Wild Bull Curry vs. The Sheik Part Two

As my story ended last week, I had driven to the Toledo Sports Arena to wrestle as The Green Hornet. I had arrived at 6 p.m., and I was working out in my dressing room when Martino Angelo, the matchmaker, came into the room. He informed me that my opponent for the night, Cowboy Frankie Laine, would not be there. He asked me to do him a favor and referee the Main Event. I had no idea who was in the match but agreed. I didn't want to go home with the short end of the stick for a payoff.

As the bell rang for the main event, I went to the ring and awaited the contestants. Bull Curry, the ugliest man in wrestling and probably the toughest old galoot to come down the pike, entered the ring to a round of cheers ... something that he was not used to. He paced the ring and punched at the air, breaking a sweat.

My train of thought was broken by the sounds of people screaming and chairs being knocked down by people trying to get away from the maniacal mad man ... The Sheik. I thought to myself, "What are you getting yourself into? These guys are way out of your league." The Sheik went through his pre-bout ritual of praying to Allah and getting the fans stirred up. Bull Curry didn't help matters, as he just wanted to fight; he definitely didn't want to pray.

It was a very evenly fought battle, both men grabbing at concealed objects and opening each other's heads open. Sheik had a habit of carrying a #2 pencil in his boot, and every time I tried to find it, he hid it somewhere else. He kept pointing to something in the ring lights and hollering ALO, ALO, ALO. I was quite confused at his antics but tried to keep law and order in the ring.

Bull Curry didn't help matters, as he had a pair of Brass Knuckles hid in his trunks. He had taken them out more then once and busted the Sheik's head open with them. The more the two fought, the more I just let them beat the heck out of each other. It wasn't my body that was getting all that treatment. What did I care?

As the match neared the 15-minute mark, both men were covered with blood and swinging wildly at each other. Bull had the Sheik in a side headlock and had somehow gotten a huge brass bolt from somewhere and was getting ready to belt the Sheik with it. I grabbed his arm and held it. The Sheik, out of nowhere, lifted his hand, and a huge ball of fire appeared. It missed me but got Bull and blinded him for a minute. By then, the Sheik had fallen to the mat in total exhaustion.

Bull grabbed me and must have thought he had the Sheik. He grabbed a side headlock, let out with a bellow of "WHO-WAH," and punched me right in the forehead with the Brass Bolt. The first thing I saw was blood running down into my eyes, and then I passed out. I woke up in the dressing room with a towel around my head and had a headache like I had never experienced before.

I went to the hospital after showering and got seven stitches put into my head. As I was leaving, The Sheik came out of one of the rooms in the emergency ward with his manager, Abdullah Farook. He looked at me with the stitches I had in my head, gave me the strangest look, muttered something in Arabic to Farook, and walked over to the cashier. He paid for my hospital bill along with his and left, not saying one word to me. I just kind of stood there with my mouth hanging open. I wondered if the night was really worth all that we had been through.

Bull Curry (Fred Khoury Sr.) has since gone to the Big Ring in the heavens, may God rest his soul. His son, Fred Jr., still wrestles, and his grandson, Fred III, is now involved in the wrestling business.

The Sheik is nearing 80 years old and is still very active and living at one of his estates in Lower Michigan, enjoying his retirement and being near his family.

The funny part is, I still don't know who won that battle.

Percival A. Friend, Retired
The Epitome of Wrestling Managers