How Did Rudiak Win? Voters In A Little Hamlet Called Carrick

Natalia Rudiak, 29, of Carrick, has received without question, the most fortiutous political victory in the city of Pittsburgh since at least Harry Readshaw's loss for city council in the early 1990's.

Readshaw, a Democrat with the fiscal conservative nature befitting the small businessman he continues to be, became one of the most well-respected members of the Pennsylvania Legislature, while City Council District 4 has been a non-stop revolving door of Cusicks, Divens and Motzniks.

How did she do it?

Because of voters in Carrick, one of the city's least recognized neighborhoods, and home to former Steeler running back Najeh Davenport, who comically had his warming-up 1970 Chevy Impala stolen from in front of his house.

Power brokers in the city's other “big neighborhoods” in the District, Brookline and Beechview, normally wage political war with their own annointed sons. This year it was “old hat” Anthony Coghill and “newbie” Patrick Reilly. A fourth guy—Richard Weaver—couldn't inspire 100 voters to push the button next to his name.

Yes, everyone involved are Democrats. Former Republican Governor Tom Ridge carried a couple of districts a few years ago in the area, but otherwise, the vast majority of voters there are blind to a two-party system.

In this corner, Coghill, a part-time roofer/part-time state Senator Wayne Fontana staffer, took on Patrick Reilly, a Wagner family disciple who also had the backing of Pittsburgh Mayor Luke Ravenstahl and Allegheny County Chief Executive Dan Onorato.

Those cliques have manhandled the 4th District forever; however, the often-forgotten Carrick neighborhood fielded an attractive, talented homegrown girl who obviously benefitted from the never-ending political infighting. Normally, Carrick would field a candidate who wasn't an attractive choice, couldn't raise money, or both. Until recently, those voters had to wait for scraps from the Wagner and Fontana camps.

It's widely believed that voters in Carrick saved former councilman Jim Motznik's hide when Coghill nearly beat him a handful of years ago. That race was an unexpected barn-burner, as Motznik was reeling from a minor controversy (he fled a television news cameraman and reporter as if the world was on fire). Motznik ultimately gave up the seat so he could run for District Justice (voters overwhelmingly gave him that job despite the fact the video showing him run like a Benny Hill day player is still available online).

Natalia Rudiak has stepped up her community profile in recent years and has established herself as a legitimate neighborhood activist (not in the ACORN “fraud” category, dear friends. The battlers of the status quo...I used to be one once upon a time).

Reports also indicated that city councilman Bill Peduto, the city's true lone revolutionist with a heart of gold, was helpful in getting Rudiak a decent war chest. Peduto should be mayor of Pittsburgh, but isn't related to the backroom deal-makers, so his road has been tough. His endorsement of Rudiak is enough for me.

Congratulations Natalia Rudiak on the most shocking win in local politics since Bob Cranmer beat Coleen Vuono for the third County Commissioner seat.

That win wrecked the entire system.

That whole governing body was thrown out as a result of that disasterous turn of events. (Long story short: Republicans won the majority for the first time in forever and didn't know what to do with the power. Everyone involved in that improbable election watched as their political lifes imploded in front of their eyes, Democrat and Republican.)

Something tells me that Rudiak, with Peduto and a couple of other potential “movers and shakers,” could be good for my former haunt. She absolutely, positively couldn't do worse...unless another job opens up in the next few years...then it's back to square one all over again.

An Open Letter to Virgil (And Other Payday Meddlers, To Boot)

