by The Immolator
Exclusive to OnlineOnslaught.com

"I am every man’s dream and every woman’s fantasy!"
         — “Gorgeous” Michelle Starr

Welcome back to The Ring. The Immolator, no one greater, at your service.

Little did I know this past Tuesday at the House of Pain, as I was on the receiving end of hip tosses and biels courtesy of Bubba, that I would be getting the call.

ECCW’s main man, “Gorgeous” Michelle Starr, was at the HoP, preparing for a special event the following day: an abbreviated card at B.C. Place before the CFL game between the B.C. Lions and the Montreal Alouettes. The event would last about 90 minutes, with maybe five or six matches. I asked Starr if he would require my services as a referee.

“I might need you to wrestle.”

Well. That certainly got my attention. Fortunately, my tights had just arrived in the mail, so I had all the elements of a basic wrestling costume in place: boots, tights and a good pair of kneepads. Thanks to my training up to this point, I also had most of the elements of a basic wrestling match figured out, at least in training mode. In my mind, I was ready.

Wednesday morning. I need to accessorize. I need… a shirt. At about 14 per cent bodyfat, and without a good tan, there’s no way I’m going out there without a shirt. With navy blue tights, and my black boots with white trim, I figure something black would be good. I also need theme music. I rifle through my collection of T-shirts and find… Bauhaus. Perfect. I select “Double Dare” as my theme song, cut the sleeves off the shirt, and try everything on for size.

My tights don’t quite fit. I ordered them “off the rack” to save some dough. Mistake. The crotch height isn’t right. I have to pull the tights halfway up my torso to get them to fit nice and snug. Rats. In the long run, no problem, I can get them tailored. In the short run, problem. Fortunately, I have back-up: a pair of bicycle trunks. I throw them, my tights, a Bauhaus CD and my referee shirt into my gym bag, along with my boots, kneepads, elbow sleeves, fresh socks and underwear, and a towel. I also add one more important costume piece: A B.C. Lions jersey. Just in case I play the role of the good guy.

I get to B.C. Place two hours beforehand to help set up the ring. It turns out that we are wrestling outside on the concourse. Weather is beautiful, fortunately. The ring seems to go up in a flash. Starr is there, along with “Bam Bam Bambi,” who is wrestling Friday for the NWA Women’s Title. Mrs. Starr also helps out. The metal frame goes up first, then the wood comes out, about 20 two-by-fours, each about 16 feet in length. I believe the ring ECCW uses is about 16-by-16 feet. The wood goes on top of the frame, then the canvas, then the ropes go on. ECCW wrestlers pop up on the scene to help out. First The Count, then Vance Nevada. Machete Singh. Jimbo Richards. Rico Quinones. Seth Knight. Skag Rollins. Moondog Manson. Quite an assortment.

Once he sees what he has to work with, Starr writes up a card. Vance and Count will go at it. Jimbo and Halo (another student who will show up later) will take on Machete in a handicap match. And… Calum Macbeth will be in the ring against… “Gorgeous” Michelle Starr.

Crikey!

Well. I hop in the back of the truck, which doubles as the dressing room for this event. I throw my gear on, and, yes, the tights look funny, so on go the bike shorts instead. Chris, the new student with the physique, is gong to be sound guy by default, so I show him what he needs to do, and drop off my CD. Back to the truck to stretch, and to wait. And put on my Lions jersey.

My turn comes up… a little sooner than expected. I’m the face in this match, but I get announced first. I half-sprint the 50 yards from the truck to the ring and slide in under the bottom rope, forgetting to slap hands with the fans, or do any of my Macbeth poses I had worked out. I hop up to the second turnbuckle and do a generic good-guy pose. I get… mild applause. There’s probably 300 or so curious onlookers gathered in front of the ring, which is in front of B.C. Place itself. I suspect many of them are casual viewers at best. It feels like I’m in a ring on a proscenium stage at some fringe festival or something. And my adrenalin level is over in the red.

