The title change was tipped off somewhat ahead of time when we realized the great Whipper Billy Watson and renowned St. Louis promoter/NWA president Sam Muchnik were calling the action from a riser at the north end of MLG with the CHCH-TV cameras present.  The only time the cameras were present was when something special was going to happen.

  On occasion, however, I had to defend my infatuation with the sport.  One such "defence" was the incident in which I threw a fellow student out a window.  I grew tired of always having to defend my choice of "sport" to him.  One day, as he was leaning out the open window of our classroom, I decided to pick him up by the heels and push him outside.  It wasn’t as horrifying or dangerous as it sounds, except for the fact that the gentleman who took the bump happened to be the captain of Northern’s soccer team and the son of Lois Lilienstein, of the well-known Sharon, Lois & Bram’s Elephant Show.

  As my mom and I ascended the steps to the gym, the thuds and screams coming from behind the door at the top of the stairs were blood-curdling.  We watched for only a short time before we were hustled into the gym office, which was on the left side of the room and beyond the makeshift snack bar and fridge, where many a kid made cheese sandwiches and where hot dogs were served during Sully’s monthly amateur fight nights.  Inside that office, we met a gentleman by the name of Johnny Powers.

  An interesting point to be made is, I learned more about the inner-workings of the wrestling business from the Observer than I did from my training with Powers and Siki.  When we were training, we learned by "doing."  Neither Powers nor Siki ever discussed "working" and they never smartened us up.  The only thing close to that would have been their instructions to "try not to hurt each other because these are just training matches."  Johnny came close to crossing the line one day when he told us, "If I ever hear about any of you telling people that wrestling is ‘fake,’ I’ll beat the &*#@ out of you."

  In a scenario familiar to many young wrestlers, despite having personally sold $600 worth of tickets to my debut match and, unknowingly, coming within seconds of being sliced up or, at the very least scarred for life, if not killed, I got stiffed on the payoff and received exactly $0 for my efforts on the night.  I waited around long after the show was over for my payoff.  I waited patiently because I knew Dave was busy, but when the arena was almost deserted, I asked him about my payoff.  He told me it was my first match, so I wouldn’t be getting any money.  Disappointed, I left for home, thankful for the experience, but surprised that there was no money to be had.  When I told my mother, she was stunned and said, "They didn’t even give you streetcar fare home?"

  A funny thing happened earlier that night.  I drove to the tapings with a couple of my high school buddies, one of which was Nick Gougoumis, the only other member of the "Northern wrestling team."  We spotted Kamala, the Ugandan Giant Kamala, as he made his way to the building.  Kamala was easy to spot.  He was sitting shotgun in a car and wearing his huge carved wooden jungle mask.  My buddies rolled down the windows and heckled and jeered him.  I told them, "Knock it off!  I could be wrestling him tonight."  I wish I could have seen the looks on their faces when Kamala’s music cranked up and he made his way to the ring — spear in hand and jungle mask on face — to face a pasty-white "Wonder Boy."

  I spent some time with Ron when I was working as the "Masked Thunderbolt."  He was always fun to hang with and he was full of wrestling knowledge.  I listened intently as he spun tales of his days in Puerto Rico working as "Rambo" Ron Starr — a direct rip-off of the popular Rambo movie character.  Puerto Rico fans were crazy.  They would throw rocks, batteries, and anything they could lay their hands on.  One night, a knife whistled past Ron’s head as he left the ring.  Another time, he had to fight his way back to the dressing room.  The worst may have been the time he and several other heels were leaving the stadium by car.  A crowd of volatile Latin fans attacked them and tried to tear the doors off the hinges.  The heels had to fight their way back to the safety of the stadium.

