Why Some Things Are Better As Memories

“Do you have a script?” the videographer asked, adjusting the tripod so it would be the right height. A bank of lights turned on illuminating the table set for two. A server leaned over and adjusted a fork. A vase of flowers from the farmers market added a splash of color to the scene.

“No script,” I said, surveying the set we had pulled together in the restaurant. I was friendly with the chef through my work with the Chamber of Commerce. He was a massive music fan, and more than willing to let us set up shop on a Tuesday afternoon. The restaurant was a few doors down from Yep Roc Records, on the main drag in Hillsborough. Noise-limiting glass buffered the street sounds leaving us a pristine stage. The chef had even prepared a tasting menu for our guests.

“And we are just going to film them….eating lunch?”

“Yes.” I glanced at the time on my phone. “They will be here soon.”

“I don’t know. I’d feel a lot better if we had a script. Or at least some idea of how long we are shooting for. I’ve got to change the batteries on the cameras every 15 minutes.”

“They’re both quick on their feet. Whatever happens, capture it the best you can.”

The front door opened, and two men walked in. Robyn Hitchcock, the British songwriter who’d been making surrealist rock since the late 70s, looked like he’d arrived via a time-traveling Trolley Car from 1967; Eugene Mirman, the stand-up comedian, looked like he was about to explain a very complicated municipal zoning law.

“Can I ask where this idea came from?”

I paused, and smiled.

“Why, the mail, of course.” I walked over to greet the stars before he could respond.

For a brief time in the late 80’s, I bought VHS wrestling compilations by mail. I wasn’t a tape trader but I paid close attention to the b&w text ads in the back of magazines like The Wrestler, Pro Wrestling Illustrated and Inside Wrestling.

A S.A.S.E got you an itemized listing of matches to choose from. You could cherry pick your favorites (Bruiser Brody was mine) or pick compilations themed around specific wrestlers, feuds or territories. With $20 dollars and a little patience, you were rewarded by media mail with a sharpie-labeled six hour tape of wrestling gold.

The footage ran the gamut of quality since these were second, third and in some cases more generation dupes from the original. I gladly suffered through the color bleeding, tracking instability, and audio waiver to see the larger than life wrestlers I had only read about.

I was always on the lookout for one specific match, considered the Holy Grail among collectors. Known as The Last Battle of Atlanta, It was the final match, or blowoff in wrestling parlance between Tommy “Wildfire” Rich and “Mad Dog” Buzz Sawyer after a savage two year feud. The match was loaded with stipulations, including one of the first steel cages with a roof on it. Throughout the fall of 1983 promos ran on Georgia Championship Wrestling on TBS, hyping the match. It was must-see TV for a 12-year-old wrestling fan with a vivid imagination.

After the match happened, it was never mentioned on TV again. No clips, no results, no follow up feuds. A few results in the magazines, but the wrestling world moved on without acknowledging it. I overheard fans at Dorton Arena speculate that it would never be shown because of how violent it ended up being. Another said Buzz Sawyer deliberately taped over it so that no one would see that he got whooped. Wrestling fans in 1983 were a conspiratorial lot.

After buying a few tapes from the same collector, I wrote him a letter asking him if he knew anything about the Last Battle of Atlanta. He sent me back a note saying that there was no copy of that match but he appreciated my orders and he was including a bonus.

That bonus turned out to be the 1983 short film Breakfast With Blassie, starring Andy Kaufman and “Classy” Fred Blassie. Kaufman was a renowned comedian and Television star who was also a major wrestling fan. “Classy” Fred Blassie was a legendary wrestler who transitioned from household name to bonafide folk hero with his catch phrase “You Pencil Neck Geek.” Blassie had been a fixture on television since the 1950s, but he was a god in Japan; in the 1960s, his blood-soaked matches with Rikidozan were so visceral they were rumored to have caused heart attacks among the viewing public. He was the ultimate ‘heel’, the man everyone loved to hate, and the perfect foil for Kaufman’s ineptitude.

The movie was a spoof of the 1981 art house film My Dinner with Andre, an uninterrupted conversation between Andre Gregory and New York Playwright Wallace Shawn. While My Dinner with Andre discussed the anxiety of modern life, Blassie and Kaufman talked wrestling and slurped their food. Kaufman wore a neck brace as he “recovered” from his run in with Jerry “The King Lawler” while Blassie insulted everyone in sight.

It was my first real exposure to Andy Kaufman, save for kids on the playground saying “Thank You Very Much” like Latka Gravas from Taxi. From there I went down a rabbit hole of Andy, Tony Clifton, and all his various bits, including wrestling women and getting slapped on Letterman. Andy leaned into a joke when it became uncomfortable, and leaned in further when it became dangerous. I heard someone say he wasn’t just committed, he should be committed.

The absurd, confrontational, and unclassifiable Breakfast With Blassie was the inspiration to film a lunch between Robyn Hitchcock and Eugene Mirman in Hillsborough. When I heard that Robyn and Eugene were both going to be in town on the same night, I pitched making a spoof of Breakfast with Blassie. I didn’t tell anyone the backstory about wrestling.

I had seen their surrealist banter before, two pros lobbying volleys just inside the line with ease. I thought if we created the right conditions, similar magic might happen.

“Garcon” Robyn said, kicking things off before we were ready. Our videographer scrambled to turn the camera on. Robyn made a show of tucking his napkin into his polka dot shirt “Might a cheese course surface like a distressed octopus with purple appendages in a sea of discontent?”

“He’ll need that in writing,” Eugene said, producing a notepad. “There’s a process. You’ll submit your cheese request to the committee, allow three to five business days for review, and if approved, the cheese course will be scheduled for a future meal. Not this meal.”

The food was delivered, the batteries cooperated and two masters held court. We shot through appetizers, main courses and the requested cheese plate. My mind sped ahead, imagining other pairings like Dave Alvin and Colin Quinn or Chuck Prophet and Marc Maron. I was mapping a new series before we had even finished the first. In the room I thought we had bottled magic.

Later when we watched it back we realized we didn’t. Our editor didn’t mince words when he said “No one is going to watch two people eat lunch.”.

What I remember most is the awkward silence after each line. Witty one-liners hanging in the air, waiting for laughs that never came. We also hadn’t thought about what people actually sound like eating. Two men in a soundproof room generate more ambient noise than you’d think. What we were trying to do probably works best on a stage when the drinks are flowing and a noisy crowd reacting becomes part of the performance. Without that, it was just a recording of two people having lunch. We were so obsessed with creating content that we forgot some things are meant to be ephemeral.

I also don’t remember if we ever finished editing it, or whether we quietly stuck it on the shelf. Either way as of 2026 it doesn’t appear to be online. Perhaps the file was corrupted, or the lighting didn’t quite capture the “1967 Trolley Car” glow, or maybe the committee simply never approved the release. The evidence has become like the rumors at Dorton Arena, more fun than the actual event. And I’m ok with that.

The Last Battle of Atlanta was “found” in 2016. I watched it but was disappointed. Nothing could approach the mythology a twelve-year-old can summon in his head. My wrestling tapes are gone, and the film of Robyn and Eugene is gone, too. I could go looking for them, but I don’t.

This One’s Called… Why Some Things Are Better As Memories.

P.S. I texted Robyn to see what he remembered about the lunch. He replied “I think the eating took the wind out of our wit, but it was a fun event. It was a blur after the cheese… “ Robyn has a new book Stranded In The Future (out July 7) and new album The Confuser (out July 24). His Substack is a must read.