Total Pageviews

Sunday, January 30, 2011

FIGHTS - Alberto Del Rio is the Foreign Enemy of our modern time...

"I'm a rich Mexican.  Doesn't that piss you off?"

Pro-wrestling promotions have never been above anything in the quest for fans to love or hate their wrestlers.  Nationality has always been a factor to bring in crowds to either cheer or jeer the particular wrestler representing a particular nationality.

For example, Pedro Morales appealed to the Puerto Ricans of New York back in the day.  Bruno Sammartino, the Italians.  Vince, Sr., would put the titles on these guys because members of these cultures would pay money to go see this guy whip up on people.  The fans would live vicariously through these cultural representatives.

But wrestling promotions would also put up representatives of cultures or governments America was at war with.  Traditionally speaking, anyone not distinctly American would be the bad guy.  Japanese and Russians were a big draw back in the day.  Sgt. Slaughter and the Iron Shiek made a lot of money taking their battles across the country.  Even one of the baddest men alive, Abdullah the Butcher, was booked as "The Madman from the Sudan".  He was actually a Canuk.

Today, a former lucha libre and mixed martial arts pro-wrestler named Alberto Del Rio won a prestigious WWE event.  In truth, it was a suprise to me.  I didn't think he would win it.

But in a way, it makes sense.  For the purpose of this blog, I will not talk about how lucha stars were 'used' in WCW.

Alberto Del Rio is a departure from the way the giant WWE portrays lucha libre style wrestlers.  A fair amount of respect was paid to Rey Mysterio.  However, perhaps in a show of disrespect to the sport, Rey was given his mask back after having lost it (twice, once in the US, then in Mexico).  Rey and Vince made a lot of money on his return.

Then there were "The Mexi-Cools", who were lucha style workers who came out to the ring on riding lawn mowers.  Great.  Thanks, Stamford, Connecticuit.

Eddie Guerrero is a legend of the sport.  But he eventually fell into a character that had him working hard to earn his GED, call his escort Mamacita (because all Latinos are lovers), and eventually become a WWE champion by "Lying, Cheating, and Stealing".  He would show up in low rider cars to the cheers of the fans.

Alberto Del Rio is a departure from these stereotype.  He is a rich Mexican who shows up to the ring in very nice cars, has his own personal announcer who announces him in Spanish, and an arrogance reserved to aristocrats.  Here we have the classical foreign enemy archetype in an era of  "Arizona Immigration Laws", "Machete", and "The DREAM Act".  The heated political climate in regards to legal and illegal Mexicans has been pulled into WWE.  Del Rio, by the way, means 'from the river'.

Quick back story.  Alberto Del Rio used to be the legacy to Dos Caras.  He was Dos Caras, Jr.  He wore a mask.

"Three guesses why he used a red, white, and green color scheme with an eagle pattern."

He also fought in MMA in Japan and did alright for himself.  He even broke a guys arm after throwing him with a belly to belly suplex.  He has a strong amateur background, in truth.

"Representing lucha libre in MMA"

All this guy has to do is show up and the crowd goes wild, booing like crazy.  It's reminicent of those Nikolai Volkoff/Iron Shiek days.  In essence, Del Rio is playing those classic "foreign bad guy" roles as a successful and rich Mexican.  Because, in pro-wrestling, the silly Mexicans riding in on the lawnmowers can be cheered.  But if you are a Mexican with money who is successful, then you should be boo'd.  At least, if you're a fan from Stanford, Connecticuit.  I wasn't the only one that cheered when Del Rio won.  But I live in San Antonio, a few miles away from Connecticuit with far different attitudes and opinions of rich Mexicans. 

Which, ironically enough, isn't any better, I guess.  If a super rich Mexican like that walked in, I would be very nice.  A general perception is that he is probably with one of the 'carteles'.  I wouldn't want him to have someone cut off my head.

Who's opinion is worse, right?

Well, it was pretty cool to have such a heel that actually could have a following with the Latino population.  I for one, support him because of my cultural background and appreciation for lucha libre.  So its a weird dynamic when I'm in the middle of a manufactured cultural divide.  I'm having fun, but is everybody else?

