by Kev Gill
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the continuing adventures of a British Indie Wrestler named Electric Kev. Surprised? Confused? Visit part one for an introduction to our hero.
The match was planned to start off with two heels outnumbering a jilted babyface, stood up by his tag partner. I was planted in the crowd waiting for my signal to come to the rescue by volunteering my services as a last-minute partner. Before I took to my position within the crowd, I was backstage with the two heels and going through the different spots to take place in our match later that night. As they both went through the spots step by step, I nodded my head and said “yes”. These guys were much bigger than me, therefore I found it difficult to inform them that everything they just instructed me, went through one ear and out the other. I went to my seat in the front row with a dickey feeling in my stomach. I had no idea what I was meant to be doing.
My negative gut-o-metre readings did not begin at that point but first occurred earlier in the day. Right up until my arrival at the venue I had no idea who my tag partner was going to be, until I saw a rather geeky looking chap in a red cowboy hat and red cape along with a charity red nose fixed to his face. My instincts told me that this dude was my tag partner. He marched across the hall to me with one hand extended out to shake mine 30 seconds before he eventually stopped in front of me. With an overly ecstatic gaze in his eye, he asked, “Are you Kevin?” I wanted to lie and tell him I wasn’t but before I could think about it, I uttered “Yes.” He then stated, “I’m your tag partner.” I then uncontrollably thought to myself, “I am fucked.”
There is so much I can write about this live event, but I must prevent myself from getting carried away. This show deserves its own dedicated story. In the meantime, watch the video compilation.
Long story short; I was humiliated and never wrestled again.
In the present day, I’m 31 years of age and now being unfamiliar with a wrestling ring and proper training, I am now more accustomed to drinking import lagers and red wine. Riddled with ring rust and suffering double vision, I decided to ‘try this at home’. Seeing as I was tanked up on intoxicating juices and was in my ‘when you say you can, you can’ mentality, I decided it would be a good idea to attempt some version of a high-risk manoeuvre which doesn’t even exist and somehow land on my feet. As you can see by the before and after x-ray’s, I will now humbly bow out of participating in any wrestling activities for the foreseeable future.
For now, the only wrestling I shall include myself in on is writing for my fellow wrestling buffs and watching old tapings of ‘WWF Superstars’ and ‘Saturday Night Main Event’, often looking into the first few ringside seats and wondering how many in that crowd are still alive. Morbid yes, but everyone needs a hobby.
Now, as enjoyable as it has been for me to introduce myself to you whilst sharing my fondest life memories, I must abruptly end my tales here. I’m starving and it’s time for my mushy peas.