THE story so far ...
I’ve become a professional wrestling referee with Celtic Wrestling, based in Cardiff, Wales. Fans come from far and wide to see my alter ego, Charlie Fatt, in action. Well, they probably come to see the wrestlers as well.
Things were hotting up in the Welsh wrestling scene. We were now in the position to import guest stars for our shows.
Up first was the Canadian superstar Son of Abdullah. Born Rodney Kellman, S.O.A. also wrestled under the name Dru Onyx, but was best known for his gimmick (wrestling persona) as the “son” of WWE Hall of Famer Abdullah the Butcher. Like father, like son, both were well known for hardcore matches featuring chairs, tables and general mayhem.
Backstage, S.O.A. was the nicest guy ever, making wisecracks as we plotted the match with his opponent, Irish import Fergal Devitt. This fight was going to be a little different. You see, the plan was for blood to be spilled.
“Blading” is the wrestling term for when a grappler purposely bleeds during a match. Before the match, the wrestler conceals a small piece of razor blade in their costume, usually under their wrist tape. At the right time, with the crowd distracted by something else happening in the ring, they nick their forehead and being a well perfused part of the body, blood gushes over their face creating what is known in the industry as the “crimson mask”.
The forehead cut heals quickly and if you get it in the hairline, there is very little visible scarring.
It’s now showtime and I’m awaiting the arrival of S.O.A. in the ring. His music plays and out comes the main eventer, dressed in his trademark curly-toed boots, Arab headscarf and oversized fork. Wait, is that an oversized fork? He didn’t mention anything about that before the match!
The bell rings and before long the action spills out of the ring. I have no choice but to follow.
The audience scatters as S.O.A. throws Fergal into the ringside seats. Plastic chairs fly everywhere. A can of drink left behind by a frightened spectator gets crushed on Fergal’s forehead. Ouch.
Friends attending the show later remarked how genuine my look of shock was throughout the match. That was because I was genuinely shocked. They certainly didn’t teach my anything about hardcore matches at imaginary wrestling referee school.
Following a high spot involving Fergal jumping off a 3m wall onto S.O.A. leaving them sprawling over the concrete floor, I somehow manage to get the two competitors back into the ring. It must have been my authoritative manner.
S.O.A. grabs me and shoves me into a corner. To the audience, he’s menacing the referee but what he’s really doing is giving me a message to pass on to his opponent. “I’ve lost my blade,” he tells me. “Ask Fergal if he minds if I use my fork.”
I rush across the ring and pretend to berate Fergal for some rule breach. Hint: there aren’t really any rules in wrestling. He agrees to the forking. He must be getting paid a lot more than me. Hint: I wasn’t getting paid at all.
Son of Abdullah attacks Fergal’s forehead with the fork and the results aren’t pretty. Razor blades cut skin well. Blunt oversize prop forks do not. There’s a trickle of blood but some bruising (and possibly a headache the morning after) is the main result of the assault.
Fergal taps out and the match is over. I attempt to raise S.O.A.’s arm in victory but he chases me off with his fork. I’m not acting as I hurl myself out of the ring. I’m too pretty for fork-shaped battle scars.
The crowd goes home happy and I wait behind the curtain to follow the longstanding wrestling tradition of shaking hands with my fellow performers after a match. Enemies in the ring and match officials will soon be having a pint at the pub down the road.
That was Charlie Fatt’s one and only hardcore match. I wish that I had it on video. It was gruesome, violent and, in hindsight, pretty fun.
I had survived my encounter with the Son of Abdullah, but Charlie Fatt had little time left. I had decided to return to Australia and. at the next wrestling show, it was time for his demise.