It will be fun to see how this all plays out.  In the meantime, I lift a can of Corona to Alberto Del Rio.  From masked lucha star, Dos Caras, Jr., to main eventing Wrestlemania.  Well played.



The origins of the Sin Cara rivalry

The Sin Cara I vs. Sin Cara II Mask vs. Mask match


You can network with Bowie at

ZOMBIES-Travis Adkins was right. The ultimate weapon for the ZPoc is a Hanzo Sword

           (ed.note - As I reflect on this post, it's clear Travis Adkins got it right in his story "Twilight of the Dead".  A katana style sword and training is the ultimate weapons against zombies.  Thank you, Travis.  And you can pick up his book here:  Twilight of the Dead by Travis Adkins

"Pick your poison, zombie scum!"

           It’s a discussion that is rehashed and rehashed and rehashed some more since even before Ken Foree and Scott Reiniger busted into the old school gun shop in the Monroeville Mall. 
(And, may I say, those were the good old days in America when you could buy your firearms at the shopping mall.  Not like today.  Perhaps the gun-grabbers in the ‘U.A-yes gummint’ want to take our guns so when they unleash the zombie apocalypse, we’ll be defenseless, begging for their help as they stick us in FEMA camps and inject us with mercury-laden vaccines that… wait, what was I saying.  Oh, yes….)
Since those four renegades made their temporary home in the Monroeville Mall, Romero disciples and lovers of zombie horror have had their dream weapons for the zombie apocalypse.  Naturally, firearms come to mind.  People pick machine guns, shotguns, lever action, the works.  Even explosives.  I, personally, would like a good ‘ol wooden bat.
But there are some simple facts that make these devastating choices BAD choices during the zombie apocalypse, at least when it comes to battling the undead.  There is clearly one true weapon that would be THE weapon to use, if you could find it.  A weapon so devastating, yet so simple, anyone prepping for the zombie apocalypse now would be a fool to ignore it and start training with it, simple training that could mean the difference between life and death.  Yes, my friends, I am talking about the Hattori Hanzo sword.

"Now serving: 1.  Number 1."

First, lets establish the context of this hypothesis.  This hypothesis is for the zombie apocalypse with ‘Romero Shamblers”.  ‘k?  k.

“But Bowie,” you say.  “You’re a dumb ass.”
Then I say, “Thank you,” and take a bow.
Then you say, “I said you’re a dumb ass.”
Then I say, “Oh.  I thought you said ‘awesome’.  Go f**k yourself, then.”
Then you say, “Bowie, tell me about the Hattori Hanzo sword.”
Well, the legend of the Hattori Hanzo sword starts with a true legend from Japan.  In short, Hanzo was a, “samurai and ninja”, and Hanzō,

“…was known as an expert tactician and a master of spear fighting. Various magical tricks such as disappearing and appearing elsewhere, psychokinesis and precognition were also attributed to him.”

You can read more about him here:

Historical Hattori Hanzo

Or, at least, what the ‘internet’ has documented about him.  Because, in the immortal words of “The Heartbreak Kid” Shawn Michaels, “if its on the internet, then it must be true.”
            I first heard of Hanzo in the classic SNK video game, “Samurai Showdown”.  He was the ninja character, and he leads a band of ninjas that, “…specializes in assassination attacks against their enemies”.  Imagine that. 

Here’s the video game characters history where you can read more:

Hattori Hanzo wikipedia

Oh, and here’s a tribute video if words aren’t enough for you.  C’mon, gamers, you already know you’re clicking it:

Hattori Hanzo MegaMix

            The legend of Hattori Hanzo made its way to the silver screen with the release of Tarantino’s “Kill Bill” series.  In it, the protagonist named “The Bride” travels to Okinawa to have a Hattori Hanzo sword custom made for her so she can make a run to kill her former team of assassins who tried to kill her.  If you haven’t seen the two-part movie, go ahead and NetFlix it now.
Here’s a video from the flick, with the Hanzo-style sword presented to her in a special ritual.

Hattori Hanzo gives The Bride what is potentially the zombie-killingest sword ever

            “C’mon, Bowie,” you say. “A sword does not top a firearm in regards to zombie-killing power.”
            “For sure,” I say.  You’re a sh**head, I think to myself.
            But let me tell you two good reasons why a sword would be superior over a firearm.

