Tag: El Grande Gonzales

  • Dream, St Helens, England

    Dream, St Helens, England, United Kingdom

    Wander into the roughest pub in St Helens, amigo, and tell the toughest hombre you find that he has a big, fat head. Go on, padre, do it! You’ll be delighted to discover that, rather than break a pint of Old Speckled Hen over your cabeza, he’ll thank you for your kindness, take you by the hand, and lead you on a whimsical journey through the sun-dappled streets of northwest England, before the two of you plunge, giggling like la niñas, into a verdant garden clearing caressing a massive cranium that’s been cast from sparkling white Spanish dolomite.

    Or at least that’s what will happen if you whisper such sweet nothings to Doug the plumber who hangs out at the Zoo Bar, señor. I no promise the other local thugs will be quite so gregarious (or have such smooth, inquisitive hands).

    But where is mi manners? It is I, El Grande Gonzales, most bonita luchador in all México! I am here to tell you all about Dream, the 20-metre-tall, 500-tonne-heavy sculpture that I encountered in the Sutton Manor Woodland that magnífica afternoon. Sí!

    This maravilloso example of baroque architecture was created by the incomparable Catalonian sculptor – and my former wrestling tag team partner – Jaume Plensa. Who could forget our infamous barbed-wire hardcore match against the formidable pairing of Hulk Hogan and Louise Bourgeois?

    “When I first came to the site I immediately thought something coming out of the earth was needed,” Señor Jaume explained during a rare moment when he wasn’t crafting one of his signature giant heads out of rock or bashing someone’s skull in with a steel chair. “I decided to do a head of a nine-year-old girl, which is representing this idea of the future. It’s unique.”

    Maybe ‘unique’ is stretching it, Jaume, because you has created dozens of similar statues all over el mundo. But whatever help you sleep at night, chico!

    Sí, Dream is mucha attractiva, but I wouldn’t want to be nearby when she blow her nose!

    Sweet Dreams Are Made Of These

    Like the nightmares I have about walking out to the wrestling ring without my tights, this Dream came about due to too much television. In 2008 the good gringos of St Helen took part in a program called The Big Art Project, which aimed to present some English towns with gigantic artworks. I do not know all the rules because this program conflicted with my favourite telenovela, Mi caballo, mi marido.

    The people wanted an artwork to revitalise their home, a former coal mining town which had been a bit sad since all the mines go away. But Gonzales think they really want a giant head to scare away evil spirits and werewolves. This why we build build Big Things in México.

    When St Helen was announced as a winner, the town celebrate with an all-day drinking session. Or maybe this is just because it was a Tuesday. ¡Arriba, Arriba! ¡Ándale, Ándale!

    Dream cost 1.8 million English pesos, and was moulded out of 90 concrete pieces. She was completed in April of 2009 and, finally, St Helens took its place as one of the world’s great cultural cities. Take that, Widnes!

    Señor Jaume had plan for a beam of light to shoot out of the top of Dream, with the original title being Ex Terra Lucem (“From the ground, light”). But then some spoil sports claim the lights may cause car accident. I don’t see what is big deal. In México is muy bien to have car crash outside house – you no have to put on pants to go steal hubcaps!

    Tell Her She’s Dreamin’!

    Dream is estupendo, and the highlight of any vacation to England. Forget Big Benjamín, Henge de la Stone, or the White Cliff Richards dos Dover – just fly straight to St Helens and spend your entire European holiday there. Thank me later!

    The sculpture even featured in the popular television drama Stay Close. Again, I do not watch because of Mi caballo, mi marido – oh, the love between Pamela and Señor Biggles bring tears to this old luchador’s eyes. Not even Equine Herpesvirus can keep them apart.

    Whilst St Helens has since become a place of love and laughter, my visit was ruined by the actions of the repugnant. It was with a heavy corazón that I discover a local bad boy, in a disgusting display of depravity, had graffiti a big, veiny penes on the side of Dream’s supple neck. Gonzales know that if the locals see this desecration they will riot, but chill out dude! I track down the pervert responsible, put him in a chokehold and call in my amigos from the cartel.

    Next time someone take their dog for a walk in Sutton Manor, they find one more disembodied head amongst the trees – teehee!

  • The Big Ram, Karoonda, SA

    The Big Ram, Karoonda, South Australia

    Ay Caramba, lovers of Big Things! Is me, El Grande Gonzales, greatest luchador in all México and Latin America’s leading expert on oversized roadside attractions. Hola!

    You may look at mi beautiful smile, mi carefree disposition, and conclude that Gonzales is a happy hombre. But there is sadness deep within mi corazón. Bashing in the brains of mi enemies has been a lot of fun – and certainly profitable! – but it was a desperate attempt to transfer a poofteenth of my internal agony onto someone else.