  When we arrived at television one early weekday morning, "No Class" Bobby Bass was presented with a letter from promoter Dupre.  Fan mail was sent to the wrestlers care of the ATV Moncton studios.  That particular letter, however, was not legitimate fan mail.  It was a letter with a United States government postmark.  The senator for the state of Maine watched our shows and he was displeased with Bass’ treatment of the American flag.  Bass, a heel manager, appeared on TV wearing a gaudy tuxedo with an American flag tied to a broom handle.  He twirled the flag around and usually wound up poking the broom handle into the babyfaces’ stomachs.  In the letter, the senator expressed his great displeasure towards Bass’ treatment of the American flag.

  During a trip to Halifax, this time in 1988, I was about a block away from the arena parking lot when I suddenly realized I wasn’t wearing my mask.  Reaching over, I took off my glasses, grabbed the mask, and pulled it over my head.  With my attention diverted, I ran into the rear-end of the car in front of me.  There was no real damage and the motorist shrugged it off, but I was quite embarrassed.

  We spent a lot of time going through sequencing of moves and holds.  We didn’t have to discuss it or explain why we put certain moves and holds together.  The smart ones, over time, were able to figure out "the magic."  Those who couldn’t … well, those matches were rough, and those people eventually quit.  Sully’s wasn’t all about brawn and toughness.  Students had to have the "smarts" to figure things out for themselves.  After all, when they got into the ring, they wouldn’t have a script to follow.

  It took Adam [Copeland] a while to make friends at the gym.  Some of the boys were a bit jealous, bitter even, that this youngster could waltz in and get trained for free; something for which they had paid $3,000.  Understandably, they didn’t warm up to him right away.  Adam won them over, though.  He had a way of doing that.  He stuck with it, showed them that he belonged; that he could hang.  Before too long, lifelong friendships were formed.

  Tajindar (Paul) Sangha opened the show against an Abdullah the Butcher-like clone.  The match was a short, bloody, violent affair that, upon conclusion, saw St. John’s ambulance attendants come to the ring to tend to a very bloody Sangha.  I remember the female medical attendant being horrified at all the blood on Paul and telling me that she couldn’t stomach it.  I almost laughed when she asked me, "Is the whole show going to be like this?"  I told her that she had just witnessed the opening match, and the best, and the bloodiest, was yet to come!  I didn’t see her again after they bandaged Paul and escorted him from the ring.

  However, that’s not to say that I didn’t try to discourage [Trish Stratus].  I did.  She was a tad on the short side and far from what you would imagine when you picture what a lady wrestler would look like.  I shuddered when I thought about what some of the girls in the business would do to her if they thought she had gotten into the business through any means other than talent.

  As much as I hated to do it, I decided to put Gail under a mask.  The mask would stay on only until we could find a new heel girl for the AWF.  I knew from the start that Gail would easily pull off the heel role.  I also knew that when we unmasked her and turned her babyface, she would get over like a million dollars.

  During a meeting with the NWWL owners, we decided to tell the girls so they didn’t panic if they heard the news.  A short time after we told them, the Toronto bomb squad arrived.  The scene was surreal.  Apparently, somebody did phone in a bomb threat and the police had to search the entire building.

  We thought the press conference had been a rousing success; at least, until we heard news of the criminal charges being filed by the media against Nikita.  Less than an hour after the press conference ended, every media outlet in Ludhiana was talking about the incident.  They didn’t miss a thing … the table being turned over, raised voices, challenges of fights to the death, and all the mayhem that ensued when the media made their hasty exit.  Several news anchors reported live from the hotel, with media vehicles surrounding the building.

  During that tour, I refereed a match in Cocagne, NB, between Seiya Sanada and Rene Dupre.  I counted Dupre down with a three-count, which was the planned finish.  Unfortunately, they forgot to tell me they had changed the finish in the back and Dupre was supposed to go over.  However, even if I had known that, I still would have counted Dupre down.  I always told my referees, if a wrestler was too slow, lazy or stupid to lift up their shoulder or kick out, then they deserved to be counted out.  That happened on several occasions and I never gave the referee heat for doing that.  I told the wrestlers, as well, "Don’t make the ref look like an idiot out there.  Get that shoulder up!  It’s supposed to be a contest!"

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