Post by Ringside Junkie on Sept 11, 2007 15:52:25 GMT -5
In the never-ending struggle between good and evil, Palmerdale is the battlefront for ... Lords of the ring
Sunday, September 09, 2007
BOB CARLTON
News staff writer
It is a hot and sticky night in the old, unair-conditioned gymnasium that is now the Palmerdale Community Center.
Up in the ring, the camouflaged Sergeant Hammer, a bad dude with a buzz cut, is putting what he calls "a good ol', Alabama redneck butt-whuppin'" on fan favorite and flip-flop-wearing Cabana Man Dan.
Faye Thorn of Pinson leaps out of her ringside chair and screams at referee Sully Tremayne.
"He cheated!" she shouts.
"Calm down," her husband, Walter, says.
"I am calmed down!" she yells back.
By the next match, after the visually impaired "Wild Thing" Will Owens suddenly regains his sight - "I can see! I can see!" - and swats the Inhuman Fly, Faye Thorn has had just about all she can take.
"You get rid of him or I ain't coming back!" she rants.
Her husband her by the pocket of her jeans to hold her back.
"It makes her mad when the bad guys cheat," he says. "But she'll be all right as soon as we leave here."
Welcome to small-town, Saturday-night wrestling, as presented by the GCW, otherwise known as Global Championship Wrestling.
The globe, in this case, typically spans from Palmerdale in northern Jefferson County to Pell City in St. Clair County to Locust Fork in Blount County.
At $8 for grownups and $6 for the kids, it's no more expensive than a night at the movies. And you get to scream and fuss and carry on for free.
"We have always taken pride in giving everybody who comes in and spends their hard-earned money the very best show possible, from the opening bell to the closing curtain," says GCW commissioner and ring announcer "Fast" Eddie Layne, a one-time radio disc jockey who talks every bit as fast as his nickname suggests.
"We do everything we can to make sure that everybody leaves with a smile on their face," he adds. "They come in to let their hair down, cut loose, cheer for the good guys, boo the bad guys and have fun."
At 5-foot-10 and a cornbread-fed 310 pounds, 33-year-old "Mad Dog" Dan Sawyer - despite his rabid nickname and the heavy chain he wears around his neck - is one of the good guys.
Sawyer, whose childhood heroes were Rick Flair and "Bullet" Bob Armstrong, grew up in Remlap and first got in the ring in 1991, when he was 18.
"I was one of the young guys who got beat up a lot," he recalls, "but that's how you learn the business."
After paying his dues with two knee surgeries, a couple of broken noses and too many smashed fingers to count, he now trains other aspiring wrestlers at a school he calls Mad Dog's House of Pain.
April Mize, his bride of less than two years, teaches second grade at Locust Fork Elementary School during the week and works the ticket table at her husband's bouts on Saturday nights.
"I'm a very action-oriented person," she says between bouts. "I like to see them hitting and flying and flipping."
The couple met when Sawyer, as "Mad Dog," came to speak at Mize's school.
"Our wedding was pretty interesting," Sawyer says. "There were a lot of wrestlers in it. The preacher said he'd never seen that many big guys before."
'It's in my blood'
Scotty Blaze, Sawyer's occasional tag-team partner, is another one of the good guys of GCW.
A defensive end on his football team at Anniston's White Plains High School, Blaze was a kick-boxer until a promoter saw one of his matches and suggested he give pro wrestling a shot.
"That was about nine years ago, and I ain't quit yet," he says. "I tried to quit, but it's in my blood.
"It's kind of like the biggest high you can have without drugs - being in the crowd, being in the spotlight."
A plumber by trade, Blaze lives in Oxford and brings his wife, Stacy, his 7-year-old-son, Tyler, and his 2½-year-old daughter, Reygan, to most of his matches. He typically makes enough money wrestling on the weekends to pay for their gas and meals.
"It ain't about the money because if it was, I would have quit a long time ago, he says. "It's an expensive hobby, very expensive. Time you buy gear and stuff, it ain't cheap."
He rattles off his expenses - $300 for boots, $150 for a pair of tights, and, oh yeah, $26,000 for three knee surgeries.
"As long as I break even, I ain't mad," he says. "It's when you're losing money that you start getting a little upset."
'Reffin' ain't easy'
At 5-foot-8 and a soaking-wet 137 pounds, Birney Kawanawitz has the waistline of a toothpick and the nervous energy of Barney Fife. Fortunately for him, he's not one of the wrestlers.
Instead, Kawanawitz is one of the black-and-white-striped referees who tries - usually without much success - to maintain order in the ring.
"It's like a struggle between good and evil," he says. "The referee is kind of a scale of justice and you hope things are going to work out where good will prevail."
Besides working wrestling matches, he also referees brawls for Birmingham's Tragic City Rollers women's roller-derby team.
"There is something about being in the entertainment business - at any level, in any capacity - that has an allure to it, a sort of old-fashioned show business appeal to it," the 43-year-old Kawanawitz says. "It's the same draw as being in vaudeville or maybe a showgirl. You get a taste of it, and you want more."
Although he's the peacekeeper, Kawanawitz has been knocked silly a few times, too.
"Sometimes, you're just in a bad spot and the referee can take some hard shots," he says. "And sometimes, they may just get put out with the ref and take it out on him. Reffin' ain't easy."
Neither is rasslin'.
Just ask "Mad Dog" Dan Sawyer.
On Sunday mornings after his Saturday-night bouts, he'll sit in a pew at Locust Fork Baptist Church, and the pain and the stiffness will start to settle in.
"Your adrenaline is up at the building (during a match) and when you're in the shower (after a match), you're feeling good," he says. "You go to bed feeling good, too. But the next day, you're hurting."
