’s going to put us through hell with this writing challenge and with some of these nutty themes, she owes me, right?
So I sent her the link to the video asking her to listen to this catchy tune (apparently, she didn’t agree that it was catchy), but she did pull off what I have been searching for — the lyrics!
The French part says:
On peut pas les sentir, dans le monde ils sont les pires, on aime les faire fâcher, ‘cause I mean we love the USA!
Translated, they are saying:
We can’t stand them, they’re the worst in the world, we like to piss them off, ‘cause I mean we love the USA!
Basically, though they are trying to act all USA like and like they are “good guys,” they were spitting in the face and mocking the American fans. Talk about being bad guys. They were fully booed and it was awesome.
Truly a great heel team.
So the quest to find out what was said is over. No longer do I need to be compulsive about this. It’s over. One of the great mysteries of my childhood is now solved.
We’re All-American boys!
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