    Lo siento, Santiego Ortiz, it seems I give you spinal damage for nothing – oopsie daisy! But I become distracted from my tale of woe.

    Muchos años ago, a sheep wander into mi village and eat mi mamá. Then he eat mi papi. Then he eat mi quesadillas, and this is when I get mucho furioso. And you no want to see Gonzales when he is furioso… well, I’ve been told I’m super cute when I’m angry, but I also get a bit stabby. This is why I am banned from Taco Bell.

    Well, that and the incident with the cheese sauce.

    Since this atrocity, Gonzales has wandered the Earth looking for the sheep that eat mi familia. First, I encounter The Big Merino in Goulburn, but he is too large. Then I find The Big Cow in Highfields, which is a bit like a sheep but also kinda different. How should I know, Gonzales am professional fighter, not veterinarian.

    OK, I sometimes work as a veterinarian, but México’s accreditations are notoriously lax. Last week I accidentally neuter Cat Stevens and give an actual cat a guitar and force him to play Moonshadow. Is easy mistake to make, and the cat really nailed it – ¡Ay Caramba!

    On the Ram-page

    But I go off the track like mi tío Miguel when he drink too much tequila and drive his lowrider into cactus. Is very sad – this cactus have one day till retirement!

    I hear word that the sheep who eat mi familia has been seen in South Australia. I take mi tag team parter, El Gordón, and we travel by donkey to Karoonda, deep in the outback. Is a long journey, but there is restaurant serving jalapeño poppers on the way, so all is well.

    Karoonda is nice town with wide streets and pretty women. It reminds me of mi village back in México, with less tuberculosis. But El Gordón and Gonzales are not here to sightsee, we are here to take vengeance on a horrible sheep. This cobarde try to hide from us, but we shall find him even if we have to overturn every table and threaten every granny in – oh, there he is, right in the centre of town! He was actually pretty easy to find, as he is two metres tall.

    He also have huge set of el testículos and – holy guacamole! – what hombre wouldn’t be attracted to them? Wowzers!

    Skip to this section if you just want to read about The Big Ram, and not the adventures of a deranged, yet loveable, luchador

    The sheep who eat mi familia has developed for himself a clever cover story. He claims to be The Big Ram, a South Australian icon and the centrepiece of Karoonda’s b-ewe-ming tourism industry. According to his lies – which he has even had inscribed into a plaque beside his rump – the idea for The Big Ram came from a señor Don Anderson, who wanted to cash in on the success of nearby Big Things such as The Big Orange and The Big Pelican.

    The sculpture was built by a señor Andrew Stock, with help from some of the more artistic members of the community. The Big Ram was unveiled in ungu-late 1997 at a cost of 12,000 pesos, with local kiddies adding a tiled mosaic to the statue’s base in 2001. He is of good quality, and certainly not sheep and nasty.

    Apparently, more than 650 hours of work went into the baa-sterpiece, along with 18 tonnes of stone sourced from shear-by quarries. But that’s just the sort of mierda story a familia-guzzling renegade ram would hide behind, isn’t it? You cannot put your wool onto my eyes, you big baby!

    They really should’ve named him Jean-Claude Van Ram

    Tears streaming down mi face, I storm up to the rascally ruminant and spit out the palabras I’ve dreamed of for eons.

    “Hola,” I rasped, whilst gesturing flamboyantly for dramatic effect. “Mi nombre is El Grande Gonzales. You eat mi father. Prepare to die.”

    The good gringos of Karoonda, who had encircled us, gasped as one. Gonzales clench his fists. The match of the century was about to begin

    Somewhere, in the distance, a lone cassowary cawed.

    I may be the most feared fighter in all of México, but it was El Gordón who threw the first punch. Teehee, you should’ve seen the hombrecito go! He kicked and he bit and he spat and he slapped until finally, slick with sweat and covered in blood, he fell to the ground.

    The sheep, he show no signs of being in a fight at all, and just stand there smiling. I take off mi shirt, adjust mi jockstrap, and prepare to rush in. But then I am struck by sudden realisation. Just like when mi tío Paco was struck by a sudden VW Beetle whilst dancing in the street. This event cost him his dream of winning México’s Got Talent.

    “Mi familia was not eaten by a sheep at all!” I exclaimed, as the townsfolk went ‘Ooooh!’ in unison. “They move to a beachside villa in Cancún, where they make a comfortable living selling NFTs to chubby American tourists. I even visit them last summer, is a nice place. Mi life has been spent travelling the globe, putting livestock into headlocks for nothing!”

    I cradled El Gordón, who was really quite seriously injured, in my muscular arms. We posed for some super cute selfies with The Big Ram, signed autographs for the understandably starstruck townsfolk, and said our farewells to Karoonda.

    “That place that sells the jalapeño poppers is still open, right?” asked a weary El Gordón.

    “Sí, señor.” And with that, we rode our donkey off into the sunset.