  1. Firearms take ammo – Sure, its fun to pretend to be Wooly, “Go Apes**t”, and blow zombies heads off.  But that’s one shell.  You’re probably going to need a few more shells when the Zpoc rolls around.  And who’s got to carry that?  You do.  Sure, you look and feel bad-ass carrying around that M-16 with the M-203 attachment.  Or perhaps the mini-gun is your favorite.  Great.  Walk a block with that weapon.  Two blocks.  A mile.  Two miles.  Then see how much fun it is to carry that weapon and the ammo.

  1. Ammo – So you carried all that ammo.  You’re mowing down zombies like Elvis would if he were still alive.  And then you run out of ammo.  Now what?  “Wise men say only fools rush in… without a backup!”

  1. Care – If you are going to have an effective firearm over a period of time, you have to know how to take care of it.  If it breaks, do you know how to fix it?  Can you handle the upkeep?  Can you clean it?

With training, using a Hattori Hanzo sword when the dead rise from the grave and attack the living would be the best course of action.  Why?  Simple.

    1. No bullets.

Buy a whetstone, learn how to use that to keep it sharp, and you’ll be set.

Wooden bats break.  Bats, in general, take some work and effort.  Regional weapons, like Cricket Bats, can also break, and take effort to down the zombie.  Machetes get stuck in zombie’s heads.  Just ask Tom Savini and Lenny Lies.  Those precious seconds could cost you your life.

So get a Hanzo sword and train.  Train now.  And find a legit Hanzo-style sword.  No, not the swords you find at the ‘Pulga’ off of Eisenhaur Rd. in San Antonio, Texas, for $20.  Find an honest to goodness Hanzo sword.  Then learn how to use it.
Then run.  Run laps.  Or, in the very least, get on the ellipse machine.  Get your wind up.
Think I’m kidding about the effectiveness of the Hanzo.  Consider this video evidence.  Yeah, it’s an exhibition, but imagine this kind of skill against the shamblers.

Exhibition of The Hanzo Sword:  Bride vs. Crazy 88

            The number one theory in ‘Zombieland’ stands true.  Conditioning is key.  Then, make a plan.  Then, train in the Hanzo sword. 



Bowie Ibarra is the author of the successful “Down the Road” zombie horror book series.   His books include the Simon and Schuster release of “Down the Road”, the Permuted Press title “Down the Road:  On the Last Day”, and the upcoming “Down the Road:  The Fall of Austin”, set to drop on May 28th, 2011.  You can learn more about Bowie at

FIGHTS - Nick Diaz's career counselor should be praised...

"Buy all the tats you want, but your ink, your muscles, and your ugly don't mean s**t against science"

StrikeForce on Showtime put together a pretty good card Saturday night.  It was highlighted by matchups between Lawler and Jacare (Lawler lost via submission), Hershel Walker stomped a mudhole into a guy, and the final match was amazing. 

The main event, Nick Diaz vs. Evangalista Cyborg Santos was not a bad match up.  Check it out here.

Diaz vs. Cyborg

In truth, it was an easy pick.  Diaz is tough as nails and has amazing hands.  Cyborg is a brawler, and gasses himself out because he puts everything behind every punch and kick.  Like the main problem of guys who are ripped like bodybuilders, they run out of gas fast because of the muscles need for oxygen. 

People (including the announcers) point to another matchup as one of Cyborg's great fights against another wild and powerful brawler, the Dutch monster Melvin Manhoof.  Great fight, by MMA standards.  But the guys gas out.  Here's that fight.

Manhoef/Cyborg Run-out-of-gas slugfest

Which is why Diaz/Cyborg was easy to pick Diaz.  And it was great.  Diaz picked Cyborg apart with science, the sweet science, and grit.  Cyborg's wife stood a better chance with Diaz.

It's clear fighting is what Diaz does best.  And he found the right profession, because he put on a show making a Brazilian mauler I wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley after someone told him I banged his wife and made him look stupid.  In fact, Diaz wins, then goes to the cage and talks trash to someone in the crowd as if he was going out there.  A drink was tossed into the pit in response.

