[RP]

"Wrestling Superstar Virgil," we continue with readers' encounters with the titans of the squared circle. If you've had your own run-in with pro wrestlers past or present, e-mail us, subject line "Virgilbag."

On to your stories! Jeff:

This story takes place some time after ECW folded, when a bunch of very talented wrestlers went from performing in front of tens of thousands of people to wrestling on independent shows in high school gyms in front of 50 people.

I loved ECW, and I was a big fan of Steve Corino and his King of OId School gimmick. So when he headlines a show at my local high school, my brother-in-law and I decide we have to go. We show up, not knowing what to expect. They've set up a shitty ring in the middle of the basketball court with plastic chairs around it. The capacity is probably 2,000. There are 50 people there. They don't even have to use the bleachers. It is depressing. Most depressing: Of the 50-member crowd, probably 5 are Juggalos — Insane Clown Posse devotees in full clown grease paint.

They sit in the front row and chant horrible things at the performers. "He's a FAG-GOT! (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap)" for example. They are loathsome little worms. I want parts of the ceiling to fall on them.

The Juggalos are led by a ruffian I will call Blue Hair, because, well, he had fucking blue hair. The four other kids are clearly stupid. I mean, like, may not be able to read stupid. Blue Hair is clearly the most clever and bold of the five, and hence the leader. The largest is a boy I will call Skinny, because he's like 6 feet tall but has not grown into a man's body yet, even though he fancies himself a tough guy. Blue Hair instigates most of the chants and general assholery.

The show is actually pretty good. Some name guys, some hungry wrestlers angling for a chance to perform at a bigger show. Finally, the main event comes. I had wondered whether Corino, who is used to bigger shows, might mail it in. Oh no. He puts on a virtuoso performance. Works extremely hard. Gives it everything he has. Really tries to entertain. I expected him to put on a perfunctory 15 minute match, but he goes for 30, takes some big bumps, is sweating heavily. He's seriously working as if this crowd is 50,000 people. I know this sounds overblown, but it was kind of an inspiring art-for-art's sake performance.

This is especially impressive when you consider that these little fuckers are chanting stupid shit at him when they aren't chanting "JUG-GA-LO! JUG-GA-LO!" Yeah, the show is all about you, shitheel.

So Corino finishes up. There is applause, even from the little fuckers. And Corino, spent, covered in sweat, bows and leaves the ring, headed for his merch table to sell more hockey jerseys. That's when it happens. Blue Hair suddenly appears totally nonchalant, as if he's walking to the bathroom, or to one of the other wrestlers' merch tables. But —clearly having planned this in advance — he turns on a dime, leaps right next to Corino and shouts in his ear: "CORINO IS A FAGGOT!" Corino, irritated, turns as if to confront him. Blue Hair dances away, grinning. Skinny, taking inspiration from his leader, says "Oh, Corino wants to throw?" and advances on Corino, ready to swing at him

It is then that I watched the switch turn on Steve Corino. He's tired, sweaty, irritated. He's put on the performance of his life in front of 50 fucking ungrateful people. Now, some overgrown mouthbreather is going to punch him? OH HELL NO. Corino grabs the kid. Puts him in a front headlock. Just starts wailing the fucking shit out of him.

The remaining three kids, who had evidently intended to attack Corino as well, suddenly get huge eyes and reconsider. This dude is in good shape, pissed off, and even if the rest of the crowd doesn't jump in to help, could probably take all five of them easily.

Wait, did I say five? Blue Hair grins like a Cheshire Cat and disappears into the crowd. He's planned this all along, apparently knowing his stupider friends would take the ass-kicking for him. The other three, seeing their ringleader bounce, quickly peace out at as well. As for the rest of us, we just stand there, watching Steve Corino pound this kid until it bores him. Some of us are cheering. Some of us are clapping. Exactly none of us are trying to get him to stop.

The next day, I looked up Corino online. I wrote him an email thanking him for the great performance, said we all actually wanted to do what he did, and told him if he had any legal trouble as a result, I would happily testify on his behalf that the Juggalos shot first, so to speak.

I got a nice email back thanking me. It was signed, "All Best, SC."

George:

It's sometime last year (don't want to say the exact time to protect the promoter), at an indy show in the NJ/NY area. The promoter and owner of the indy company is a friend of mine and allows me to sell figures and DVDs as a vendor for a reasonably small fee.

