by The Immolator
Exclusive to OnlineOnslaught.com

"Cold as a razor blade, tight as a tourniquet… like the skin on a dying man."
       — Jake “The Snake” Roberts, playing mix-and-match 
              with Pink Floyd.

Welcome back to The Ring. My name is The Immolator, and I like to hurt people.

Before I begin, big ups to all those who e-mailed their congratulations and support after my ring debut this past Wednesday. Especially to my old pal Rusty. To him, mavericks like myself (and himself) are what make the world go ‘round. Now all I need to do is find a cure for cancer.

I have also discovered what, for me, was one of the Great Mysteries of Life: how the heck to spell “Beell toss.” A quick dip into the wrestling history book shows the move was popularized by Fred Beell, who held the "American" Heavyweight Wrestling Championship back in 19-ought-6.

So. Technically, I’m a professional wrestler now, although I consider myself a phenomenologist when it comes to these things. “I yam what I yam,” as a famous mariner once said. In my way of thinking, I’m not a wrestler. I am someone who has a wrestling match under my belt. Actually, make that two. More on that later.

Do I feel any different? Only when I approach a ring. Having an actual match is one heck of a learning experience. I was fortunate enough last week to have my debut match against my trainer, “Gorgeous” Michelle Starr, someone who knew my strengths and weaknesses well enough to kick my ass and make it look good.

Speaking of debuts, I have now had my first taste of ECCW action as a referee. Last Friday at the world-famous Bridgeview Hall in exotic Surrey, B.C., I had the pleasure of officiating an ECCW Heavyweight Title match between champion Scotty Mac and challenger Dr. Luther. It was a No DQ match, which, of course, meant I was going to get killed. Sure enough, after I counted Dr. Luther’s shoulders down for the three-count, he got up, kicked me in the gut, put a chair over my head and whacked it with another chair, effectively Pillmanizing my skull. I’ve been told the move looked “sick.” I’ve also been complimented on my refereeing as far as positioning and cadence go, and I’ve been called a Nick Patrick clone. But I’m more interested in the sick ref bumps.

Reffing is fun, but I prefer wrestling. And, I’m happy to say that Project Macbeth is in full effect. On Saturday at the House of Pain (our OVW, for those of you new to the column), I was called upon to wrestle again. “It’ll be good for you,” I was told. Indeed it was, at least from an educational standpoint. My opponent was Gorilla, one half of the #12 ranked tag team in the NWA, Gorilla and Abbadon. Also the current ECCW Tag champions. When you think “Gorilla,” think “George of the Jungle,” but with George “The Animal” Steele’s back hair. So, in front of a jam-packed crowd of, oh, 30 people (mostly other students and their families) I got another taste of action.

Before the match, I cut a promo saying (a) how much I like to hurt people; (b) how much I disliked getting my skull Pillmanized the previous night; and (c) how, if I beat Gorilla in my “try-out” match, Starr would grant me a proper wrestler’s license, so I could go on and hurt people and not get my skull Pillmanized anymore. Then I snuck off next to the entranceway and attacked Gorilla when he made his appearance. Yes, I’m the bad guy.

I threw Gorilla into the ring, gave him a forearm or two, Irish whip, back elbow. I picked him up, and gave him a headbutt. Oops. His head is like… a coconut. Surely it cannot be that hard, I thought. So I gave him another one. Oops. He proceeded to kick my ass. Headbutt of his own flattened me. Clothesline, suplex. He picked me up, sent me into the ropes, and went for a clothesline, but I ducked. I also ducked the back elbow attempt on the rebound, then delivered a vicious dropkick to the knee.

Things got a little sloppy after that. My offence is fairly limited, and I made it more so by immediately focusing on the knee. I’m a rangy kind of guy, too, and I tended to shuffle and move around a bit instead of making my moves tight and crisp. Elbow drop to the inside of the knee, and into a leglock. I got up and applied a spinning toe hold. Gorilla got the inside cradle out of that, but I kicked out at two and went at his knee again. I tried the Mr. Perfect shinbreaker, but it looked bad. I dragged Gorilla (too slowly) over to the ropes, draped his ankle across the bottom rope, and sat down hard on the leg twice, Double-A style. That seemed to look good. Eventually, I slapped on the figure-four. I used the ropes for leverage, but the ref eventually caught me and called for the hold to be broken. I wouldn’t break, though. Instead, Gorilla reversed it. After what seemed like an eternity, I realised, hey, I’m right next to the ropes, and grabbed on. Hold was broken. I got up and took a flying shouldertackle, and another. Neither looked good (my fault). Gorilla went to the top, but he had trouble getting there because of his knee. Aha! So I kicked him martial arts-style in the back of the knee, sending him crashing to the mat.

CM: “Now you’re gonna see… a Celtic Cloverleaf!”

I tried to procure the hold, but I couldn’t turn Gorilla over. Instead, he used his strength to roll me off to the side. Livid, I went for a leg trip, but he tripped me instead and put me in the “Monkeywrench,” a form of the ankle lock. Tap, tap, tap. Calum Macbeth doesn’t get his wrestler’s licence. But he does learn a thing or two about The Ring.

On that note, time for me to powder. People to do, places to see. Catch ya next week.

Peace.

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