For once, thank you, Nick Diaz, for punking that Brazilian.  Not since Don Frye stomped Amauri Bitteti have I been so happy.  Back in the days when you could attack the spine with downward elbow strikes, knees to the head on the ground, attack the back of the head with downward elbows.  Even headbutt a guy to the face.  Ah, those were the days!

Frye vs. Bitteti - A Celebration of an American Moustache stomping Brazil

Saturday, January 29, 2011

ZOMBIES - "Like a Sucker Punch from a pregnant lesbian"

"Oh, S**t," you say?  "Bowie did a blog that does not have anything to do with pro-wrestling?" you say?   "He did not take the time to take pictures, write up his experience to an ungrateful audience, or anything like that?"
And I say to you, "No.  (But I will again in March)"  Then I say it again.
"No.  (But I will again in March)"
Then I say, "Listen, don't judge me.  I had a long work day.  I can tie one on if I want."
Then you say, "What's your point, rummy?"
Then I say, "You need to read the following passage from the zombie novel "Drop Dead Gorgeous" by Irishman Wayne Simmons, available now from  If you like great character development, great story, and a fantastic finish where (no spoilers), then you need to check this book out.  Oh, did I mention one of the main protagonists is a tattoo artist?  And there's a lot of drinking? 
Yes, that's the angle this book comes at you from.
From Ireland.
You think the fighting the Protestants and Catholics and the IRA is ridiculous.  Add zombies to the mix, then watch what happens.
You've come this far.  Take a minute and read the following passage from the book that people have called, "...Like a sucker punch from a pregnant Lesbian", or "...not the typical same-ol zombie fare".  Or, perhaps the best, "... Simmons writes like the grotesque love child of George A. Romero and Charles Dickens".
Seriously, check it out...


