This is a Question for some of the workers on this forum, Do you have any stories of Rotton Promoters, Shifty Wrestlers or just a list of complete @ssholes who make this buisness a horrible place to be for all wrestlers?.. It could be some one who screwed you out of money, or a ref who thinks he is more important then the wrestlers or what ever horror story you have in the world on Indy Wrestling

Well. I think people may want to keep some of that quiet, as a rule, to avoid other "friends" of such people getting angry, or blackballing them, or the like.

Solely for entertainment's sake, I would like someone to find Big Slam Vader, sign him up here and respond to this post.

GrayGhost wrote:

Well. I think people may want to keep some of that quiet, as a rule, to avoid other "friends" of such people getting angry, or blackballing them, or the like.

Yeah, like Brian Cairo... You have to be careful what you say around him as he loves being the bearer of bad news!

I've got one. This happened about 10 years ago. 97 or 98.

Me and a group of 3 other workers just finished a dump show up North. So we're coming back down rte 95 and decide, as most workers do, to go grab a bite to eat.

We pulled up to this rinky dink 24 hr breakfast type joint. Like an IHOP, but family owned. So we go and and do our thing, the place was somewhat busy. It was a Saturday night so all the drunks were there. Anyway, the waitress that served us was a total bitch. Every bad habit in the book, she had it. So we're getting out check and she overheard us talking about the show. She started telling us how fake wrestling is and how its for kids and we should grow up. This lady must've had a bad night or a large set.

So she came back after ringing us up and also gave us our food that we didnt finish. You know those styrofoam boxes. So as we're getting up, my buddy excuses himself from the bathroom and we go out to the car. When he steps in, he doesnt have his carry out box. We ask where it is, and he told us, as plain as day. "I took a shit in it. Gave her a nice tip." He had left it on the table for her. Needless to say, that redeemed the entire roadtrip for us.

Oh boy…I could go on for WEEKS with this one. I guess I’ll start with my earliest shitty experience.

I was working somewhere on Cape Cod at a camp ground on a sold show. I believe I was working on my third match. Anyway, Joe Euginio was running the show and he told me and my opponent that I was going over. I forget what I called for a finish out back (in this case, a rented camper of some sort). We were out there doing our match and everything seemed fine to my extremely green ass. Anyway, the “time became right” (i.e. the campers watching the match were drifting off to go play candy bar bingo), so I called for the finish. I hit whatever the hell it was I called and covered. 1-2-and the guy kicks out.

I figured he must have forgotten the finish. So I pick him up and told him “stay down for this” and hit something else. Cover, 1-2-KICKOUT. Fuck. Maybe he didn’t hear me. I tell him “this is the finish” and hit something else…SAME SHIT, 1 fuckin’-2 fuckin’ KICKOUT!

Now, I’m pretty thick, but at this point even I’m starting to realize this bastard is fucking with me. As I was picking him up, I proceeded to ask him what the hell he was doing. He answered by sucker punching me in the gut. Now I’m fucking mad. While I wasn’t anything resembling a shooter (and didn’t have 17 years of learned nasty tricks up my sleeve like I do now), this guy was small…about 2” shorter than me, and probably 30 pounds lighter. I managed to get this asshole on my shoulder like Davey Boy Smith did when he went for the power slam. Instead of doing a power slam, I whipped my body down with him on my shoulder. As he hit the ground, my right shoulder driven by about 180 lbs of me went straight into his sternum, ribs and gut full force. Think of how a spear looks. Now imagine someone driving full speed and weight into your internal organs while trapped on the mat. As I hit, I heard what could best be described as an explosion of air being forced out of this turd’s body.

Somehow, I didn’t break my own neck with the stunt. I then covered him and whispered, “If you kick out I will fuckin’ kill you”. Amazingly enough, the count reached three this time, ending the horror show/match.

I don’t believe that particular wrestler was ever used on a Euginio production again. Hardly my best one, but it’s one of the first that came to my mind.

Mav

kuro wrote:

Solely for entertainment's sake, I would like someone to find Big Slam Vader, sign him up here and respond to this post.

I am sure he will tell you stories about wrestling for WcW, WWE or Japan like he does in this video http://myspacetv.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=3960033

Oh don't shake his hand...lol

You want some good horror stories? Just ask SWB about when he was under a Chaotic contract!

Too man, maybe another time.

Nobody will blackball any of us. We don't care. What are they going to do, take away our millions?

