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.
Right, that’s it, it is now time to stop fannying about and learn this by the correct methods. The year is 2008 and I’m now 22 years old and disenchanted with my so-called golden years, working my arse off for substandard wages and no real achievements. I was clucking for a decent hobby, but most of all, I craved an outlet for my pent-up energy. Planespotting, jigsaw puzzles, or learning to play chess couldn’t possibly suffice.
I met a guy who wrestled a fair number of matches on the independent circuit. Due to our shared interest in the world of pro wrestling, we quickly became very good chums. He took me to a wrestling school somewhere in East Anglia. I had endless enthusiasm but I also had no real clue how hard it was going be, learning the basics of this age-old art form I had been watching all of my life and thinking it looked easy. I weighed 10 stone and that is feck all when you’re just shy of 6’3’’. I learned to bump and run the ropes, I even learned a few power moves and strikes. Still atrocious, I couldn’t even begin to understand the basics of in-ring psychology, let alone perfect my physical performance.
My charisma and eagerness quickly earned me my first live performance slot in the main-event Battle Royale at my local town’s civic centre; a fantastic venue that really looked the part and felt like the real deal – as opposed to a school hall like most live indie shows. It also had a bald wrestler screaming at the crowd to “shut up” whilst there is a wall packed with children’s finger paintings directly behind him. That somewhat deflected his intimidating aggression a tad.
None of the other wrestlers liked me much as it was a small roster and very cliquey, plus it didn’t help that I decided to fearlessly perform in an amateur style blue singlet which was 3 or 4 sizes too small for me (my poor knackers), and shoelaces tied on way too tight around my arms, copying directly off the one and only Warrior. Backstage I found out that I was going to win. I was over the moon and felt humbled and appreciative. Suddenly I realized that the others were not going to make it easy for me, the noob.
Looking up at the others in the locker room, you could actually sense what they were thinking; one burley performer was even rubbing his hands saying how is he was going to chop my chest until it bleeds. I didn’t care, I was too excited and buzzed up on adrenaline, I’d worry about the pain tomorrow.
The main event began with an awkward start as the announcer called out my name as ‘Kevin Charisma’. That was NOT the name I told the local newspaper I featured in only one week prior. My name’s ‘Electric Kev’. I ran out from behind the curtains as if I was a man possessed, running around the ring with a boss-eyed expression on my face where the excitement got the better of me, and I clumsily entered the ring in my ridiculous attire.
I had no glasses or contact lenses in, so instantly I made my first mistake. I stood on the side of the canvas with the heels instead of the faces on the opposite side. This didn’t really matter either way as it was crystal clear to me that both the heels and the babyfaces wanted to stiff me hardstyle.
Ding, ding, ding, the bell sounds and the inevitable onslaught commences. I got elbowed in the head sending me dizzy for a few seconds followed by a swift leg sweep. Knocked on my arse and then kicked onto my back, I was jumped on with both feet across my untoned gut by a 6’6’’ giant with a red Japanese mask on his face, despite being a UK native. If it worked for Kendo Nagasaki then who am I to judge? Besides, he was now launching me into the turnbuckle to carry out some unforgiving chest chops.
Almost everyone had been eliminated from the Battle Royale. There was just me, the big so-called Japanese fella, and the company owner, who was also coincidently the title holder. Mr Japan had his turn but the self-booked champ hadn’t. Not one, but two, German Suplex’s were dished out on little old me. The second German Suplex juggled my innards so violently that I was fearful I might have shat out a kidney.
With my arms held behind my back and backing onto the ropes, the masked bully boy took a running punch towards me which I then ducked, not because I was cunning and quick thinking, but because I was told to do just that from earlier in the night; “Basically, Kevin, you’re going to get a kicking and we are going to work you really hard. At the end of it, all you need to do is duck.” Mr Japan ‘accidently’ eliminated both himself and the owner/champ, leaving me victorious. I gave a cheeky, aimless toe punt as they tumbled off the outside ring apron and onto the floor.
To this day it remains one of the greatest moments of my life. I shit you not, all my friends and other crowd members came running into the ring one by one until it was jam-packed and hoisted me up onto their shoulders. Everyone jumping up and down on the canvas, oblivious to the frantic announcer screaming for all fans to exit the ring. This was surely going to sour the moment. The steel ring base had bent inwards, causing huge damage costs. Safe to say, I was advised to not get changed and just leave the building. If I went backstage I would have got a good seeing to, there is no doubt about that. I even went to the pub afterwards in my cringeworthy ring gear. What a wally.
I was most certainly not welcome back to that indie group, however, I was invited to a rival promotion called PTW (Power Trip Wrestling) who are now a non-existent organisation. I warmed up for an El Ligero main-event match. My match was against some very experienced veterans. Again, I felt I did not earn this, but due to my immense enthusiasm, I got booked under my correct ring name ‘Electric Kev’. I don’t even know what the gimmick was meant to portray, nor do I know why I christened myself as Electric Kev.
Find out how this match goes in the final, thrilling conclusion to Don’t Try This At Home!