Star wore something akin to a bemused scowl as she sat uselessly poised for action, leaning forward on her small, wooden stool. Her hand, famously steady, with the ability to draw inhumanly straight lines for up to one hour (before needing a ciggie break) shook suddenly and briefly before becoming still again. The sound of her machine whined hungrily, hungry for the naked flesh (good skin, excellent tone) now flat out on the floor in front of her. A tall, thin, punky girl lay face down, half of the outline of a pentagram etched into her spine, her skin still red and enflamed from the needle’s incision.
What the...?!
Star suddenly sniggered. It was a snigger pitched somewhere between nervous and amused. She wasn’t green, by any means. She’d seen it all over the years: big bouncer-type lads screeching like banshees as the letters ‘F-U-C-K’ were inked onto their knuckles; teenagers, with their pungent reek of hormones, giggling and sweating their way through having respective names burned onto each other’s arms; sombre looking, menopausal women almost throwing orgasms such was their delight as a pair of hearts, or the words ‘Bite Me’, were branded onto their pelvic area. She’d watched people scream, cry, laugh hysterically, puke, faint, urinate, even leap from their seats with horror as that first sting of the needle bit into them, as that little taste of adrenaline surged through their arms/legs/backs/pelvis/neck/whatever. But she had never—not in the ten years she had been working as a professional tattooist—had someone fuckin’ die on her.
This was new.
It wasn’t like this client, this particular client, to be nervous. Punky Girl was something of a regular. Star had always thought she had the look and attitude of a student, probably from York Street Art College around the corner. Somehow sensing a quiet day, Punky Girl (was her name Melanie, maybe—or Melissa?) would often casually stroll in, A2-sized folder by her side, quietly asking for more black (always black) occult symbols to be tattooed.
This was her first Sunday appointment, a slot normally reserved for regulars. Like a lot of regulars, the real serious tattoo addicts, Punky Girl never spoke much, staring into space as the work was done. Occasionally Star would have noticed her arm getting a slight bout of shakes when she was feeling the bite of the needle. But she had never made a noise, never complained, never even as much as winced until today.
Fuckin’ weird...
And she was dead, all right.
Perhaps it was the shape of her body on the floor, almost hog-tied, arms and legs somehow having crossed behind her back and curvaceous arse (yes, Star had noticed; yes, she had leered) as she fell. Perhaps it was the stillness, not just a lack of movement, but an almost statuesque stiffness, no gentle rising and falling of the lower back, no rhythmic whisper of breathing—all things a tattooist, like Star, would be working closely with, and against, every day. Either way, Star was quite sure this bitch was dead.
Gone. Kaput. Fucked.
She reached across her workstation and turned the radio off. There was the distant sound of something colliding with something else, a hint of momentary madness, then nothing. Even on a Sunday, it rarely got this quiet in the shop. A veritable drop-in centre for the torn-skinned and disenfranchised of Belfast, Starcrossed Tattoos would normally be filled with thirty-something drop-outs and twenty-something stoners.
Star looked back at the body on the floor. She still couldn’t believe what had just happened.
She sat her machine down carefully on the workstation beside her and rose gingerly from her stool. She bent down slowly, studying the fallen girl’s pentagram. What had been done so far was fine, a little frayed at the corner where Star was inking when the girl had suddenly fallen, but otherwise in good shape. She had got most of the outline sorted. She was just about to change to another machine for filling in colour. As it stood now, however, the pentagram was unfinished, incomplete, unprofessional.
On dead skin.
She pulled her latex gloves off and discarded them in a nearby bin. Running a hand through her dreadlocked hair, a habit Star had developed when thinking on some shit that needed sorting, she strolled over to the door of her gaff and slowly opened it. Lighting up her third ciggie of the morning, Star cautiously stepped outside, sweeping her eyes left, then right, as she took her first drag. She could see the crooked outlines of two fallen people nearby. A dog lay sleeping, (or dead?) its lead twisting and turning to meet the hand of its collapsed owner. Along the long street, Star could make out more crumpled bodies. Just a few, what with it being early on a Sunday. But it was enough to reinforce what she already feared: this wasn’t just some new, drastic reaction to the needle she was dealing with. This was bigger.
She left the shop, allowing the door to close behind her. She moved past the dog, past the other couple of bodies and on down the street. Star discovered a Sunday more quiet than any she had ever known. She had never been a fan of Sundays, for that very reason, but this was taking the Mickey. This was like a bad dream after some dodgy hash. Nothing about this was cool.
A handful of cars were stalled, untidily, across the city centre. More people were sprawled like homeless refugees on street corners and sidewalks alike.
Several birds lay like fallen confetti outside a nearby church building. This was powerful. This was really powerful. This made her pause, captivating her. She inched closer, studying their little corpses in turn; each was surrounded with pink, or the suggestion of pink, rather, where their bodies had struck the tarmac. They spoke to her. Their imagery spoke to the artist within; feeding, enriching. They told her what had happened. It was a language Star understood, a language that was graphic, explicit, hideous. She reached her free hand into the pocket of her combats, finding her mobile phone. She needed to capture this. Carefully, she called up the camera option, working with the natural light to take a series of pictures that would do the image justice. She stepped back, the artist within her momentarily content. She slipped the phone back into her pocket.
Star looked to the church. It stood tall and solemn, its heavy wooden doors lending a gothic feel that was less than welcome. She drew one hand to her lips, sucking on the remains of the cigrarette. It tasted good, steadying her. She took another drag, drawing the smoke in deeply.
“You can do this...” she whispered to herself.


Now go buy it.

No, seriously.  Go buy it.  You will not be

DROP DEAD GORGEOUS can be pre-ordered here (link: (if in the UK or Ireland)

or here (link: (if anywhere else in the world).

Visit Wayne online at

Wayne Simmons
Sci-Fi and Horror Author

Thursday, January 20, 2011

FIGHTS - ACW - Guilt by Association V - The Marathon

It was a cold and a little wet as I pulled up to Mohawks, the ACW Austin arena of choice.  And I'm glad I had reserved seats because the place was packed.  It was the first time I had ever seen the place so full.  SRO was the theme for the night for ACW's Guilt By Association V.

What suprised me more was the fact that the barbed wire was already up.  They're going to open with the No Rope Barbed Wire Cinder Block Deathmatch between "Showtime" Scot Summers and YouTube Champ J.T. LaMotta?  Works for me!