Raven was wrestling that night. After his match, Raven walks in my direction and is looking around confused. I ask him what's wrong, he asks if he can use my table and tight space (that I've been paying rent on and occupying for the night) so he can sell photo ops and 8x10s of himself during intermission. Anyone who has ever been or still is a vendor at wrestling shows know that intermission is really the only time, other than when people are walking in at the beginning of the show, to make money or sales – if you're lucky.

I obliged but boy did I regret it. After he hogs my space and is literally standing in front of my table taking all the people's attention away from my table, as well having ME taking the photos for him (which I did because I didn't want fans to think I was a dick then I wouldn't sell nothing), I ask him if he can sign an ECW DVD and a toy figure of his for me that I had on the table after he was done with all 15 or so people that approached him. Raven asks me what my name is so I tell him thinking nothing of it.

The asshole SIGNS AND AUTOGRAPHS MY FUCKIN NAME WITH THE CAPTIONS: "Not for Resale" ON THE MERCHANDISE SO I CAN'T SELL IT!!! I jokingly explain to him [even though I'm pissed at this point] that I'm a vendor and that, while pointing at the merchandise, tell him obviously I was planning to sell these items along with everything at this table. If that wasn't bad enough, as he leaves, he takes a DVD off my table and goes through the backstage curtain.

When I'm loading up my car with my table and boxes of goods at the end of the night, I talk to the promoter for a few minutes and I tell him this story. He laughs but feels bad for me and tells me I don't have to pay rent for tonight but I refuse because it's not his fault. The promoter tells me that Raven pulled a dick move earlier in the evening by trying to demand more money and how difficult he is to deal with! Not surprised.

Larry:

When I was 21 years old, I worked as a music journalist for a small, online radio station out of LA, covering mostly local heavy metal acts. I was tapped to cover the NAMM show, a music merchants convention that is basically a gear show by day, and a party for some of the world's biggest metal musicians by night. I realized pretty quickly that a 21-year old wet behind the ears kid had no business at a bar with 40+ year-old metal legends who'd been firing off lines of coke and sucking down shots of whiskey all night. Fuck it, I'd just drink until I felt like I belonged.

Two hours later, me and my friend are standing in the smoking section when we see a man dressed in a velour jumpsuit, bandana and dark sunglasses (it's 12:30 AM!) come strolling towards our table. I drunkenly blurt "is that fucking X-PAC?" and the man turns his attention to me. It is X-Pac. I am a drunken jackass.

He walks up to our table and bellies up. I didn't invite X-Pac to join us, but I'm not going to turn him down (this ends up being a big mistake). Being new to this whole "holy shit I'm actually hanging with the big boys" vibe, I don't mention that I'm actually a total fucking nerd who knows his name is Sean Waltman, that he used to be the Lightning Kid, that he trained with the Malenkos and that 1-2-3 Kid's upset win over Razor Ramon shocked the fuck out of me when I was a child. I'm too enamored by his ability to wear sunglasses at 12:30 AM and not feel like a total jackass.

Waltman is a personable guy. He chats me and my friend up for about 45 minutes (maybe this is where he realizes I'm a nerd... I'm 21 and full of raging hormones and I'm skipping out on all the free groupie ass at this party to talk wrestling with X-Pac), telling us all kinds of awesome stories, and confirming that he did, indeed, put a log of shit in Mark Henry's sandwich backstage and watched as Henry bit into it. Pretty hilarious until...

It's 1:15. The bar closes in 45 minutes, and all the potential groupie gash will start fleeing soon. I'm now tasked with a way of ending a conversation with X-Pac. I try every way I can to wrap it up. "Well it was nice to meet you dude..." "Hey I'm gonna hit the bar for another drink..." "Have you met my friend? He's a big fan too." Everything I can think of is met with another story or conversation piece. I can't escape. Shit!

Suddenly, my friend makes the biggest mistake either one of us would make that evening... he says the word "Chyna." Suddenly, Waltman gets really sad. I think this is my cue to leave, but he starts pouring into tales about dating her, how she's crazy and she beat him and treated him like dirt. I start feeling like a psychiatrist, and the barstool Waltman is sitting on looks more and more like a couch. After hearing stories about what a terrible girlfriend Joanie Laurer is, I decide I've had enough and simply bolt to the comfort of the bar.

I truly hope Sean Waltman has found peace in all of that, he was a really nice dude, more open with a couple of dorks than he had to be, and impressively kept those sunglasses on all night.

Brian:

I used to live in Tampa in the late 90s