Satan, Chickens & Refried Beans

I don’t think I told you about my time in Mexico as a wrestler, yep I was one of the Bandito Brothers. What can I say, I had wrestling in my blood, my sister was one of the original big time stars – you may have heard of her, Macho-Man Randy Savage. My father had also wrestled for years on the midget circuit. It was a tough life, I’ll admit to that. I can’t tell you the numbers of times I nearly choked to death on sequins, from my dads costumes, when I was a kid….

Like I said it was in my blood, I was young, eager and talented and like all talented Canadians, I found myself headed for the States – to the money and the fame. I had trouble breaking in down there, I was just another fresh-faced Canadian farm boy looking to make his mark on the world.

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After working as a doorman at the famous Studio 54 in New York (I once ejected Andy Warhol after he took offense when I commented on his white hair).

As is so often the case, I was discovered completely by accident. No doubt I had a certain flare and just by way of  trying to stand out amongst the NY masses, I started wearing a Sombrero everywhere. Working the door at night left my days open, being blessed with an insanely high metabolism I had to get a part-time job to help burn off some of the excess energy. The job was selling peanuts at Yankee Stadium during afternoon games, now – if you’ve ever been down to the supply room of Yankee Stadium, let me tell you there isn’t much room to maneuver in there, never mind while wearing a sombrero…

So I get my peanut box filled and head out to the stands, as I’m filling an order for this guy and his kid, some guy with a thick mexican accent starts yelling at me, you quickly learn to ignore this in New York. He was furious that I was ignoring him… so, after a short couple of minutes, he was really getting pretty worked up and people around me started looking up in his direction. That was my cue, when my bouncer training and mongoose like reflexes sprang into action and as this 6 foot 9 behemoth charged me, I was able to elegantly spin, while putting him into a choke hold and throwing down a double suplex on him, shattering his collarbone into 73 pieces.

He died.

But the guy he was with turned out to be a huge mexican wrestling promoter, sort of a mexican don king and that was that, having killed his star attraction he offered me a contract right then and there. I accepted, and followed in my father and sisters footsteps.

I had a good run, made some decent pesos, made a name for myself, but as often is the case with athletes – I didn’t know when enough was enough… now, it’s a shock to see just how far I had fallen, wrestling chickens and house cats in basements and being paid in bowls of refried beans… I knew it was time to hang it up once the chickens and cats could pin me pretty regularly. I left Mexico, and to this day I’ve never been back. But my Legend Lives On….

They called me “Gordo Idiota Estúpido Perezoso” and it was the happiest I’ve ever been, except the chicken part…

I’m was told later, they wrote a book about my time in Mexico, a friend sent me a picture of the cover, I’ve never read it – but I’m sure it’s an amazing read…. a book, a book all about me, I had done it, I was famous. My wrestling ancestors would be proud.

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Have a Great Day

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