Match # 1 - No Ropes Barbed Wire Match for ACW Anarchy Televised Title

"There's a pimple right here on your head.  Let me get that."

"There's an eye right on your face.  Let me get that."

This was just as brutal and cruel as I thought it was going to be.  To be honest, I didn't think LaMotta had it in him.  But the chubby guido suprised me, hanging with the maniacal Summers punch for punch, cruelty for cruelty.  Flesh tore on barbed wire, bodies were thrown on cinder blocks.  And blocks were broken across bodies.  It was out of control.  In the end, Summers took the victory and became ACW's first Grand Champion.

LaMatta talks to Sign Guy after the match, talks his future with girls?

Great.  Well, they got to take the barbed wire down.  That's going to take at least 20 minutes.  Great time to catch a slice of pizza, considering I wanted to do some drinking.  I left.  Well, little did I know the next match would start midway through the deconstructing process.

Match # 2 - Tai-Pei Death Match

Well, the pizza from Hoboken was pretty good.  It would line my stomach enough for the drinking I planned to do.  Unfortunately, I made it back for the ass-end of this match.  It was declared a no-contest, much to the chagrin of the fans.  The buzz from a fan outside of my homies said it was just 'meh'.  I couldn't judge, as I missed it entirely.

The Submission Squad came out next, and got an earful from me and my homies.  We hate those guys.  Then the emo Children of Pain came out, and I realized this was the "Loser leaves his Stable" match.  I thought it was going to be just these two teams, but then the Smurfs came out.  Oh, hell.  Four corners.  Which means the douchebags were up next, the New Age Takeover of Plisken the Devil Worshipper, D'Angelo The Guido, and Claxton the Redneck.  The Ginger was with them, of course.  Hey, they might be an odd pairing of douches, but they've been runnning roughshod over ACdub.  And I hate to say it, they were the clear favorites to not be eliminated. 

Match # 3 - Four-Team Trios Match with One Fall. Loser of the Fall must leave his faction
The Submission Squad: Pierre Abernathy, Evan Gelistico & Gary Jay vs. The Smurf Nation: J.C. Bravo, Chingo Smurf & Berry Breeze vs. The Children of Pain: Khris Wolfe, Jason Silver & Sky de Lacrimosa vs. The Takeover: Jaykus Plisken, Franco D'Angelo & Cowboy James Claxton with Miss Maulie

I tried to warn Sky, Chingo, and Pierre to just all gang up and go after the Takeover, as they like to attack people they considered fat and out of shape.  Well, apart from Gelistico, this was a field of guys Plisken would love to pick apart.  Plisken gave the Submission squad a pass, and went on the attack of the other teams, especially the Smurfs, punking them over the mic. 


But JC Bravo did his best to go on the attack, but the power of Plisken counted the speed quick.  It turned into a giant clusterf**k of fighting before Berry Breeze was left in the ring to stave off the Takeover, who devestated the Smurf with power moves.  Long story short, Berry was eliminated, and held it against his team for being booted.

Berry Breeze is upset with his former SN friends and tells Sign Guy:

Smurf see it differently, but nothing good will come of it:

D'Angelo talks his trash.

Athena hit the ring, followed by Summerlynn.  Wait... No way!

Match # 4 - 10,000 Thumbtacks Match

"I AM the Mother F**kin' Princess"

"Maybe a Powerbomb in tacks was a bad idea"

Good Lawrd, these women were swimming in tacks throughout the match.  There were enough tacks early and often to make Mick Foley say, "Maybe you girls should think this over."  In the end, Athena took the victory with a little help from her man, Vega.

Match # 5 - Last Man Standing Match for Young Guns U-30 Title

With respect to Symonds, I didn't know who he was, and wasn't sure why he strutted to the ring to cut a promo about how great he was.  I don't think he was under 30 either.  But then I realized it was a retirment match, and considered the fact that he chose ACW to have it in.  I'm a year in with ACW, so I've missed some of the history.  And considering some of those classic clips I've seen on YouTube, I'm glad I came in now.  Yikes!  Well, if ACW matched him up against ACH, let's see what happened.

