I just wanted to excerpt this. I am in the middle of writing my final papers for my Personality Theory class and one of them was to write an analysis in the style of Carl Jung about something that occurred during my adolescence.
"When I was in the sixth grade, I set out on a journey that would one day culminate with me achieving something that most people never get to do. I live out my dream. I am a professional wrestler.
Among the various posters and papers, projects and possessions my science teacher had posted around his class room, one stood out to me above all. On the front chalkboard, right next to where the erasers sat, was an 8x10 inch autographed photo of King Kong Bundy. I knew who Bundy was. He was a professional wrestler, and on more than one occasion he fought my childhood hero Hulk Hogan. Bundy was a super-heavyweight as they called it. A monster of a man, he was bald and round, like a potato, standing at almost seven feet high with a single-strapped all black wrestling singlet nothing fancy, he was simply a monster not unlike the mighty ape for whom he was nicknamed after. Hulk Hogan was different. The Hulk was dubbed Immortal. He was this unstoppable force who stood up for every kid who ever needed someone to look up to. He wasn’t pasty, or boring, or simplified like King Kong Bundy was. No, the Hulkster marched around the ring in Yellow and Red attire and tore off his tee-shirt before every match! He was the strongest person I had ever seen in my life! I tried pulling my tee-shirt a part like him before and it was impossible. Only a man as strong as the Hulk could do such a thing.
So here was Hulk’s old nemesis sitting on my teacher’s blackboard. One day, when I was brave enough, I approached Mr. Zabarsky about the photo. This opened up a dialog about wrestling. Gone were the days of the Hulk, and with it my early childhood. Now was the time of pre-teen angst. I was 13 going on 14 then. A bar-mitzvah! I was a man and ready to face the burdens of life. I needed new heroes. And through the mythology of professional wrestling, live every Monday night on the USA network, I was prescribed the ultimate role model in “Stone Cold” Steve Austin!
Mr. Zabarsky and I would discuss Stone Cold’s antics every Tuesday night. Austin would literally kick his boss’s ass every Monday night, so that delighted my teacher who was constantly dealing with the Philadelphia Public School system in his own right. I just thought Steve Austin was cool. He didn’t care what anybody else thought. He was the typical American hero. He did what he wanted to do and he didn’t give a damn what anybody thought about it AND THAT’S THE BOTTOM LINE 'CAUSE STONE COLD SAID SO!
I grew close with Mr. Zabarsky. He would tell me about a local wrestling company called ECW which I had only heard about. They ran monthly events in an old bingo hall in South Philadelphia. They had since ceased operations and a new promotion began running shows in South Jersey in lieu of ECW's closure. Jack would tell me of how they would fight through the crowd regularly and smash light bulbs over each others' heads! I asked to go with him one time. So I did.
Enter Combat Zone Wrestling. About 400 lunatics crammed into an indoor soccer arena in South Jersey surrounding a ring and watched what I considered to be minor league professional wrestling. I still remember the smell of the place, like walking into a new building for the first time and seeing the fluorescent hue of the lighting. During the show I saw some of the wrestlers were about the age of 16 or 17. People were going nuts for them in the audience. I thought to myself, if they can do it then why couldn't I? I watched as the boss of the company, a man called Zandig, decked out in leather and denim from head to toe with muscles that rivaled that of the almighty Hulk, would throw people through glass, barbed wire, and furniture with ease. I would take bits of tables that the wrestlers flew through the night prior and show them to classmates. This was the most personal connection I have ever had to something that seemed larger than life.
Three years later me and my little brother and Jack, Mr. Zabarsky insisted that since he was no longer my teacher he gets called by his first name, were still regularly attending events when my brother and I began helping the ring crew clean up after events and help break down the ring. We began to mingle with the other wrestlers. I began to unveil a curtain that had been shrouded in mystery to myself since I was three years old!
