My Evening as a Big-Time Wrestler

I have done a lot of fun, amazing things in my life. But without a doubt, some of the best fun I ever had was when a friend and business associate of mine allowed me to participate in a real professional wrestling event.

Jim Painter, who once wrestled as "Big" Jim Lancaster, was staging a Midwest Wrestling Alliance show in my hometown to raise money for a local non-profit agency. After his wrestling career, Big Jim became a newspaper reporter, and I met him at the local paper where I also worked. I had seen him wrestle a couple of times as a child and was always intrigued by his "past life."

When Jim started putting together his lineup for a local event to raise money, he wanted some local "celebrities" to help fill the bill and help boost attendance. I didn't hesitate for a second when he asked me to be a part of the program. I was to be paired with a city firefighter in a tag team match against the Kansas Outlaws, the organization's tag team champions. My firefighter teammate had already made a previous appearance in a nearby town where he and his tag team partner were a big hit with fans. His partner was unwilling to do another show, which paved the way for me to enter the fray.

I'm not really a big celebrity around town, but I am fairly well-known. I joked with family and friends that I was the biggest celebrity who was dumb enough to step into the ring with real professionals. Some people were convinced I would be beaten to a pulp by the real wrestlers, as my 5-8, 180-pound frame isn't exactly muscular or athletic. A few folks even seemed to relish the idea of me getting a good beating. (Newspaper reporters are well-known, but not always the most popular people.)

I was to appear in two matches - the tag team title match and a 20-man, over-the-top-rope Battle Royal. I gave an interview to my newspaper, where I boasted in typical pro wrestler fashion how I might not be the biggest man in the ring, but I would be the smartest.

When the night finally arrived, I was a bit nervous. But Jim put me at ease and it was a lot of fun in the lockerroom with all of the other wrestlers. The comraderie is something to see, and then they go to the ring and pretend to hate each others guts. Yes, pretend. It's a well-known fact that pro wrestling isn't "real," so to speak, in that the outcomes of matches are predetermined. But to label these guys as "fake" athletes doesn't do them justice. They are agile and athletic and it takes some measure of skill to make a staged fight look realistic.

My partner and I worked out with the Kansas Outlaws prior to the start of action. "Roughouse" Roger Ruffin and "Psycho" Sam Cody couldn't have been nicer guys even though their storyline was that they were former inmates from the prison in Leavenworth, Kansas. They made us feel at ease and after an hour of choreography, we had a pretty good match sketched out. They even came up with a believeable way to let the local guys defeat the evil Outlaws in front of our home crowd.

When our match came, I was again nervous. As we ran to the ring, I scanned the crowd and saw faces of many loved ones - my wife, my children, many friends - all whooping, hollering and laughing, generally having a good time.

The match itself went off without a hitch. I nearly injured myself at one point when I threw myself too hard into the corner turnbuckle, nearly knocking the wind out of myself. By I recovered just in time to escape being accidentally crushed by a hard-charging Ruffin. The match ended with some controversy when Ruffin hoisted me over his head for a body slam and our "manager," another local "celebrity," interfered by tripping Ruffin. I collapsed on top of him and the refree made the three count. The crowd went wild.

During intermission, the wrestlers were signing autographs for children. I was still trying to catch my breath in the lockerroom when Jim told me to head out to the autograph session. "Nobody is going to want my autograph," I told him. "You'd be suprised," he answered.

As always, Jim was right. Kids were lining up for my autograph and telling me what a good job I did in beating the nasty outlaws. They were so into it, it made me proud I was able to help entertain them like that. Those were the first - and likely last - autographs I will ever sign, but what a feeling.

In the 20-man event, it was determined that a local man, Mike Thobe, who was a real professional wrestler making his hometown debut, would score the victory. What a melee that ensued, though. I got a couple of shots in on a couple of guys. I chopped Ruffin across the chest once and the smack could be heard throughout the gymnasium. "Hit me again like that. Harder," Ruffin told me in the midst of the fray. "Slap!" I nailed him again.

I ended up getting tossed according to the script during a scrum with two other guys. We all flipped over the top rope at the same time in what looked like realistic fighting. I hit the floor harder than I expected, but it was worth it to put on a good show.

Besides having a good time, I gained a lot of respect for pro wrestlers that evening. Staged and scripted or not, these guys' bodies take a tremendous beating and some of the high-flyers are incredibly athletic. I was humbled to be able to work and play with them for one night and that they would share some of the secret tricks of their trade with me.

I'm a bit older know, and a little more brittle, so my wrestling days are most likely over. But I still like to claim to friends that I am one half of the undefeated, undisputed, tag team champions of the world. They can't take that away from me.