Sadist in Sequins by Adrian Street

Author:Adrian Street [Street, Adrian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: vl-wrestling
ISBN: 9781477695180
Google: ezNWLwEACAAJ
Publisher: CreateSpace
Published: 2012-06-25T19:24:39+00:00

VIOLENCE

On the whole our Spanish tour had been somewhat therapeutic, but it was great to get back to familiar territory where our absence had been noticed, and our return to British rings seemed to generate more reaction and controversy than ever. But as my notoriety increased so did the fan’s violence by leaps and bounds, often and especially after a controversial win a villain would have to brave a virtual gauntlet of hostile fans in order to make the journey from the ring back to the safety of the dressing-room. Fans who would attempt to punch, kick, pinch, grab hair, stub out lighted cigarettes on bare flesh were now becoming the norm. I have even been stabbed in the back of my shoulder with a nail-file. I simply refused to tone down the persona that was designed to entertain the majority of the fans just because a number of idiots amongst them wanted to get overly violent – I would not be controlled by a bunch of hooligans. We had been warned by many of the promoters not to retaliate, but thankfully not all. I remember one night Jack Dale punching with one fist, and using the leather bag that contained that night’s takings, as a weapon in the other, while he stood shoulder to shoulder with Bobby Barnes and myself as we attempted to batter a pathway through a lynch-mob of angry fans. Another night Jack Atherton leapt out of the crowd that I was trying to beat a pathway through, and hyped a hooligan about 6 feet in the air a split second before he was about to smash a heavy wooden chair down on the back of my head.

Even away from the arenas we were not always safe. We were wrestling one freezing winter’s night for Jack Atherton in Dumfries in Scotland, and before the matches began Bob and I decided to take a walk to a nearby café for a cup of coffee. We sat down on a very low and soft bench with its back to the window; the table was quite high and was fixed firmly to the floor. No sooner had we been served our coffee when two men walked up to our table, one leaned into my face and assaulted me with a loud but undecipherable verbal barrage. Although his accent was so strong, and I could not understand what he actually said, I could tell by its tone that its owner bore me no good will. I responded by informing him that I found the smell of his breath extremely hostile and strongly suggested that he should “Fuck off!” He responded by smashing a bottle of coca-cola over my head. I was in a very disadvantageous position, trapped down low on a soft seat with a high immovable table in front of me, so I responded by grabbing a fistful of his shirtfront before hurling my scalding hot coffee right into his face. He screamed and leapt back from the table dragging me out of my seat and across the table as I clung onto him.

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