by Trapper Tom, Indy Wrestling Personality

Let me preface my remarks by saying that none of us has worked Andre the Giant, Ted Dibiase and the Heartbreak Kid Shawn Michaels. We’ve never held the Million Dollar Belt or lagged behind a leather-jacket-clad Eric Bischoff and a rag-tag menagerie of New World Order cast-offs, either.
You’ve been to “The Show” and we haven’t.
However, there might not be a more fortuitous “D-List” career in the history of sports entertainment. Sorry to say that while you’ve enjoyed an interesting, inauspicious 23 years in the biz, the Hall of Fame push isn’t coming.
Stop pricing yourself out of work and “give back” to the industry.
How that “out of the blue” pairing with Dibiase all those years ago parlayed itself into a lengthy career is quite metaphorically “anyone’s guess.”
In the Million Dollar Man’s first memoir, which was so bland that it spawned a second that no one read, you may not have even been mentioned at all.
When your character finally went rogue after years of degrading servitude and rebelled against Dibiase, the action spawned yawns.
When Hulk Hogan called you to join WCW and the NWO, it’s been well documented that the conversation took place because Bischoff and the boys were over-spending Ted Turner’s money on anyone and everyone ever associated with Vince McMahon’s WWF.
In actuality, you are Mike Jones, an athletically-gifted collegiate wrestler from the near outskirts of Pittsburgh. The wrestling name given to you—Virgil—was meant as a rub against Virgil Runnels. When you arrived in NWO land, copy write infringement forced a change to Vincent—another not-so-subtle jab aimed at Vincent Kennedy McMahon. Vince must have been so amused by the honor that he’s never brought you back in any capacity, despite the fact that most “name” members of the NWO have since been used in some capacity. It appears that you and Horace Hogan remain on the sidelines together.
In fact—and interestingly enough—the real-life Virgil collects a check from the real-life Vincent to this very day.
Meanwhile, Curly Joe hocks his wares anywhere he can.
All that being noted and declared, your situation remains an enigma. You’re generous with your time with workers and fans alike. You are friendly without forcing it. Your stories are entertaining, albeit they all end with information regarding what a guy takes home in his wallet.
Pittsburgh relishes professional wrestling like few other regions in the country. Had the brains behind Studio Wrestling had the foresight to not tape-over each and every episode of the beloved spectacle, someone would have scored a nice honorarium.
In some circles, Bruno Sammartino ranks second only to Jesus Christ in terms of heroics. Jesus could sell out The Garden more than anyone, if only he tried. Bruno is held, by some, in higher regard than Terry Bradshaw, Mario Lemieux and Roberto Clemente.
Lots of people need to be reminded that Virgil still lives here.
There’s an infamous autograph convention picture of Virgil sitting alone at a table, his gimmick printed behind him. The rest of the convention hall is empty, as if abandoned. The image is that of a solitary figure sitting at a table with nary a soul in the vast hall. The pic exhibiting widespread apathy for the guy, who wore his black NWO t-shirt everywhere he went until just recently, has been circulated as a joke. He was one of the last “official” members in 1999.
Truth be told, you show up early. You show up way earlier than most “names.” Chances are you opened that exhibition center with the janitorial crew, in hopes of chatting your way into a $15 headshot sale.
Virgil, in the arena, your excitement and enthusiasm is palatable. You’ve climbed into the ring with a green rookie and shared tips on throwing punches and running the ropes. The next “legend”—and that term is thrown around WAAAAY too loosely—who hooks a collar-and-elbow tie-up with a rookie two hours before an event might well be the first.
But it does come at a cost. All of your road stories are punctuated with dollar signs instead of exclamation points. In today’s era of economic hardships (auto companies are getting pinned to the matt), there isn’t a wrestling fan alive that wants to know what Honkey Tonk Man was paid in Middle America.
Practically no one outside of Vince or Dixie Carter’s employ makes a living at our craft these days. For most, wrestling is a terrific diversion from the mundane, every day toil that otherwise defines our existence.
Myths regarding finances of fable are gone. Only an egomaniacal lunatic would pay $750 for a 10-minute dance with anyone who cannot draw fannies into seats.
Only a moron would toss $500, $400, or $300 at someone whose mere presence cannot or will not pay for itself.
There’s a scene early in “The Wrestler” in which Randy “The Ram” is handed a slightly-less-than-expected wad of cash. “I thought the draw would be bigger” is the paraphrased answer given by Frank from 30 Rock.
Selling tickets is the name of the game. “Virgil” didn’t sell tickets in the day, nor does that brand mean gold at the box office now. Perhaps that’s why Virgil isn’t prominently displayed in any of the 8x10’s you sell at various venues. In one pic, Virgil is just a little more than a shadowy figure two steps behind Dennis Rodman or some other schlub in a bizarro NWO.
It says something that Virgil doesn’t sell tickets in his home town. There weren’t any Virgil sightings behind the scenes at the latest Smackdown taping.
My only advice, albeit it’s from someone who sometimes feels guilty about collecting a few shekels for being involved in the world’s greatest entertainment venture, is to cease and desist with the money talk. And maybe tone down the cascade of vulgarities.
Perhaps it’s time to “give back” to the wrestling community and its fans with some matches, regardless of the bottom line. How about $200 and $2 for every scalp that walks through the doors. Take the deal. You’ll be on shows in no time. At 48 and in apparently decent shape, you’re in far better straights than Randy “The Ram.”
All you have to do is ask yourself it’s in about the business, or the buck.