A Wrestling Tale 7.29.01

Andrew Turow was trapped in the corner, and the situation did not look like it was going to improve as Jamaal Ingel reared his arm back to hit Andrew yet again. It would be the tenth time in a row Jamaal Ingel was going to punch Andrew in the face, and Andrew decided after Jamaal jumped down, Andrew would throw three punches in the air at nobody and fall down.

Jamaal’s very open fist barely came in contact with Andrew’s face as the crowd chanted “10!” in unison, and Jamaal jumped off of his perch on the second turnbuckle where he had been inflecting damage on Andrew to the delight of the crowd. Andrew stumbled out of the corner, threw three punches at no one, dropped to one knee, and as though he was fooling the person

behind his, jumped back up and delivered a massive spin around roundhouse right behind him to no one. Andrew then fell flat on his face, seemingly unconscious. Jamaal briefly covered his face to keep from laughing at Andrew, who was the sh*ts, and continued on.

Andrew glanced over at Jamaal, who had placed his hands over his head and pointed his fingers towards the sky. Suddenly, Jamaal brought both hands down, and the crowd went insane. Andrew sighed as the crowd cheered, “B B C, B B C!” B.B.C. stood for Big Black Cock, Jamaal’s finishing maneuver.

In the RFWF (Real Fucking Wrestling Federation), pro wresting had become so vulgar that there was not even a reason to use sexual innuendo anymore. Instead, the promoters and wrestlers just smacked the fan in the face with it. They didn’t seem to mind. Andrew, a heel or bad guy, was known as Francis Underwood Christian Kansas, which, while blunt to a fault, was still slightly more intelligent in his opinion then Big Black Cock. At least in

Andrew’s opinion.

Jamaal picked Andrew up and placed Andrew’s head between Jamaal’s legs. Their bodies seemed to form a lowercase “h” shape. Andrew hated this move, and with his mouth hidden whined in a girly voice, “Jamaaaaaaaal, I hate this move. Why can’t you do a leg drop like Hogan or one of those bullshit jawbreakers?”

Jamaal grabbed Andrew by his waist and whispered in a sweet voice, “Honey. Hush.” Andrew smiled adjusted his weight from his right foot to his left foot, unaware that in less then 6 hours doctors would tell him that it was the last time he would ever have control of his legs.

The “Big Black Cock” was a hilarious and in a sense stupid name for a powerbomb, a move that is by no means hilarious. If you are a professional wrestler, you have three main objectives: 1.Entertain the audience. 2.Don’t injure the other wrestler. 3.Don’t injure yourself. The first and third objectives were easy to abide by when you hit the powerbomb on your opponent, but the second objective was kind of a real bitch. The powerbomb consists of standing your opponent up and putting his head between your legs. Then you lift the opponent up by the waist so that his legs are over your shoulders and his groin is now near your face. You then either let go of your opponent or for extra reaction from the crowd push down on his stomach, slamming the

man down to the mat. No matter who did this move, it always hurt the opponent because a good-looking fall for the move is taken on the upper back, neck and head. The opponent can also take the bump by straightening out his legs and letting his butt hit the mat first, but the move doesn’t look so as painful. In the RFWF, the point was to make it look as painful as possible,

so there wasn’t a single wrestler who used his butt when the Big Black Cock was being applied.

Andrew knew that this powerbomb would be especially painful, because he was going to take it on the chair that he himself had illegally brought into the ring earlier in the match. “Oh, the irony,” might think a fan who wasn’t disappointed over the lack of blood in the match. While taking it on the canvas that gave a little was painful enough, Andrew knew the steel of the chair would give nothing.

As Jamaal started to lift Andrew up, Andrew decided to use his upper buttox on the way down. It was being done on a chair, so the fans wouldn’t notice, maybe. Andrew would apologize to Jamaal later. That was the last thought to go through Andrew’s mind when everything

went horribly wrong.

Andrew was halfway up with his head perpendicular to the steel chair below him when Jamaal lost his grip. Andrew had not been high enough to get his legs over Jamaal’s shoulders, which would have allowed him to lift his back and shoulders up ever so slightly. Instead, as Jamaal let go, Andrew was upside down, his legs above his perfectly straight back, four feet from

the chair. He fell leading with the top of his head, which hit the chair with a disgusting crunch that Andrew heard loud and clear. He knew his skull had just been jammed so hard that it had shattered at least two vertebrae, yet he felt very little pain. Andrew lifted his head slightly and pointed to Jamaal, which meant, “Pin me, I’m hurt.” Jamaal did not though. Jamaal had

a look of panic in his eye, and instead went to the ropes and posed for crowd, doing his very popular whack off motion. Part of the crowd went nuts. Part of the crowd knew something was wrong. Andrew was incredibly confused, as all wrestlers recognized the pin me motion. Andrew did it again, this time subtlety waving his hand at Jamaal. Andrew looked at his side and suddenly realized why Jamaal didn’t know what to do.