"The making of a man"

In the end, it was a solid, scientific match, which I love above all.  And in the end, ACH defeated the Texas Indy stalwart.  And to solidify that I saw one of the greats Texas had to offer, "Showtime" came out and gave Symonds a respectful send off.  If "Showtime" says he's legit, then Symonds is legit.

At the end of the show, he was decked out in a suit.  Now that's the true symbol of a man that respects this business.  I got it.  I shook his hand and told him, "thank you".

Symonds provides an interview with Sign Guy here:

ACH talks up his match with Symonds:

When the gringo, Dingo, hit the curtain, I knew a match I was looking for was about to go down.

Match # 6 - Dingo vs. Akira Tozowa

It was an amazing match.  I can appreciate Dingo the gringo each time I see him, even though I have to boo him because he's with the dildos of the Submission Squad.  Tozawa, that's a given.  And from now on, I'll be throwing my own damn tape. 

This was also the match that my battery died on my camera.  Dammit!

Tozawa came away with an amazing win.
Jimmy Jacobs made his way to the ring to that awesome song from the '80s I really want to identify.  And then I remembered the match he was set up in.  When the death metal vomit began, I knew there was going to be some shit.

Match # 7 - ACW World Hardcore Title Match

Taking everyone's chairs was a theme for the night.  And this match was no exception.  Typically, it's easy to move out of the way when the guys want to play outside the ring.  But tonight, being so crowded, there was no way for people to not be part of the action.  These guys brought in chairs and beat up on each other.  Masada retained the title, and Jacobs looked hurt at the end of it all. 

Sign Guy talks to Jacobs about his match and his ambitions:
I had to take care of some business outside Mohawks, so I missed this match as well.

Match # 8 - Four-Way Dance - Elimination Match - London v. Vega v. Fitchett v. Skelly
It was good, from what I heard.  And Vega won the match.

Match # 9 - Dog Collar Match for American Joshi Title

"Let me show you how we brush our teeth in Canada."

"Why are there so many songs about Dog Collar matches..."

The Canadian Mexican Portia Perez put her title up against a challenger that has been chasing her since the Joshi tournament from last year, Lady Poison.  And Perez went on the attack, going after Poison early.  But once the collar was on Perez, it was only a matter of time.  Poison wins by the Kiss of Death and becomes the new Joshi Champ.

Exhausted, I just wanted the main event.  But ACW threw yet another match at us.

Match # 10 - Six Man Tag Elimination Match
"Breathe, Hazye, Breathe.  I need you alive so I can kill you."

Slim Sexy, KASH & Brent Masters vs. High Roller Hayze, Bobby Lambert & Johnny Axxle
Slim Sexy took it to his nemesis High Roller Hayze and Axxle, who have been feuding for months now.  And KASH got an unfortunate laugh as his Chef Boyarde pants fell off mid match.  Here's hoping he gets a proper pair of wrestling pants for the next show if Plisken hasn't already shoved those pants up his ass.  Masters with the win.

Slim Sexy had some things to say after the fight for Sign Guy:

Hayze talks trash about Slim Sexy... and Mr. B?

And then finally, oh my God...

Match # 11 - Main Event "I Quit" Match for Heavyweight Title

Thank you, Jesus Christ.  I hope I watched KASH's pants fall off for a reason.  And thank goodness, I did.  Five hours into the show, the final match begins.  Evans the champ comes out to a karaoke version of his entrance music sung by one of the long haired Austin hippie SuperFans on the stage, and the guy ROCKS IT!!  Singing along even for a moment with the Majestic Evans, it was a good high energy moment to keep me interested in this main event match that took five marathon hours to get to.

"The King likes it Char Broiled"

In truth, it was worth it.  The two went at each other using everything they had.  Finally, The Son of Anarchy disabled the Monarch, duct taped him to the turnbuckle, and threatened him with a knife.  Evans begged off, making The SoA grab a can of gas, pour it on him, and pull out matches.  Evans begged off again, but when The SoA lit the match, Evans quit.  New ACW champ.

Here's SignGuy's interview of Palmer after the match:

It was a wild night that I finished off dancing at Elysium.  The long haired hippie rock star was there, too.  I high fived him for rocking Mohawks.

