Like many men of my age, I have spent much of the last month asking my children, in song, whether they feel the power of the Gladiators. They have looked at me in bemusement or embarrassment, then looked away when I tell them yet again about Eunice Huthart.
Aged 13, I would have given anything to have a go on the travelator. I’ve tried running up a few downward escalators in the years since, but it’s tricky when there are people coming the other way to meet you. I’d still be keen to attempt that famous, final obstacle of the show’s “Eliminator”, but I don’t know if my dodgy knee would cope with it now.
Back then, when Gladiators was in its original incarnation, I was – like most people – a fan of the resident heel, Wolf. And Jet, obviously. I tuned in without fail, watching with my brother and our mates, willing the contestants on and hoping for a bit of a ruck. It was event telly in an era when telly was all we had.
The show’s return last week, therefore, had me both excited and fearful. After all, nothing flatters to deceive like a TV reboot. But while there has been plenty of commentary in recent days about the ways in which Gladiators has changed, what struck me most was how uncannily reminiscent it was of the original. I might as well have been transported to my parents’ back room in 1992, shouting “Awooga” at “Fash the Bash” and throwing cushions at my brother, so insignificant were the differences.
But aside from the content, the most comforting similarity was watching the show in real time, as a family. In the 1990s, my parents allegedly wouldn’t mean to watch it with us, but if they “happened” to wander in, you could bet your bottom dollar they’d stay at least till the end of Danger Zone (the best event, IMHO). This time around, I might initially have had to persuade my son to give the programme a chance – but once he did, he was hooked.
With both our children mostly unbudgeable from their own personal screens, it turns out that Gladiators is an unlikely antidote, a unifier of families across the land if the six-million-plus viewing figures are anything to go by. Sure enough, when I took my son and his mate to football last Sunday, it became clear that we were not the only ones to have gathered on the sofa to marvel at Viper’s silly antics, and to raise our eyebrows at some of the muscles on display.
Still, it may not be the case that Gladiators is only about wholesome fun. As we travelled back from their football match, I heard the boys discussing the previous night’s show. “I think Legend’s my favourite,” said my son. His friend agreed, then added: “But don’t you think Diamond is pretty sexy?” “Oh yeah,” nodded my son enthusiastically. “And did you see how suss it was when Sabre was thrusting her butt against that woman’s you know what during Hang Tough?!”
I tried at this point to change the subject, before the boys’ thigh-rubbing caused the car to overheat. But plainly Gladiators had stirred something in these eight-year-olds that I had not anticipated, notwithstanding my own affection for Jet three decades ago. It made me worry about the kind of ads that had been popping up on YouTube in between the usual football nonsense that dominates my son’s life, or what kind of insights were being shared in the playground. A bit of sex ed for year 4 please!
Still, when you feel the power of the Gladiators, it can be difficult not to become a helpless wreck. Am I, as the show’s theme song asks, ready to face the challenge of the champions? Well, no. I’m just going to give in to the joyful silliness along with the rest of the family. And if my son wants to give in to the charms of Sabre, or indeed Legend, well so be it. Awooga!
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