by The Immolator
Exclusive to OnlineOnslaught.com

"We’s just gotta find Stan Hansen!"
              — The Desperadoes

Hey, welcome back to The Ring. The Immolator of Violence, at your service.

I made a numerical error in last week’s column as far as which lesson was which. The Lesson with The Count and his quad-killing workout was Number 20. Which means we’re rapidly coming up to the halfway point of my series of 50 lessons here at The House of Pain.

This past week’s lessons have been a godsend. With the new students, Adam and Chris, the class has been going back to the fundamental holds, like the standing wristlock and the side headlock. But we’ve also had a chance to work on certain reversals and holds that I didn’t learn the first time around. I feel it has made a huge difference already in how polished I look in the ring (well, less sloppy, at least). Lesson 21 with Disco last Thursday was all side headlocks, side headlock takedowns and standing wristlocks. All fundamentals. Lesson 22 this past Tuesday with Bubba was even better, because it was just myself, Adam and Chris. In addition to basic stuff, we did arm drags. Arm drags are rather awkward, but they look great when done right, especially Ricky Steamboat’s (reverent bowing). Lesson 23 was Wednesday with Starr. Again, more basic moves out of the standing wristlock, including some reversals I hadn’t learned yet. If you saw RAW this past Monday, you saw Regal “working that arm” beautifully. He is The Man.

I keep a journal of my lessons, in order to track my progress. In one sense, I’ve come a long way from, say, the session with The Honky Tonk Man, where I couldn’t even receive a hip toss properly. That was June 1^st. Two months and a bit later, I pretty much have all the basic moves covered, to the point where I would feel confident wrestling in a six-minute curtain jerker with a good opponent.

Other senses tend to conflict. Having gotten this far, I start to wonder how much further I can go. After Wednesday’s lesson, with the help of a little extra padding on the canvas, I actually went up, wayyyy up, and delivered a top-rope splash onto a tackling dummy of sorts (we call it Festus). Granted, it was probably the ugliest splash known to mankind, but it happened. Two months ago, I was deathly afraid to drop a leg on Festus from the bottom rope, let alone pull a Superfly.

Tempering that sense of progress is, like I said before, my cardio. Even though I can sense a vast improvement in that area, I’m still more or less in competition with people much younger and less easily winded than I am. I’m 32 years old. I try to look for inspiration from athletes 35 and older who are in great shape, but there’s still that clock ticking away in the back of my mind.

Next question: how much am I willing to give up in my life to do this? Because, quite frankly, I’m enjoying it immensely, and it’s putting me in (slaps chest) best shape of career. But it’s also time-consuming. It’s about two hours worth of total driving time to attend each three-hour lesson, of which there are three or four a week. Then there are the shows themselves on the weekends, usually Fridays and Saturdays, although the dog days of summer are not as busy. Let’s just say Mrs. Immolator is being a saint for putting up with my absence… so far.

I also wonder where this whole business is taking me. What if I get good enough that I can actually, you know, wrestle? Do I allow my dreams to take over? Do I go to Tokyo and train more, like Benoit and 2 Cold did? Do I limit my media career to locations where I know I can wrestle on the weekends? Or do I hang up the boots, satisfied that I gave it my best?

It’s been said over and over: there’s no money in this business. And I’m not a rich man. I don’t have the luxury of being able to turn my life over to wrestling, knowing it will pay off in the end. I can only treat it as a hobby. But it’s more than that. So I’ll just have to keep on keeping on, I s’pose.

Before I forget: it’s time, once again, to reach waaaay down and grab…

THE IMMOLATOR’S GIANT SACK of mail. A certain Rick Karboviak of Cooperstown, ND wants a shameless plug for his fitness website, and asks about my training regimen. Well, his website is business-oriented, so it wouldn’t be proper for me to link it here, but a Google on his name and hometown will take interested parties there. I’ll also direct his (and your) attention to the column I wrote for June 27^th, which covers the basics. The only difference now is that, for the purposes of strength training (as opposed to bodybuilding), I go four times a week instead of two, and I do about five sets instead of one or two. Big ups again to The Count for his help in the gym.

Speaking of plugs, check out Moondog Manson’s website. I am semi-active on the message boards under my nom de lutte, Calum Macbeth. The boards will give you an idea of what the wrestling scene is like here in the Pacific Northwest. All you purists who say Vancouver can’t be called “Northwest” because it’s in southern Canada… get stuffed (grin).

Speaking of Calum Macbeth, the character continues to morph. For now, I’m dropping the “Red Lion” part of the gimmick in favour of, well, a snob. A Scots William Regal, if you wee-ul, except angrier and more prone to snapping. And hailing from the Western Highlands. I’m still unsure whether to cop an accent. Finishing move: the Celtic Cloverleaf. One of these days, my good friend Shawn will supply us the illustration I keep hyping.

And with that, I am outta here. I leave you with the immortal words of Robbie Burns: “My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go.”

Peace.

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