Andrew’s hand wasn’t moving.

Andrew Turow’s brain was telling his hand to wave at Jamaal, and nothing was happening. In a blind panic, Andrew screamed, “PIN ME YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!”

Jamaal snapped out of his panic and with tears in eyes laid on top of Andrew. The ref counted 123 very quickly, and signaled for the EMT’s. Jamaal watched at they checked Andrew out, hoping Andrew would decline going back on a stretcher and would instead put his arms around the EMT’s shoulders as they helped him walk away from the ring.

Five minutes later, when Andrew still had not moved, Jamaal knelt down close to him as the stretcher was brought out. The fans were chanting, “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” Andrew’s neck had been stabilized, so the 280 pound sobbing monster who had the gimmick of being a porn star had to put his face directly in front of Andrew’s so that Andrew knew who was talking to him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so f*cking sorry. I just . Man. Please. Andrew, get

up man. I love you man. This is my last match if it’s your last match man.”

Andrew looked at the sobbing man who had just destroyed his entire body, and said, “You are my brother. This is not your fault. I love you man. Call my wife. Let her know and you keep f*cking wrestling. You love this shit. It was an accident. I love you man.”

Jamaal ran to back, passing by all of the wrestlers who were standing by the curtain, most of them in tears. A few tried to stop him, and he heard random condolences of, “Accidents happen.” “Come on, it’s Andrew, he’ll be back in the ring in a few weeks.” “I once broke this guy’s arm. Don’t worry.” Jamaal ignored the tear stained giants and ran to the wrestler’s dressing room. He grabbed his cellular phone from the pocket of his jeans and dialed the number he had called so many times to plan matches or talk about the bullshit backstage politics or ask Andrew to come bowling or golfing or anything that was so much easier then this.

Wendy Turrow picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Wendy.” Silence. For all of his hurrying to get to the phone, Jamaal now had no idea what to say, or how to go about saying it. For a moment he thought of hanging up and jumping into his car and just driving. He would wind up somewhere eventually. He had to. He couldn’t just go driving. This was a plan. This was his escape. He would wind up somewhere, and from there

part b of the plan would kick in. Maybe he could start a second life. He could clean sewers. Collect cans. Join the Marines. Anything to keep from having to tell this woman what he just did to the love of her life, to the man who refused to pay more then 40 dollars on a hotel room when they were on the road because he was saving all of his money for his family.

“Yes? Hello? Is this some kind of prank call? Maybe you could do it after I finish serving my children dinner?”

“No. Wendy, it’s me, Jamaal.”

“Oh, hi Jamaal! How are .” Jamaal did not cut Wendy off, but she didn’t finish the sentence. The silence after Jamaal had said her name had given it away. It was so melodramatic, seen in so many movies, that it has become part of our vocabulary. Saying someone’s name followed by a period of silence means something bad happened to them or someone that they love.

“Is he dead?”

“No. It was me. I messed up the powerbomb. It slipped. I dropped him on his head. I’m not ”

This time Wendy did cut him off. She knew what had happened, and she cut him off right there.

“You paralyzed him?”

“Yes. I did. I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think he’ll ever move again.” Silence.

“Oh God. Did he say anything?”

“He said he wanted me to call you. He forgave me. If he didn’t I probably would have killed myself or something. I don’t think he’s going to be the great man he was after this. I think he’s going to better. He’s going to be stronger, and he is going to fight this.”

“I’m all alone.”

“No. No, he’s still there. And I’m here. And I will not oh God. Anything you need. Anything. I am here to help you through this.”

“I Where are you, Richmond?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m coming.” Jamaal heard the click, and the longest conversation of his life was over. He started to sit, and instead ran to the wrestler’s entrance for the stadium, and jumped into the ambulance they were loading Andrew into. He looked at Andrew, and Andrew looked back at him and spoke. “If I can’t move 5 years from now, kill me. Kill me and take care of my

family.”

5 Years Later

The battle royal to determine the top contender for the RFWF Heavy Title had taken place earlier in the evening, and it was time for the main event. The winner of the battle royal had been one of luchadors from the Mexico, El Mexicano. The luchadors are some of the finest wrestlers in the world, combining highflying moves with power that should not belong to men of their size.

Their masks are a major part of their Mexican wrestling tradition, and El Mexicano’s white mask apparently splattered with blood was no exception.

El Mexicano was seen as the biggest threat to Jamaal Ingel’s title reign. When he returned to the ring three years before and dropped the porn star gimmick, Jamaal had started going by the name Jaamal Turrow and had dedicated his career to his friend, the man he paralyzed. Last year, when he won the title with a wheel chair bound Andrew Turrow in his corner, the fans

had gone nuts. After the match, he had held a microphone to Andrew’s lips, and Andrew officially announced his retirement from professional wrestling, thanking the fans and especially Jamaal for all the support he had received. He began weeping as Jamaal placed the title on him, and was wheeled out of the building to a standing ovation.

