It may look like the small paperback book on my bedroom floor was dropped accidentally, but it wasn’t. I put it there. I noticed my cat clawing at a loose loop in the carpet, so I covered the spot with the book. I’ll eventually repair the hole, I promise, but for now the book is a loyal sentry and protector. It’s been there for about three years. Thanks, Wildman!
Wildman Walker’s autobiography, creatively titled, Wild Man: The Book, tells the story of Cincinnati’s most (choose one) unforgettable/forgettable/inspiring/uninspiring/entertaining/embarrassing sportscaster of all time. It chronicles his many escapades at WEBN-FM during that radio station’s golden era, a time period that also included me. I jumped out of the way every afternoon for his on-air sports roundups. Wildman Walker (Dennis, in case you were wondering) remains our city’s ultimate poster child for bottomless sports passion. Despite the paradox of my close-to-zero interest in sports versus his beyond-infinity love of sports, we’re almost friends.
Cincinnati is currently living through another anniversary of Wildman’s famous Unexcellent Adventure, when he climbed atop a downtown billboard and swore to stay up there until the Cincinnati Bengals won their first game of the 1991 season. It was a cute promotional stunt that would last three weeks, tops. Spoiler alert: The Bengals lost eight games in a row, and Wildman spent more than two months imprisoned on the roof of a four-story building facing the Gilbert Avenue off-ramp at Eighth and Broadway. His deep faith in Bengals coach Sam Wyche and quarterback Boomer Esiason became shakier by the week, especially the bye week. Wildman’s book gets a few minor details of his story wrong (like putting the billboard at Sixth and Main), but it also leaves out some very, very important things. Me, for instance.
I went to visit WEBN’S sports commando (his official title) just once, climbing up through the 4-foot-square hole to the building roof. His large tent was lavishly decorated in Martha Stewart Man-Cave splendor: mattress, comfy chair, small fridge, two small tables, lamps, cushions, porta-potty, and a TV/VCR. (I didn’t ask whether the porn tapes were donated or from his home collection.) Also on hand was a long rope tied to a large bucket, which could be lowered on a pulley for hoisting up meals and beverages. This probably reminds you of the 1991 movie Silence of the Lambs, because Wildman and his rope resembled that film’s deranged kidnapper: It places the six-pack of Bud in the bucket.
By the time I came to see him during the third week, Wildman was enjoying HGTV-like billboard living. Local businesses were delivering all kinds of free merchandise and consumables in exchange for his on-air thanks. The comfy chair was now a Barcalounger. Mealtimes had upgraded from McDonald’s to Morton’s. A treadmill and pinball machine somehow made it up there. And so many visitors! Wildman held court with players from the Bengals and the Reds, got a private concert from a local band, welcomed other local celebrities, and our mayor even awarded him a Key to the City.
Visitors were especially plentiful for Bengals games, surrounding Wildman with lots of company to offer condolences when the team lost. And lost. And lost. And lost.
On the day of my visit, I tried to convince Wildman that he should start singing some song parodies I’d written about his predicament, even though it would require him to perform during his precious off-air nap time. He would sing at the billboard while I was back at WEBN recording him in sync with an instrumental track—a theoretical remote connection that I wasn’t completely sure would work. Wildman was already regretting being a guinea pig for a radio stunt and wasn’t crazy about signing up for another one, but he agreed.
As it turned out, I was the one with regrets. Recording was hell. Remember, this was 1991 and the technology was Stone Age. I wrote the lyrics on a typewriter! I phoned Wildman’s landline! He got the lyrics on his fax machine! I’m having nervous flashbacks right now of Vanilla Ice!
Wildman sang into his microphone while listening in one ear to the instrumental track squawking through the landline as I tried to avoid an audio feedback loop on the rolling reel of tape. (Tape! Flashbacks of MC Hammer!) Sometimes he had to stop singing when a heavy truck drove past or a plane flew overhead. It took endless takes and lots of manual editing. (Splicing tape! Razor blades! I’m hearing Taylor Dayne!) You’ll find a link below of the parodies, and you’ll hear his, um, unique singing voice deteriorate as the weeks and game losses mounted.
By late October, the nights were getting colder and the Bengals were sinking lower. Wildman was starting to crack. And then some external issues began piling on. The billboard itself, sporting a giant WEBN logo, had been booked months earlier to change on November 1 for a TV station’s November sweeps campaign—the kind of ad you can’t delay. Since this whole thing had become too big to back off now, our corporate bosses stepped in and paid the TV station to put an equivalent billboard elsewhere. But then an even worse problem crept up: The city’s hot new hockey team, the Cincinnati Cyclones, had a sold-out opening game just days away, and their official P.A. announcer was—wait for it—Wildman Walker. Would he leave the billboard for this important gig? Break his promise and betray his Bengals? After all that sacrifice, all that anguish, all that porn?
Let’s not forget that the entire purpose of this crazy billboard promotion was, well, promotion. Buzz. Publicity. Therefore, it was a glorious night when WEBN Sports Commando Wildman Walker came down from the billboard, stepped into a limousine, got driven directly to center ice at Cincinnati Gardens, and stepped out to the screaming cheers of thousands like a red-carpet diva at the Oscars. It was thrilling. Moving. Magnificent. The Cyclones lost. Two days later, so did the Bengals. Again.
Sure, it had been all laughs back in September. Sure, the international media attention was a great sugar high, but after that eighth loss, the attention—like the weather—frosted over. There was no new Wildman coverage in the week that followed. Yeah, the Bengals lost again, but, hey, the Minnesota Twins won the World Series! And did you hear: Somebody stole 48,000 videocassettes of Walt Disney’s Fantasia that were destined for Cincinnati Blockbuster stores! Wildman who?
Finally—and by “finally” I mean in the final seven seconds—the Bengals blocked a Cleveland Browns field goal and won their first game of the season. It was November 3, and the overnight low was going to be 18 degrees. If those seven seconds had gone the other way, who’s to say what tragedy might have occurred. Wildman, shivering, could have acted out one of his song parodies: Might as well jump! Here, without further ado, is the link to hear all of those parodies:
So much has changed since the Great Billboard Squat of 1991. The Bengals, after spending the next decades hemorrhaging talent and fans, eventually found their mojo and are once again Cincinnati’s beloved football team. WEBN also spent the next decades hemorrhaging talent and fans, but like most radio stations, their mojo remains in the wilderness. There are no more promotional stunts that get press coverage as far away as Australia and no more ratings that dominate Cincinnati radio.
And today’s Wildman Walker? He remains unchanged, steady, and strong. He’s working on a sequel to his book, which I’m sure will get the billboard’s location right this time and might even get around to mentioning me and the song parodies. Then again, it might not, especially when Wildman sees that I wrote this entire column without once mentioning Pete Rose.
I hope Wildman’s sequel at least shares more emotions of his descending that billboard for the last time and kissing the ground like a hostage returning from Russia. I wasn’t there, so I can neither confirm nor deny that the WEBN Sports Commando was lowered via the pulley and the bucket. But I’m delighted to spread the rumor.
Facebook Comments