You know what my blog has been missing?
Every good wrestler has their share of funny stories and anecdotes and I figure why not share an especially funny one of mine. This blog has allowed me to let you guys in even deeper; so it’s only fair I share something that I’m often clowned on in my stomping ground of Georgia.
Allow me to set the scene.
I was not always the Chocolate Ice Cream Dream that you all know and love. There was a LOT of construction to build the super highway of slam dunkin’ that I’m cruising on.
I digress, this is a tale about a 22 year old wrestler from the Georgia independents by the name of…..
Wait for it…..
It gets good……
CAPTAIN CRUNK CARL WILSON.
-Pause for laughter, head shakes, blank stares-
It was a different time in my life. -holds head down sheepishly-
I had no idea what service I was apart of to obtain the title of captain with all this crunkness; but hey, this was actually my NON-WACKEST gimmick for the timeframe. (Oh how bad the gimmick train was…..)
Believe it or not, I was on my 5TH year of wrestling around that time. I make it no secret that my initial training was quite poor. (Which is why I STRESS listening to veterans and making sure to seek reputable training when you start. I was fortunate to have good mentors to fix my mistakes as I traveled, but my career could have gone to the wayside if not for that.) I had tools, but lacked the knowledge and savvy to put them all together and make it a package worth seeing. Around this time, I was trying to find work with quality companies, failing to realize I lacked the qualities to hang in those companies.
I lucked out when I got an opportunity to do some ring work with Pro Wrestling Evolution; a Georgia company that had concepts way ahead of it’s time for the Georgia area. First Georgia company to bring in Low-Ki, heavy emphasis on stat tracking for contention, strong style matchups that were foreign to our area, and making heavy usage of the internet for a television product.
Pro Wrestling Evolution banner featuring Kory "Rainman" Chavis, Iceberg, Tank, and Murder-1.
The talent level was off the charts and I was getting my chance to work the undercards, learning as I went and really having to step my game up as I went along. It was a challenge because my psychology or reasoning for moves wasn’t always there and it seemed like the talent was head and shoulders above me in the ring work. I’m just fortunate people connected with me; which really saved my a** more times than I could count until my ring savvy caught up.
Now that the setting and stakes have been explained, lets discuss the scenario shall we? Young Captain Crunk gets his first big match against heel extraordinaire and all around classy cat, Simon Sermon, now a member of the Exotic Ones. I’d like to personally say that Sermon is a gem of the Georgia scene and can tell stories with simple actions. If territories existed, he’d pack houses just to see his downfall. And I’m not just saying that because he put me through a window. :p (One embarrassing story at a time guys.)
The venue was the Waleska Ballfield in Waleska, GA. I’d say there were about 300-350 fans in attendance and the show was off to a hot start. Now check this, remember the mechanical rings that used to carry the wrestlers down to the ring at Wrestlemania 3? Smooth right? Well when you’re in the South and don’t have a Vince budget, replace “mechanical ring” with “F150 truck”.
So the whole gimmick was that the wrestler would hop in the truck bed and get driven from the fieldhouse to the actual field, where the ring was setup, then they make that walk to the ring. This seemed to work well for everyone involved. All but one.
For the true narrative effect, I shall now switch to my novel style mode as I tell this story. -AHEM-
The opening lyrics from “Lose Yourself” were being reenacted at a ballfield in Waleska, GA. Conversation, laughter, and shouting buzzed around him; but his mind muted all distractions. Only the match mattered. For months, he wondered if he belonged within the ranks of this locker room. It was filled to the brim with wrestlers who didn’t even flinch at big match situations, let alone the last match before intermission in front of 350 people.
Their molehill, his mountain. He concealed nervousness with constant action.
Checking his kickpads. Straightening the Kill Bill themed singlet he was so proud of. Hopping in place to stay warmed up. Captain Crunk Carl Wilson had yet to have his defining moment in Georgia. 5 years of “it was alright” and “you just dont get it”, but never THAT MATCH. The one that gets fans talking and promoters on the phone.
Was tonight the night? If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be from lack of trying.
The wall of silence had been toppled like the Berlin Wall as “What You Know About That?” by TI thundered through the night air. His eyes lit up, knowing he’d never feel more alive than when he stepped through those ropes. He exited the fieldhouse, “good lucks” buzzing by his ear when he wasn’t met with indifference. Those unconcerned with him didn’t stir Carl a bit. They’d know his name next time; he was sure of it.
Nitrous coursed through his veins, the cool air caressing his skin. A field of green was the only thing separating him from the “Ford Tough” chariot that awaited. His insecurities fled and boldness took over. He felt what Phil Collins must have been talking about in the air and now was the time to prove.
Instead of a careful walk, he burst into a sprint. The joy on his face was obvious as he shredded through the air on foot. The 3 1/2 hour drive, haggling with his manager to get a few hours off, and low pay was all worth it for THIS moment.
….that ended in sheer disaster.
What our young warrior failed to realize is that there was a slight dip in the field just before the truck. Mere steps from the hopping entrance into the truck he envisioned making, his foot fell into this dip of man made design….perhaps destined to make a fool of someone for so long and finally getting the opportunity this night.
Cause I mean, seriously? WHO PUTS A DIP RIGHT THERE IN A MIDDLE OF A FIELD?! I got words for that groundskeeper! Oh, sorry. Messing up the narrative. -Ahem-
His foot slipped into the abyss, the motion he made downward echoing being caught with a expertly executed drop toehold. However, most drop toeholds end with mat…this ended with the our protagonist slamming face first into the side of a F150 Truck bed.
Hard. Like The Rock giving Mick Foley a chair shot hard.
He fell over, pain shooting to his head. His pride would be soon to follow in that pain as a locker room of seasoned veterans, future stars, and influential figures let out a combined roar of laughter. He tried to mute them; but their strength was undeniable. Echoing and echoing.
“Get up stupid. You’re okay.”
The Captain shot up quickly. It can’t get any worse.
Yes it could.
Worse was in the form of slamming the BACK of his head into the bottom of the truck bed, our disoriented subject failing to realize he was still under it as he recovered.
The second wave of laughter flooded him with Katrina-like proportions. Defeated, Captain Crunk held his head in a mixture of pain and disgrace as he weakly deposited himself in the truck bed. This new remix of TI’s popular song had an underscore of mixed laughter as he was chauffeured to his destiny that night.
Be careful when you make wishes to be remembered. Sometimes, they come true. Not a soul forgot the day Captain Crunk attempted to Shining Wizard a truck and failed.
No way he’d become a star. Right?
“Remember when you Shining Wizarded a truck?” – Random guys after that incident.
I get ribbed about that moment to THIS day when I’m in Georgia and I thought I’d share this with the rest of you. Not only because it’s a funny story that now has been told in a SWEET novel style; but with the right kind of dedication and shot, ANYBODY could be somebody. Never write anyone off.
Hope you had a laugh and perhaps you’ve learned a little something about me. I’ll leave the wizard’s to Muta 🙂