Starr comes out next, in his rainbow unitard and cape, and his lip gloss. He takes the mic and cuts his usual brilliant promo, gaining a good amount of heat.

WOMAN IN CROWD: “Boo!”

GMS:  “Shut up, or I’ll take your husband home and get him to make love to me!”

GUY IN CROWD:  “You’ve got bitch tits!”

GMS:  “Why, thank you! Yes, I do!”

And so on. I react with disgust, when really, I’m trying not to bust a gut laughing. The bell rings.

After the collar-and-elbow, Starr grabs my left arm, twists it… and gooses me. He takes the arm again, then yells at the ref (Bambi) that I’m pulling his tights… giving him the chance to bite my hand while she’s occupied. Damn that evil Starr! We continue, old school, working the arm. He gets a drop-toe hold, and applies the “Father Nelson.” For those of you unfamiliar with the ways of the church, that’s a full nelson with me on my stomach and him on my… oh, the horror. The horror. I get to the ropes. Eventually, I manage to get some offence a couple of times, getting him into a hammerlock, but he quickly reverses that, spins me around… and kisses me. Ewwwwww… I can actually taste his lip gloss. PTUI!

The pace picks up, and so does the beating I take. He chops me, hard, three times, then whips me off the ropes. Then he clotheslines me out of my boots. Somewhere in here he nails a standing dropkick to my chin, and a suplex. He Irish whips me to the corner, charges, but I get out the way. Hip toss. Arm drag into an arm bar. I push him into the corner. Chop (woo!). Irish to the far corner, but he reverses it into a Russian leg sweep. Ooof.

He snap mares me, and kicks me in the back, Masa Chono-style. Yee-owtch. I’m just taking the abuse as best as I can now, concentrating on not getting myself killed. Side slam, and yes, it hurts like stink. He covers, but picks me up at the count of two. I must look greener than green out there. Chinlock follows. I appear ready to pass out, but I dig deep, deep down into those legendary Macbeth reserves, and I rally all the little Macbeths out there by stomping my feet, as I rise… punches to the gut… off the ropes… I duck his clothesline, duck the back elbow, and hit a cross-body block for two. And he nails me again with another clothesline.

Next thing I know, I’m flat on my back in the middle of the ring, and Starr is climbing up to the top, and his rainbow-clad frame is silhouetted by the sun directly behind him. Time stands still. I feel like I’m in a movie about wrestling, as opposed to a match itself. Starr flies… and lands, crotch-first, into my right boot.

An opening! Carpe diem! Clothesline! Irish whip, back elbow! Bodyslam! My time has come! I motion to the crowd that I am… going… up… top! I get little reaction. Undaunted, up I go. I almost lose my footing, and I can hear a snicker or two, but I quickly regain myself. There I am, far above the madding crowd. Starr is beneath me, a beaten man. I launch… Celtic Splash!

No! Starr moves! Damn him! He picks me up and nails me with his version of the Michinoku Driver. I think he calls it “The Falling Starr.” Stick a fork in me, I’m done. 1, 2, 3. I think we went about nine minutes, all told. Starr’s music plays, and he leaves to a small chorus of boos. I roll my sorry carcass out of the ring, with some help from Bambi. No applause for me. Actually, right after this match, a lot of people left to line up for tickets to the football game. I stagger and stumble back to the truck with Bambi’s assistance, through the ticket line-ups.

Back in the truck, it’s all good. I am complimented for taking the abuse well. There were no train wrecks. No blown spots. I get some pointers, towel off a bit, change, then it’s back to the ring after the last match to tear everything down.

We get a bit of VIP treatment afterward. We get to go into B.C. Place and watch from field level what turned out to be a barnburner of a game. The hometown Lions prevail on a late, 102-yard touchdown pass, eventually winning 48-37. Just like we had booked it.

I feel good. Incredibly satisfied. I am… a wrestler. It dawns on me… I’ve just wrestled for the NWA. It also dawns on me… I’ve just been kissed by a man.

Got any gum?

‘Til next week… Peace. 

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