A tank-topped man stands on stage, his body glistening with sweat. As a Warped-tour guitar anthem crescendos, he steps forward, his eyes narrowed, his head bobbing up and down to the aggressive beat. A disembodied voice rises on the microphone, repeating the words, “Lord, give me strength.”
The man raises a meaty arm over a stack of a dozen bricks. With the explosive precision of a black belt, his elbow drops like a guillotine. BOOM. The bricks fall to the ground. But he’s not done. He hops over to a new station. More bricks. CRUNCH. He lays them to waste with the heel of his boot. Then, flaming bricks. CRACK. Then, ice bricks. THUD. His forehead smashes them to smithereens.
This is the work of The Power Team, a group of Evangelical athletes that “use their talents to spread the gospel and inspire people around the world to make positive changes in their lives.”
Well, technically, they are The Power Team 2.0. The original Power Team emerged in the late 70s, taking their fabulous tracksuits and feats of strength to ministries around the country. If you mute the sound of the PT promo video below, you might as well be watching early pro-wrestling matches.
Vice journalist, Rick Paulas, wrote about The Power Team’s legacy (I highly recommend this piece). He notes that, as bizarre as this may seem, the group emerged out of a period in which macho was the norm.
This was the era of Schwarzenegger and Stallone, of Wrestlemania and American Gladiators, of monster trucks, of "Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!" Body oil was sold by the gallon, hairspray by the keg, silicone and steroids filled every syringe. But that high-octane entertainment hadn't yet extended into church services.
Principally, it was a marketing play, as Todd Keene (an original PT member, head of Power Team 2.0) recounts in Paulas’s piece.
"I thought Christians were little guys with little pencil protectors in their pocket," said Keene. "Then all of a sudden here comes the Power Team, smashing bricks, saying it's OK to be manly, to be what God called you to be."
For a time, business was booming. The Power Team reportedly made $11 million a year from their traveling shows, not to mention the thousands of souls they “saved” during the altar calls after each performance.
Eventually, the founder, John Jacobs, got himself into hot water (alleged infidelity, battery, and embezzlement), leading to fragmentation of the group. Members splintered off into what would become The Power Team 2.0, The Strength Team, Team Impact, and the naughty founder’s return to strength ministering in the form of The New Generation Power Force.
The marketing engine behind the Power Team—mentally aligning the power of God with the power of brawn—was indeed a stroke of genius. But, thankfully, this technique is on the decline.
Yes, World Wrestling Entertainment still rakes in profit. The Arnold Sports Festival in Columbus continues to draw enormous crowds (in normal years). And Sylvester Stallone still man-births things like The Ultimate Beastmaster. But, these days, you rarely see advertising for non-bodybuilding products that feature steroid-sized men.
There was, of course, the resurgence during the late 2000s of ads that resembled Macho Man’s Randy Savage’s manic endorsement of Slim Jim’s. Mr. T peddled Snickers, and Terry Crews hawked Old Spice. But these were under the guide of ironic nostalgia, a cultural jab at these ridiculous archetypes of the past.
Today, numerous brands are clamoring to shake off old tropes and say something modern (there’s a great piece in the NY Times about this). But to summarize the message heard most often: Masculinity is how you (the man) defines it.
And while we, men, may express appreciation for the intense work it requires to become a super-sized strongman, that’s not who most of us aspire to be.
A note about The Mandate Letter
I use this newsletter as a journal to work through my ideas and collect examples of broader trends that reflect how masculinity is evolving in culture. I would very much appreciate your input. If you come across interesting examples of this trend or others, please email me tips at Jason [@] jasonrogers.co. If you're reading this in your inbox, just hit reply, and your response will go directly to me. Also, keep up with me on Twitter & Instagram or text me at 310-299-9363.