Ain’t nothing like the (fake) real thing, baby

Minnesota Independent Wrestling invaded the St. Cloud Armory Saturday, for a one-night-only pro wrestling exhibition that saw a new champion crowned and a Minnesota legend wrestle perhaps his last match before heading off to join Vince McMahon in the World Wrestling Federation.

The St. Cloud Slam, which was sponsored by Theta Chi Fraternity and KISS 96-FM, featured Minnesota’s own, former Extreme Championship Wrestling heavyweight champion Jerry Lynn competing less than 24 hours before he was scheduled to be backstage at the WWF’s Backlash pay-per-view extravaganza in Chicago. Lynn recently inked a three-year deal with the WWF and won the WWF light heavyweight title on MTV’s Sunday Night Heat prior to Backlash. Unfortunately, Lynn’s status as WWF property forbade him from giving a full interview; no self promotion is allowed among WWF wrestlers.

The card also featured MIW cruiserweight champion Robbie Thunder, who defeated Australian Johnny Parks; female sensation Lacy, who downed first-timer “Psycho Bitch” Amber Hayes; Lynn upended another WWF prospect, Magnus Maximus; and former WCW cruiserweight champion Lenny Lane (accompanied by the High Rollers), who captured the MIW heavyweight title from hulking champion Mitch Paradise under questionable circumstances. Paradise won the 10-man, $100,000 (not really) over-the-top battle royale to close the event.

The card, while not WWF caliber, was really enjoyable. Despite a small crowd, the wrestlers were totally into it. Lynn’s performance showed why he is on his way to the big-time; he used his many talents to make a lesser opponent look a lot better, he flat-out stole the show.

Before any confusion is created, let me just say this: “Of course it was rigged.” But it wasn’t fake. It should be clear to everyone that these are completely normal people who happen to like to beat the living tar out of each other. I found out just how normal on Friday night, during an in-studio interview between KISS-96 disc jockey Joey Hoops and Thunder, Hayes and her manager, McCoy Counterfeit, a 300-plus pound Chippendale dancer.

“We’re your average Joes,” said Counterfeit. “We’re nine-to-fivers. In our spare time, we get to do the wrestling deal.”

We get hurt, it’s true, it’s true

Yeah, regular Joes who do acting, because it’s not dangerous, right?

“If you want to find out how dangerous wrestling is, walk up to an insurance agent, tell him you’re thinking about doing it and find out how much the premiums are,” said Counterfeit, who is 29 year-old Patrick Cooper, a mortgage analyst for Wells Fargo under cover of daylight.

Despite all of the precautions taken against it, pro wrestling is a collision sport where people can and do get hurt.

Take, for example, the WWF’s Darren Drozdov, a former NFL player for the Denver Broncos. He was dropped on his head and paralyzed from the neck down during a match in 1999. Earlier this year, WCW favorite Sid Vicious jumped from the ropes and landed awkwardly on his left leg. His leg snapped in half cleanly.

These are examples from major federations, where the top stars regularly make a healthy six-figure income. But what about the guys and gals who do it for $50 (a generous number) a night? Many of them perform in a dangerous work environment with no health insurance.

“I hurt my neck once. It felt like I compressed my spine,” said Thunder, 22, who is employed at a Twin Cities area Boston Market when not performing. “I took a DDT and I landed flat on my head. I just heard a big crackle sound and my whole right side went numb. I had to sit out for about a month.”

Amber Hayes (real name: Crystal Siewert) is a 19-year old student from Cottage Grove. She hasn’t been wrestling more than nine months, all of it practice time. But she has been injured just the same.

“I took a bodyslam from (6 foot 4, 275 lb.) Mitch Paradise,” Siewert said. “I took it the wrong way; I held my breath. I wasn’t ready for it and I must have bruised all of my ribs.”

So they throw each other around a little bit. The guys on TV beat the hell out of each other with chairs. McMahon wouldn’t let his million-dollar wrestlers seriously use those things on each other, would he? There has to be some special chair that doesn’t hurt.

“Well, it hurts about as much as getting hit in the head with a steel chair,” Thunder laughed, rubbing his head. “Any chair we find in the audience, we’ll use. There’s no special chair.”

So, there’s no money, no insurance, no guarantee of work. They must do it for the respect of their peers.

“People seem to thing pro wrestlers are dumb as rocks,” Cooper said. “Or that we’re all phonies or fakes or frauds or something. But I have two communications degrees from the University of Northern Iowa. I’m far from an idiot.”

No respect, either. But what is the one thing, that all athletes, no matter how much money they require to play, insist they have? Love for the game. That must be it. Nobody could do the jobs these guys do unless they were a rabid, drooling wrestling fan during their childhood?

“It’s more than being a fan,” Thunder said. “I always loved wrestling as long as I can remember, but my first close encounter happened when my dad brought me and my brother to a local event. It hit me so close to home that I felt I just had to do it.”

Thunder went on to talk about the wrestler that lit the fire under him that night- current WWF performer X-Pac (a Minneapolis native whose real name is Sean Waltman).

That’s the bottom line

For every wrestler out there, there are 10 fans who would give their right eye to be in his place. Cooper said that he latched on to some of his friends who were training with pro legend Harley Race. But not everyone knows someone who is training with a wrestling icon.

“When you get into the business, you want to learn everything — refereeing, ringwork, camera, announcing — because the more you know, the more chances for paydays you have,” Cooper said. “If you show up at a show as a spectator and the promoter knows you’re a worker, they’re going to have you do something. You may work on the ring, you may be ring announcer, you may even be a referee.”

Perhaps the most striking aspect about being an indie wrestler is the uncertainty that comes along with the territory. Often, these guys don’t know who they are going to wrestle when they show up at an arena. Everything in their world is interchangeable. The opponents, the location of the arena, the outcome of the match, even the money.

“Sometimes you don’t get paid,” Thunder said. “It happens a lot. It becomes part of the business. A lot of people get screwed. I wouldn’t consider myself screwed because I’m doing what I truly enjoy. It’s a passion for me.”

It’s a passion for most of the people that attend the local shows, for the people who religiously tune into Monday Night Raw, for those who shell out 30 bucks every month to watch pay-per-views. And an industry based on the passion of so many people is bound to be successful, if not only in terms of personal gratification.

Win or lose, only the fans can determine how successful the wrestlers are; their “pops” help the promoters decide who becomes champion and who goes the way of the dodo-gone forever. So it comes as no surprise that the fans get so into it.

Who knows? The St. Cloud Slam may have even lit that fire and inspired one of the young fans in attendance to become the next “Stone Cold” Steve Austin. These guys, regardless of their commercial success, are that damn good.