by The Immolator
Exclusive to OnlineOnslaught.com

"A man’s gotta know his limitations." 
     — Clint Eastwood in “Magnum Force”

This is The Ring. My name is “The Immolator” Calum Macbeth, and I like to hurt people. Welcome, welcome. Gather ‘round the table, have a wee dram.

On Saturday, December 21, provided I don’t screw up royally, I’m slated to graduate from The House of Pain wrestling school. On Friday, December 27, I’m slated to appear at NWA-ECCW’s annual “Season’s Beatings” card in Surrey, the organization’s de facto backyard. The next day, I fly to Halifax for my new sportswriting job.

Looking back on the past seven months of training and matches, it’s been a wild ride. On one hand, I’ve learned a ton. On the other, I was looking at some video of myself, and I sure as heck look like a wet noodle in the ring. I’ve hardly gone to the gym since the summer. And I feel like my body is one giant bruise.

Last Saturday, Calum Macbeth and Super Antares each had a match at the House of Pain. Calum was in the ring with a solid veteran, and the match all went to hell because Calum was in over his head. Blown spots galore. Undeservedly, Calum was the winner with the Celtic Cloverleaf. About 20 minutes after that debacle, Super Antares wrestled The Amazing Halo. S.A. went for a pescado and ended up getting two knees square in the gut. Not a pleasant feeling, as I can attest, because I have also, coincidentally enough, recently gotten kneed in the gut off a pescado. Knocked the wind right out of me. Didn’t exactly help the flow of the match either. Halo won with a neckbreaker. But S.A. did get to bust out a sweet slingshot legdrop. Small victories, wherever you can find them.

The following day, Super Antares wrestled at a movie theatre in Langley called The Colossus. It was a special pre-Armageddon card. Vance Nevada was the opponent. Vance won quite handily with his variation of the F5. A half-decent match, but still not terribly smooth. At the end of the card, S.A. was part of an eight-man elimination tag, and was the first to go home, eliminated by Dropkick Murphy after a slingshot legdrop.

On Monday, I was as sore as hell. On Wednesday, I went into the House of Pain for some evaluation. About eight of us were there, taking all manner of bumps as part of the test. Too many bumps for me. I could barely get out of my car when I got home.

Was it all I expected it to be? I really had no expectations. I should be pleased with myself that I even made it this far. But I’m not. Every time I go in there, despite the fact that I’m greener than the green, green grass of home, I expect to be the Third Coming of the Dynamite Kid (Chris Benoit being the Second). But I’m not.

This will be the penultimate column for Yours Truly. When I get to Halifax, I will let y’all know how my crowning moment in NWA-ECCW went over. After that, I need rest. I need to heal, and I need to (re)build my body. I think I would like to continue doing this. But, at 33, my priorities are with my “real” job and with Mrs. Immolator. Que sera, sera and all that.

Until next time, Peace. And, Happy Kwanzaa.

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