Saturday (July 21) was my first match since April 1 (no fooling!), and my first match at the Russian Cultural Centre in Vancouver since March 3. Like that show 20 weeks previous, the man standing across the ring from me would be Freddy Funk; but this time, it was a whole new brand of Funk than what the Pacific Northwest has experienced over the last five years.
It seems that losing the NWA Canadian Heavyweight Title has changed Freddie's outlook on life: he’s taken on "Vicious" Verne Seibert as his advisor, and has a chip on his shoulder that's nearly as big as Freddy himself. I was hoping that what I assumed was a momentary lapse in judgment (I mean, honestly ... taking advice from Verne Seibert of all people?), would help me get the dupe (and the dubya) on Freddie.
No dice. Then again, I should have known better: when you assume ...
The big man pummeled me from pillar to post, mashing me into the canvas with elbowdrops, legdrops, sitdown splashes, and slams. I tried to fight back, but couldn’t seem to get my head in the game (maybe because it had been bounced off the mat after a vicious clothesline); that, and Verne took the opportunity to reach in and choke the life out of me on the second rope, while Funk was distracting the referee.
I fired up and surprised Freddy with a running lariat in the corner, followed by a cross-corner whip. When trying for a second running lariat, however, Verne reached in and grabbed my boot ... the momentary distraction was enough for Freddy to clear the cobwebs and hit me with a monstrous "Gravy Train" avalanche. I crashed face-first into the canvas, barely breathing -- my left kidney felt like it had exploded against the turnbuckle.
But Freddy wasn't done: he hauled me up by the throat and sent me crashing back to the mat with an F-Bomb (spinning "Rock Bottom" slam), before scaling the turnbuckles. I tried to struggle to my feet (I could hear the crowd urging me on, but couldn't suck enough air into my lungs to muster the strength to move), when 365-plus pounds of Funkin' humanity came crashing down across my chest. The match was over, and Funk mocked both me and the crowd, before stomping to the back. Me? I could barely crawl up the steps to the backstage area.
I was in a lot of pain Saturday night, and all day Sunday: shortness of breath, trouble sleeping, serious chest pains. Back in Nanaimo, a trip to the doctor on Monday confirmed I have bruised ribs; I agreed to stay home and not head to Surrey this evening, but I made no promises about the first Vancouver Island show of 2007. By hook or by crook, I will make my presence felt tomorrow night (July 28), in Port Alice!
Until next time, Sugar Addicts.
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