To Teri and Brandon who I think I ripped off some of these pics from, thanks.  To all the wrestlers I cheer and jeer, thank you.  And to Sign Guy, keep up the great work.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

FIGHTS - RCW New Years Evolution

It was a hard week at work and I was looking forward to letting off some steam at the RCW show.  It was worth the wait.

I crashed out and took a nap after work to be ready for the show.  I told my fellow SuperFan Sign Guy to call at 7pm.  Right on time, he did, and said he was at the show waiting already, getting "motivated", so to speak.

I pulsed out some cash and dashed to the arena.  And I'm glad I did.  There was a long line going out the door.  Longer than usual.  I like to arrive late, but I'm glad I came out early to hang with Sign Guy.

When I got in, the place was packed.  The lady working the door said there were at least 250 people in the Good Shepherd Activity Center.  Since I had to wait in line, I was happy to see that the great pro-wrestling action that I was about to watch would all be "dedicated to the glory of God".  Amen.

The RCW Princess, Ann Dromeda, opened the show with a little dance with his escort, who I guess I'll call "El Gimpo".  He looked like Zorro after having spent three weeks in a cave away from the sun and food.

"Whose Happy?  We are!"

Ann Dromeda had to take it to sinister newcomer Muerte.  She was doing a good job against the big gorilla, and ended up winning the match.  But the masked menace jumped her after the match, and gave him a spinebuster on a steel chair. 

"Anyone know where I can find a Ross?"

Ann Dromeda had a hurt back, but El Gimpo was there to share a manly back rub.

Scotsman Wallace Gordon, kilt with the Gordon tartan and all, made his debut with a very large bone.  Because Scotsmen carry very large bones, I guess.  He took on the Beantown Brawler Girard St. Christopher.  It's nice to have a Bean Towner in a Town of Beaners.  It was a good match up, with a great delayed high vertical suplex held for ten seconds as counted by the crowd.

"... Seven-Eight-nine... nine and a half... nine and three quarters..."

In the end, the Beantown hero did not take Wallace Gordon's life, but he took away HIS FREEDOOOOMM!!!

Then, San Antonio's Most Unwanted, SAMU, came out.

SAMU put up the tag titles against two darlings, Alissa Flash and Mercedes Martinez.

As per usual, SAMU came up with a stipulation in the contract that said all five members could take on the two PWI Top Ranked Women's Superstars.  It was five on one, and the girls held their own, but it was a numbers game.  They were gracious in their loss, however.  Okay, so maybe Martinez wanted to stomp them some time in the future.  I hope RCW brings them back.

"I'll take a beer."

A three way trios match came next, with Rudy Russo tagging with Team XL.  Ben Galvan teamed with The Texas Hitmen.  And the Karate Kids brought in Black Belt "Weezy" Jones to take on the six rivals.

"Did someone call for Hitmen?"

It was a wild match that found the team fighting around the arena, with the Hitmen and Team XL really throwing down.  I see a real rivalry there.  When the Hitmen lost, they blamed their partner Galvan and trashed him in the ring.  The Hitmen aren't much for making friends.

Lance Hoyt and Advisor Jeromy Sage came to the ring for the Main Event. 


The match was supposed to be a three-way, but Jax was jumped before the show by "The Mistake from the Lake" Ray Rowe.  It turned into a one-on-one with SuperMex Hernandez calling the match.

"Traditionally short, Mexicans can also be big, and have big guns."

Hoyt and Rowe threw down, with the fans backing the lesser of two evils in the Cleveland Steamer, Rowe.  In the end, Hoyt wins with help from Jax, who came in for some payback by trashing Rowe behind SuperMex's back. 
Jax took the belt, and challenged Hoyt to go in to get it.  SuperMex called for it.  Even owner Brandon Oliver challenged Hoyt, who was not going to step into the ring. 

"Get in the ring, chicken sh... I mean, please enter, sir."

After some sneaky sneaking around, Sage got the belt, stumbled back to the dressing room, and the fans had to wait for a possible matchup between Jax and Hoyt.

And in even cooler news, my buddy Sign Guy won a raffle.

And to think he almost wasn't going to check out the show.

Nice shrit, by the way!