It’s what I wanted. I think it’s what they wanted.
But first we had to figure out why we weren’t on the card.
The matches were listed on a piece of paper hanging in a camper where the promoter had set up shop. It was our first time at Fire and Ice Wrestling, an Indy upstart in Columbus, Ohio that is long since out of business. We looked down the list of names. Ours was not on it.
We found a wrestler, Marcus Dillon, who had competed in NWF rings and asked him what we should do. He was one of the mainstays in this group. We drove three hours with the promise of a booking, we said. He said he would go find out what was going on. In the meantime, I told Karl to put his boots on. We were wrestling no matter what, even if it meant he had to work with me. (And that would have been absolutely terrible. I know; we did it a few months later in Georgetown, KY – but that’s a whole other column.)
Luckily, they figured something out and added us to the card by pitting us against a little guy named Mace Parker who already had another match booked. “He’ll just work twice,” they said. Fine with us as long as it meant we got to go out there.
And it was a nice crowd. There were probably 250-300 people watching us in our heel debuts. I got on the microphone when I entered the ring in true heel manager fashion and cut a fantastic promo . . .95% of which I stole word for word from fellow manager Brock Guffman, a much more talented promo-man than I. Anderson and Parker locked up and had a decent little match. I remember he dove on us on the outside of the ring and I took a bump to the floor from the apron for the finish. All in all, the people – including Anderson’s father, who drove up to see it – seemed happy.
And we were too. Because at the end of the whole thing, the entire crowd assembled were chanting “You suck” at us . . . everyone’s life long dream, right?