I know I’m on something of an island here, but I do not like the WWE Vault YouTube channel. I know it’s a valuable resource and tend not to look down my nose when they post unreleased shows, matches, and other bits and bobs of wrestling ephemera, but as a means of opening World Wrestling Entertainment’s vast library of footage from its fallen competitors it feels more like a victory lap than a means of sharing the wealth, a means of further throttling an algorithm designed to surface WWE content by flooding YouTube with a dozen new ways of repackaging material the company has already monetized a dozen times before — an unreleased Omni show is nice, but for the most part the company’s network of YouTube channels is just them fracking the Monday Night War era one more time in a post-WWE Network media environment.

This is, I know, a strange way of beginning a piece about the September 15, 1979 contest between Tommy “Wildfire” Rich and Snake Brown, but it’s the fact that this match and parts of the rest of that day’s episode of Georgia Championship Wrestling even exist on YouTube that compelled me to reactivate this website. It is, so far as I can tell, not the master tape of the show, but a rip from a VHS or Betamax recording of Ted Turner’s WTBS, which had only become WTBS a month earlier, on August 27, 1979. Having launched in 1976, Turner’s superstation concept was itself pretty new, as were Betamax and VHS, which launched in 1975 and 1976 respectively. Millions of people had access to WTBS, but Betamax recorders and VCRs were $1,000 at their least pricey, blank tapes were $20 a pop, and then, as now, entertainments like professional wrestling were seen as disposable — only a fanatic would blow that kind of money for the sake of preserving it.

In other words, it is a miracle that Tommy “Wildfire” Rich vs. Snake Brown exists to be seen anywhere, let alone YouTube.

When the bell rings, everything you need to know about these men imparts itself through the haze of ancient magnetized tape: Tommy “Wildfire” Rich is a blond heartthrob, the apple of Atlanta’s eye, and Snake Brown is a turd by another name. When Brown gets out of a headlock by pulling Rich’s hair, Rich fires up and backs Snake into the corner with the mere threat of a closed fist, which he is emphatically warned against by referee Tommy Young. This is, by 2026 standards, small ball, but I have ventured back to 1979 because watching these tiny, rote movements rile up a studio audience tickles something in my lizard brain. It’s elemental, primordial stuff, and it works. Always has, always will.

I know that there is no putting this particular brand of toothpaste back into its tube. But when I say that I prefer watching stuff like Tommy “Wildfire” Rich vs. Snake Brown to your average match on an episode of Raw or Dynamite, it has less to do with the action and more to do with how effectively Rich and Brown play their roles, how clear the stakes are for both men. The stakes in modern American wrestling, at least going back to the formation of the new World order in 1996, are too often existential — when the fate of this wrestler/this company/this industry is always on the line, how do you make anything smaller than that feel meaningful?

In 1979, Tommy “Wildfire” Rich wants nothing in this world more than he wants a shot at NWA World Heavyweight Champion Harley Race. This match against Snake Brown has nothing to do with that, except that the fact that he’s chasing the title and Brown isn’t tells you about their respective position in the world. For Brown, nothing matters more than the winner’s share of the purse, but he’s not as talented as Rich, he doesn’t have the same sense of momentum, and, again, his name is Snake Brown, so he cheats to stay ahead of his opponent. Rich is a blue-eyed Southern boy, a sweetheart who is nevertheless filled with piss and vinegar, so he doesn’t take too kindly to Brown pulling at his hair and gets mad about it. The crowd gets mad with him. He wants to pop Brown in the mouth, his fans encourage it, but his honor compels him to hold off from doing so.

It’s a petite drama, but again, it’s effective. Rich’s offense — wristlocks and armbars — is probing at best, even in 1979 you’d say that he’s feeling Brown out, but the way he plays with the emotions of the fans with his body language rather than a dramatic escalation of violence or technique is something that’s largely missing from TV wrestling today. When Rich finally does charge in to throw fists at Brown, it’s earned: he’s given the man multiple opportunities to wrestle a straight match, Brown has refused them, and a man can only take so much.

The crowd explodes for this, a sustained shriek that’s as loud for Rich’s punches as it is for his dropkick: a gorgeous, full-rotation dropsault that sends Brown cowering to the floor. Despite his stalling, Brown never recovers: Rich is too fast, too proficient, and no longer willing to play Brown’s game. It’s a match with an obvious finish, but when Rich pins Brown’s shoulders to the mat with a Thesz press, it feels like some measure of justice has been doled out upon the wicked, and not a moment too soon: there are men worse than Snake Brown in this world, and it’ll take Tommy “Wildfire” Rich and every friend he’s got in the state of Georgia to send them packing. Hail to the pirate who preserved this moment on their $20 tape and to every link in the chain that led me to it. The WWE Vault may not have my back, but you do.