Lately, though, smart fans that read rumors on the Internet started noticing Andrew Turrow’s wife had been coming to the matches and leaving with Jamaal Turrow. Jamaal refused to comment on this during interviews, and it was suspected that the two of them were having an affair due to the fact that Andrew could no longer satisfy his wife due to his paralysis. The rumor

spread and intensified when Wendy Turrow started coming with Jamaal to the ring over the past month. Rumors of Andrew Turrow’s death popped up on the Internet, and now fans booed the both them, and Jamaal Turrow became the most despised man in professional wrestling.

El Mexicano came to the ring, as the announcer stated the match would be no disqualification. Wind Beneath My Wings began to play, and Jamaal and Wendy came out of the dressing room to a chorus of boos. The fans threw sodas, beers, even pennies and batteries at the couple as the quickly made their way to the ring. The fans were shocked and stopped when Wendy grabbed a microphone. She was nervous, having never before performed in front of

such a crowd, but before he left her Andrew had asked her to do this. Who was she to refuse? “I don’t know why you boo us. Jaamal has been a good man. He has taken care of me and my family, and loved us like we were his own. In fact, Jamaal, will you stand next to me? I need to tell you this, something that I’ve been torn about for so long, but something that needs to be said. I just want you to know ”

Silence. The crowd was hushed. Was this whore about to admit she loved this bastard who had destroyed her husband? This slut was about to admit she loved a man who had dropped Andrew Turrow on his neck, ending whatever dreams he may have wished? The fans wanted to boo, but at the same time they wanted to know more, because it was so real. So honest.

Thus was the state of professional wrestling, where fiction had become passe, and it was reality that sold tickets. Not just realistic brawling, but real life plot lines. The promoters and wrestlers had blurred the line so much that it didn’t exist anymore. Only one fan was able to tell

the difference at that moment. Robert Newman, a fan for 8 years, gasped at what he saw in the front row. He recognized Andrew and Wendy Turrow’s 13 year old and 15 year old children,

sitting with big smiles on their faces. Robert then looked at the ring, and a big smile came over his face as he saw El Mexicano perched on the top rope.

If you listened closely in Richmond, the one sound that was heard in a full stadium aching to hear the next words out of Wendy the Slut’s mouth was a 20 year college student named Robert screaming out, “FUCK’S BACK!”

Wendy smiled slightly, tried to hide it, then raised the microphone to her mouth and said, “You broke my husbands back, you SON OF A BITCH!” The crowd cheered so loudly that it hurt the ears of Wendy, who told herself this was the last goddamned time she was doing this for him. Wendy hit a shocked Jamaal in the face with the microphone. Jamaal didn’t go down, but instead grabbed his face and turned to the corner behind him, where El Mexicano leapt

off the top rope and hit Jamaal with his famous moonsault.

A moonsault is a 180 flip off the top rope into your opponent so that you legs are slightly above his head and your face is near his lower legs or groin. Then the opponent seamlessly falls down, with you land on top of him in a pinning combination. El Mexicano’s moonsault was flawless that night. The ref counted, 1,2,3.

There was a new champion in record time, but El Mexicano didn’t seem too interested in wearing his new title. Rather, he seemed content to beat Jamaal with it. The two children hopped over the barricade and ran into the ring, and begged El Mexicano to stop beating their Uncle Jamaal. El Mexicano relented, and the kids turned around and began stomping Jamaal. Jamaal was told there would be a surprise for him, but he didn’t know it would be this, and it was very, very hard to hold back the laughter.

Truth be known, it was very hard to hold back the laughter since Andrew’s “retirement”, and El Mexicano’s premier a few weeks later. The doctors would talk about Andrew’s amazing bone structure, the luck of the operation, all kinds of things. Jamaal liked to think it happened because Andrew was a good person, and good things happen to good people.

El Mexicano removed his mask and Andrew Turrow went from presumed dead to RFWF champion in one night. He hugged his wife and kids and got an amazing heartfelt ovation from the audience, as well as the sobbing wrestlers in front of the curtain. They knew it was coming, but emotions overwhelmed them. For one night, character was broken by all competitors.

Andrew walked to the back with his family, shaking the hands of all the wrestlers and promoters before going through the curtain. Jamaal slowly got up, gave the middle finger to all of the fans, who booed him harshly. He then ran to the curtain, screaming with rage, “FUCK! FUCK!”

Jamaal ran throuh the curtain and walked up to Andrew. “I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s okay. It’s over. Thank you so much for everything.”

“No man, I’m sorry I have to kill you now.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Well, you said if you couldn’t move in five years, I had to kill you. Well, I watched the battle royal, and you were slow, lazy. You couldn’t move for shit.”

They laughed, hugged and went to Bennigans.