The Real World
Check out the Official website for Hotshot Scott Patric!
As many of you know, I have taken the step into the REAL WORLD of professional wrestling. This column will give everyone a detailed look at my attempt to become a star. Will I be the next Ric Flair or the next Tom Stone? With this column, we will find out together.
Identity Crisis, October 2, 1998
In the two weeks following my debut, I got to thinking. I tried playing by the rules, and got chair shots, chokeouts, and spraypaint as a result. I watched TV the other night, and watched men such as Steve Austin, Kane, and The Undertaker get cheered for resulting to vile tactics. I began to wonder if rule breaking was where it's at.
I strolled into the rulebreaker's locker room area to several stunned looks. Road Rage in particular looked quite surprised under his black mask. I told them of my plans to a mixed response. I was going to try to win it this way.
I came out to quite a number of boos, chewing my gum and acting like a bada$$. Then my opponents music began. Out came the muscular Ced-Man, a favorite among most fans, especially the females. I paid him little mind as I told a woman in the front row to kiss my butt.
The bell rang, and Ced immediately put me into a headlock followed by a takedown. He tried to pin me with it, but failed. He backed me into the ropes and hit me with three straight knife-edge chops. After the third one, I decided to take a powder out of the ring.
After walking a lap, I stepped back in, and we locked up again. I backed him into the corner and smacked him with a forearm, but he turned me around and laid into me again with the chops. I dropped like a rag doll, and he tried to pin me again. I kicked out.
I tried to pull myself up using the corner ropes, but he grabbed my legs and pulled me into the air. I rolled over and tried to get up, only to be nailed in the back with an elbow, smacking my face into the mat.
With a broken nose and bloody chin, Ced put me into a giant swing, sending me through the air. Again, I climbed up, and was greeted with three more chops, two of which almost sent me from the ring.
He whipped me into the corner. As he came in for a splash, I moved, and Ced hit his knee. He chopped me again, and whipped me into the ropes. I ducked his leapfrog and stopped myself on the opposite ropes. Ced jammed his knee coming down on the move, and as referee Ric Manning checked on Ced's condition, I took advantage and began to work on the knee.
I kicked and I kicked and I kicked, but I could not make the mighty Ced-Man fall. He used the ropes to get to the corner, where he kicked me in the stomach twice, turned me around, and whipped me into the opposite corner. This time, he connected with the splash.
I staggered to my feet, and could not see Ced in the ring. I looked around, confused, and then turned to see Ced on the top rope. Next thing I knew, I was being smashed with a flying shoulder tackle.
He whipped me into the ropes and hit me with a big backdrop. My back was killing me as I got up, only to turn around and be greeted with a knee to the gut. Ced then picked me up for the suplex, but decided instead of going back with me, to drop me down foward, landing me right on my chest.
With the air completely out of me, Ced covered me for the three count. I returned to the locker room a bloody mess.
Later on the card, a huge fight had broken out between Team Extreme and the Blackbird Posse. I ran out to try and help break it up, only to have fellow rule breaker Khris Germany back suplex me on the concrete floor. At that point, I realized that these rulebreaker's don't really care for anyone but themselves.
After the card, I took my belongings and headed out of the door, unsure of how to approach my career. Playing to the fans got me into a three-on-one attack, but breaking the rules got me bloodied. I have to sit down and think about this.....
Pro Debut, September 18, 1998
My heart was racing.
Since I was five years old, I wanted to become a pro wrestler. As I stood at the face's entrance and "Welcome To The Jungle" began to play, it seemed so natural.
Melissa came out first, as my valet. Then out I came, running around the ringside area, slapping hands with those who had come out to see me. Those in attendance to see the match included CGT members Tom Cote' and Marc Londo, Melissa's parents, fellow rookie Kurt Reigns, and several co-workers.
After my ring entrance, I stared across the ring to see a 340 pound mass in pink standing before me. It was Lucious Mark Love, one half of the tag team known as the Love Connection.
Now, I've got a little size on me at 218 pounds, but little did I know that I would be facing a 122 pound weight disadvantage right off. I asked referee Ric Manning about Love's, well, um, preferences, before the match, and he just said "Hey". The bell rang, and I had to lock up with this big man.
I began with a wristlock, attempting to manuver Love into an armbar takedown, hoping that the weight difference would not matter if I could get him down. However, Love didn't give me a chance, backing me into the ropes and whipping in into the other side, then driving an elbow into my chest.
He stomped me, then he stood on my stomach. Then he picked me up, gave me a knife-edge chop from hell, and whipped me into the ropes again, this time flattening me with a clothesline. He then tossed me from the ring.
As I attempted to collect myself on the outside, Love's partner Mike Hernandez blindsided me with a chair. As I tried to get up from that, I was nailed again, and then tossed back into the ring.
Love stood on my throat, forcing the oxygen from my body. He then crushed me with a powerslam. Then he choked me on the ropes, and as the ref made him break, Hernandez choked me with a towel. Love followed by tossing me from the ring again.
Hernandez once again stuck his nose into the match my snap-maring me on the floor. He stomped me several times, and once again tossed me back into the ring.
The chants of "Go, Scott, Go" echoed through the arena. I was picked up and was slingshot-back-suplexed, hitting my skull on the mat. I attempted to punch my way back into the match, but to no avail. Love backed me into the ropes, gave me another knife-edge from hell, and whipped me into the opposite side. He then crushed me with a flying splash in the corner. He picked me up, chopped me again, and did another whip and splash.
I was very groggy. Love saw that and whipped me into the ropes again. He caught me in a sleeper, and I struggled to break free. However, his weight advantage gave me no leverage, and moments later, I was out.
As I lay motionless on the mat, Hernandez began to spraypaint my back. Melissa jumped into the ring and tried to stop Hernandez, but was pushed down. Melissa got back up, turned Hernandez around, and slapped the $&1+! out of him. The Love Connection fled the ring.
As I came to, I wondered what happened to me. Once I heard Love's music playing, I got mad, having dropped my first pro match. However, I raised my hands in the air, and was drowned in cheers. I got my butt kicked, but the fans loved me. I took everything me could give me.
As I left the arena, me and Mark Love came face to face. He backed away as I clinched my fist at him. I'd love a return match with that punk. Spraypaint my back? Outside interference? Putting their hands on Melissa? That fat boy will pay for it if my promoter gives me another shot at him. That's a fact!
As I left the arena, several fans on the outside came up to me to talk. They gave me a pat on the back for taking such a beating. Even though I was squashed, I seemed to make some fans.
My chest is bruised as hell, but, trust me folks, next time out I will know what to expect from these rulebreakers.
I will be back.
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