E-mail: bcarlton@bhamnews.com
© 2007 The Birmingham News
© 2007 al.com All Rights Reserved.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
BOB CARLTON
News staff writer
It is a hot and sticky night in the old, unair-conditioned gymnasium that is now the Palmerdale Community Center.
Up in the ring, the camouflaged Sergeant Hammer, a bad dude with a buzz cut, is putting what he calls "a good ol', Alabama redneck butt-whuppin'" on fan favorite and flip-flop-wearing Cabana Man Dan.
Faye Thorn of Pinson leaps out of her ringside chair and screams at referee Sully Tremayne.
"He cheated!" she shouts.
"Calm down," her husband, Walter, says.
"I am calmed down!" she yells back.
By the next match, after the visually impaired "Wild Thing" Will Owens suddenly regains his sight - "I can see! I can see!" - and swats the Inhuman Fly, Faye Thorn has had just about all she can take.
"You get rid of him or I ain't coming back!" she rants.
Her husband her by the pocket of her jeans to hold her back.
"It makes her mad when the bad guys cheat," he says. "But she'll be all right as soon as we leave here."
Welcome to small-town, Saturday-night wrestling, as presented by the GCW, otherwise known as Global Championship Wrestling.
The globe, in this case, typically spans from Palmerdale in northern Jefferson County to Pell City in St. Clair County to Locust Fork in Blount County.
At $8 for grownups and $6 for the kids, it's no more expensive than a night at the movies. And you get to scream and fuss and carry on for free.
"We have always taken pride in giving everybody who comes in and spends their hard-earned money the very best show possible, from the opening bell to the closing curtain," says GCW commissioner and ring announcer "Fast" Eddie Layne, a one-time radio disc jockey who talks every bit as fast as his nickname suggests.
"We do everything we can to make sure that everybody leaves with a smile on their face," he adds. "They come in to let their hair down, cut loose, cheer for the good guys, boo the bad guys and have fun."
At 5-foot-10 and a cornbread-fed 310 pounds, 33-year-old "Mad Dog" Dan Sawyer - despite his rabid nickname and the heavy chain he wears around his neck - is one of the good guys.
Sawyer, whose childhood heroes were Rick Flair and "Bullet" Bob Armstrong, grew up in Remlap and first got in the ring in 1991, when he was 18.
"I was one of the young guys who got beat up a lot," he recalls, "but that's how you learn the business."
After paying his dues with two knee surgeries, a couple of broken noses and too many smashed fingers to count, he now trains other aspiring wrestlers at a school he calls Mad Dog's House of Pain.
April Mize, his bride of less than two years, teaches second grade at Locust Fork Elementary School during the week and works the ticket table at her husband's bouts on Saturday nights.
"I'm a very action-oriented person," she says between bouts. "I like to see them hitting and flying and flipping."
The couple met when Sawyer, as "Mad Dog," came to speak at Mize's school.
"Our wedding was pretty interesting," Sawyer says. "There were a lot of wrestlers in it. The preacher said he'd never seen that many big guys before."
'It's in my blood'
Scotty Blaze, Sawyer's occasional tag-team partner, is another one of the good guys of GCW.
A defensive end on his football team at Anniston's White Plains High School, Blaze was a kick-boxer until a promoter saw one of his matches and suggested he give pro wrestling a shot.
"That was about nine years ago, and I ain't quit yet," he says. "I tried to quit, but it's in my blood.
"It's kind of like the biggest high you can have without drugs - being in the crowd, being in the spotlight."
A plumber by trade, Blaze lives in Oxford and brings his wife, Stacy, his 7-year-old-son, Tyler, and his 2½-year-old daughter, Reygan, to most of his matches. He typically makes enough money wrestling on the weekends to pay for their gas and meals.
"It ain't about the money because if it was, I would have quit a long time ago, he says. "It's an expensive hobby, very expensive. Time you buy gear and stuff, it ain't cheap."
He rattles off his expenses - $300 for boots, $150 for a pair of tights, and, oh yeah, $26,000 for three knee surgeries.
"As long as I break even, I ain't mad," he says. "It's when you're losing money that you start getting a little upset."
'Reffin' ain't easy'
At 5-foot-8 and a soaking-wet 137 pounds, Birney Kawanawitz has the waistline of a toothpick and the nervous energy of Barney Fife. Fortunately for him, he's not one of the wrestlers.
Instead, Kawanawitz is one of the black-and-white-striped referees who tries - usually without much success - to maintain order in the ring.
"It's like a struggle between good and evil," he says. "The referee is kind of a scale of justice and you hope things are going to work out where good will prevail."
Besides working wrestling matches, he also referees brawls for Birmingham's Tragic City Rollers women's roller-derby team.
"There is something about being in the entertainment business - at any level, in any capacity - that has an allure to it, a sort of old-fashioned show business appeal to it," the 43-year-old Kawanawitz says. "It's the same draw as being in vaudeville or maybe a showgirl. You get a taste of it, and you want more."
Although he's the peacekeeper, Kawanawitz has been knocked silly a few times, too.
"Sometimes, you're just in a bad spot and the referee can take some hard shots," he says. "And sometimes, they may just get put out with the ref and take it out on him. Reffin' ain't easy."
Neither is rasslin'.
Just ask "Mad Dog" Dan Sawyer.
On Sunday mornings after his Saturday-night bouts, he'll sit in a pew at Locust Fork Baptist Church, and the pain and the stiffness will start to settle in.
"Your adrenaline is up at the building (during a match) and when you're in the shower (after a match), you're feeling good," he says. "You go to bed feeling good, too. But the next day, you're hurting."
E-mail: bcarlton@bhamnews.com
© 2007 The Birmingham News
© 2007 al.com All Rights Reserved.