Introduction x2

Ok, since my finger tips cooled off a bit I am now ready to continue this next chapter in the making of a wrestling GOD. I left you last time with me diciding to explore the path of becoming a professional wrestler as a tribute to both Norton the pigee and Eddie Guerrero. Around 1997 or so, when I was a bit younger (24), and the thought of wrestling was a bit more feesible for my body I briefly toyed with the idea and I contacted a few schools inquiring about the endeavor. However I realized that I had a snowballs chance in Hades of getting anywhere and with a lack luster response from some of the schools, I quickly realized that my time was betters spent trying to make my way in this world by a more conventional means. So I guess I can say that it has always been a dream of mine. Now fast forward to November 2005 and after hearing of the untimely passing of one of my favorite wrestlers, Eddie Guerrero, on the heels of Norton Guerreo the pot bellied pig passing on, I decided to swing for the fences and see what could happen. So after a thorough search I decided to contact the school of Playboy Buddy Rose and Colonel DeBeers. They operate the school out of a gym in Portland Oregon, about an hour away from where I live. I fired off an email, and I wouldn't be hog tied (a little piggee humor) if Buddy Rose himself didn't call me back the next day and invited me personally up to check out the school and see the quality of the work his students are doing. I didn't know what to expect on account of never attending a wrestling school before, and I was just sure that once I walked through the door he would see I didn't look like a wrestler. However, that Sunday when I came up for the class, I opened the door and there sat Buddy at the desk. He looked up and said "Chris Hawk?" Let me tell you how good it makes you feel when a bonafide wrestling star like Buddy not only remembers your name, but also sits there waiting for you, as I was 15 minutes late. (For those of you who have driven Portland, Oregon, my being late is justifiable, that place is more confusing then NY City.) He informed me he had to leave on account of it being his birthday and he had an engagement planned with his wife to celebrate it. So he promptly turned me over to Colonel DeBeers. Now, for you non wrestling fans, Colonel DeBeers gimmick was a lot like SGT Slaughter, except he was from S. Africa. Needless to say he was a heel, and he was so darned good at it that I thought for sure he was going to be a hard nosed taskmaster. Side note here he used to be a football star and played briefly with the Cincinnati Bengals so he is a pretty big guy. You have no idea how much better I felt when he proved to be a very nice guy. After he went over a few things with me (I am going to do my best with sticking to the true essence of kayfabe here although I know most of you are smartened up.) he was showing me the basics of locking up and he immediatly pointed out that I was stiff as a board and to lighten up. I spent about an hour or so going over the basics, learning monkeys and all that. (For those of you that don't know what I mean, good, kayfabe is alive and well, for those that do outside the industry, much magic must be missing out of wrestling.) Sounds pretty uneventful so far? Well, let's just say the fun was just beginning.

Like I said, I spent an hour or so going over the basics with Colonel and I think I was doing quite well. I was even complimented by Colonel that I was picking it up pretty good for being new to all this. Well, needless to say my head got deflated as soon as he invited me into the ring. I can catagorically state for the record that wrestling HURTS. Bad. When a wrestler is slammed or kicked, or hit or whatever happens, he sells it, that is make it look like it hurts. Me, being the well educated fan that I am thought you have to wince and grab at your aching back and just make any Oscar winning actor proud. I quickly found out that no, it really does hurt, there is no acting to it at all. Think about it, a wrestler is poised on the top rope when the other wrestler comes from underneath and launches you through the air where you land on your back on some canvas that covers boards. Did you really think it was goose down feathers under there? After a while of that I was greatly relieved when I was allowed to referee several matches so that I could both be up close and therefore have a eagle eye view to learn, and to give my by then aching body time to get out of shock. Being a ref wa squite fun as there were several "unique" finishes, and these students are quite good, so I felt like I was in the middle of my very own wrestling show. Well, to finish a class they have all the students in the ring for a battle royal, and of course, I was invited to participate. To win a battle royal you have to be the last man in the ring, and the only way to be eliminated is to be thrown over the top rope. Well, being thrown over the top rope safely wasn't covered in my first day's itinerary it was quickly decided that I was going to win. My gosh, it was a blast! I was all over the place, throwing elbows, stomping people in the corner, double teaming others over the top rope, and then suddenly there it was. Just me and one other guy in the ring. So, after what must have been the worlds lamest elimination (I shot him into the ropes, he held on then went over with a flimsy forearm to the chest, pretty much all I was qualified to do.) I stood alone and won my very first battle royal. I was so proud, the boys were clapping and even Colonel was standing on his chair whistling and cheering. Well, ok, maybe not quite like that, but they were all clapping, including Colonel. All the boys got into the ring, clapped me on the back, and then the beat down began. As one held my arm up in victory he whispers in my ear to take a clotheline. I wasn't quite sure what he said, but when he clocked me out of no where with it, I assumed I heard right. Then all the boys, all 12 of them, began the proverbial mud stomping of me through the canvas. I had elbows dropped on me, flips off the rope, seton bombs, you name it and I was subjected to it. But then, the coupe d' etat. I wouldn't be damned if I wasn't frog splashed from the top rope three different times in a row. Now you Eddie fans know that that was his finishing move. I didn't tell anyone why I was there, that it was my tribute to Eddie Guerrero, but during the splashes, when I felt the blows, I swear to God Eddie was telling me "Welcome to the club." And Colonel? He didn't ask me if I wanted to become a regular student, he said "See you next week", and that was all the compliment I needed.

Well, that should do it for this entry. Thanks for reading! Until next time.