It was a rainy night at an outdoor show in New Jersey during the rain, my brother and I were helping the crew tear the ring down as usual when the man himself walked out to greet us. It was Zandig, the owner of Combat Zone Wrestling. He went up to me and my brother and personally handed us free tickets to the next event for helping the crew out. “Thanks.” He said. And then he mysteriously disappeared just as he had came. The two of us were thrilled.
We began interacting with the ring crew guys more from then on. A group of hard workers who knew how to build anything from cages of death to the ring itself, they were there after every show breaking down. Lead by a man named Shawn who was half the size of the rest of them, they toiled like the seven dwarfs on crack. In fact, Snow White would have been in awe of what these guys could do. They were like a mix of construction workers and bikers. None of them desired to wrestle, but they enjoyed the show and were loyal to Zandig. My brother and I grew to know them well.
One Summer my brother came over to me with a note. On it was scribbled an address. He said that he met a man named DJ Hyde who said he was the trainer at the CZW Wrestling Academy and he had asked if we were interested in training. My brother said yes immediately, but I wasn't going to let him go it alone. Just like that, the brothers Gulak were off to Deptford, New Jersey to train in the art of professional wrestling.
Pro Wrestling is a unique subculture. It has its own rules and etiquette as well as its own traditions. When you start training in the business of pro wrestling, you quickly learn that it is very much everything you think it is, and at the same time had no idea how convoluted it can be.
We arrived at the CZW Wrestling Academy, which was in a warehouse at an industrial park in Deptford. Inside were two large rooms connected by a huge sliding door each with a ring inside and lots of weightlifting equipment strewn about. Luckily my brother and I were taught about the etiquette from the very beginning. You must introduce yourself to every other member of the show before the show begins. The same applies to training. That is, you must shake everyone's hand. But not too hard, or they will assume you really throw punches.
Without spoiling too much, Professional Wrestling is a work. It isn't what it seems to be, at least when it is portrayed accurately. Pro Wrestlers are magicians. We are tricksters. We pretend to fight and whatever other emotions we can add to that in order to entertain people, much the saw way actors do in action movies. And like movies or the theater, pro wrestling is contained within its own universe. Typically that means that pinning your opponents shoulders to the mat garners a victory.
I was told to stand in the ring and throw myself onto the mat shoulders first so that I would protect my kidneys. It felt like falling onto the floor when performed slightly wrong. Luckily I got the hang of it in haste. I trained with my brother, who is three years younger than me, I must reiterate, for a full year until April 12th, 2005 when it was time for my very first wrestling match.
The stage was set. It was a couple of weeks before my 18th birthday, the legal age to compete as a wrestler in the state of Pennsylvania. I camped out for a week in my cafeteria and suffered a suspension; the show was a charity event that I helped to organize. It happened in my high school gymnasium. I had my very first professional wrestling match in front of 200 people, many of them my friends. It was myself and DJ Hyde, my trainer, against Sabian, Robbie Mireno, and Maven Bentley in a handicapped 2 vs. 3 match with the winner taking the money raised for charity.
I donned my high school wrestling singlet for the match. No longer was I an amateur. I was a professional. The bell rang, and for 15 minutes I was pummeled. I tried to make the tag to let my partner in the ring to help me but my opponents had me outnumbered. Finally, I slipped away and made the tag. DJ Hyde cleared the ring. He tagged me back in before outside interference behind the referee's back turned the advantage in my opponent's favor. DJ was sent to the floor by Sabian. I was all alone with Maven Bentley holding me up for one of his henchmen to throw powder in my face. The ref was distracted. The crowd was enraged. Maven's henchman climbed onto the apron, pulled out the powder reared back to throw. In that split second I slipped away again! The powder hit Maven in the face. I rolled him up with a basic pinning combination. The referee turned around! “One! Two! Three!” The count was made! I was victorious! The crowd went crazy! I climbed to the top rope and raised my arms in victory as all 200 people cheered at the top of their lungs!
I was a professional wrestler.
That was 7 years ago. Now I am a trainer at the CZW Wrestling Academy teaching students of my own.