Bob @ Slamtech

A local guy who is currently not promoting came up to me to pay me after a show. I was already in a bad mood and he says "You can see by the house that we're short tonight. Here is 1/2 of what I said I could pay you. You want some percocets to make up the difference?"


Needless to say that was the last show I worked for him.

haha great thread, i knew mav would deliver the goods

I don’t know if this really fits this topic, but I’d like to share a couple of stories of how Sonny Goodspeed, Jeff Costa, Rip Morrison, Scott Dickinson & myself used to make life miserable for one of Jeff’s trainees. I guess that means it counts as some of the shitty things I’ve done.

Jeff had a trainee who went by the handle “the Gangster of Love” Tony Amore’. Jeff used him as a manager. He initially wanted to be a wrestler, but he was rather skinny and couldn’t bump to save his life. How bad was he at bumping? He was the only guy I ever saw take a body slam without leaving his feet. Despite his lack of physical aptitude, he did have one attribute we absolutely adored…he may have been the most gullible guy EVER to get into wrestling. Wrestling being what it is…we felt the need to take advantage of that trait whenever possible. For example…

-About 8 weeks into his training, we had a photographer from I believe the Union Leader up to do a story on Ringside Wrestling. We convinced Tony that he was actually a photographer for Pro Wrestling Illustrated and that they were doing a feature on independent junior heavyweights. We had him strip off his shirt and do Hulk Hogan poses while the photographer snapped away in disbelief. It backfired on us, though…as when the story was published, the chose a photo of all 132 lbs of him doing the “most muscular” pose to lead off the story, making us all look ridiculous.

-One time on a show in Hudson, NH at the old Lion’s club, Jeff Costa had him manage the heel in the main event (I believe it was Sonny Goodspeed as the heel working w/ Rip Morrison). Jeff set up a scenario backstage where after the match, “the Gansta”(as we referred to him as) got dropped by the baby face after the heel had bailed. Jeff told him specifically about 20 times, “…don’t get back up until the heel comes to get you…you’ll kill the angle”.

Match goes as planned, heel bails, Tony gets dropped and waits…and waits…and waits for the heel to come back out. This went on for like 15 minutes…kids were throwing popcorn on his “unconscious” body and telling him “get up, stupid”.

He didn’t catch on until the boys came out to take the ring down.

-The most elaborate (and in my opinion) the best one was the infamous “Sheila in Rip’s van” incident, which has reached near-legendary status with all of Costa’s former guys. Scott Dickenson was working as a ref for WCW, and was in the mood for a little fun with the Gansta. He told me, Rip Morrison and Sonny Goodspeed what he wanted to do. He would come in and pretend to take us aside (conveniently near Tony) and tell us that he had found some girl named Sheila who wanted to be a “Nitro Girl”, and that he had convinced her that he could make the contact for her under one condition…she had to “take care” of some of the boys for him in Rip’s Van. Note: there was NEVER any girl in the van. When he would get done telling us, we would tell him that Tony had to be in as well. The point of the rib was that we wanted to catch Tony with his pants down in the empty van and get a picture of him like that. Things didn’t go quite as planned…but it turned out for the better, as you will see.

Dickenson “gives us the low down” as planned, and we try to “include” Tony. One problem…fuckin’ Tony had a girl friend, and the upright bastard didn’t want to cheat on her. As admirable as a trait as it may be…the man was fucking with our rib and we weren’t happy. We got the ball rolling though, hoping we could break his resolve. Rip went to the van first (“Hey, it’s my fuckin’ van…I want first shot”). While he was out there, Sonny, me and Dickenson started working over the Gansta in a horrid display of false peer pressure not seen since the old “After School Specials” on ABC. “Quick draw” Rip Morrison comes back 3 minutes later, extolling the oratory prowess of “Sheila” to Tony while Sonny heads out to the van. I tried to convince the Gansta how good it was going to be by taking my trunks off underneath my gaudy purple and yellow robe, claiming I didn’t want to wait to get them off when I hit the van, and encouraged Gansta to get in a towel and nothing else to be ready. Sonny came back about 5 minutes later and was like, “Dude…she’s amazing!”…and I appeared even more eager to go lay my pathetically sized pipe to the imaginary groupie. Unfortunately…Tony STILL wasn’t biting, saying over and over “I got a girl friend” (loyal prick).

So there I am, 30 seconds into my “turn” with Sheila, standing outside in 35 degree weather with nothing but my god damn robe on, thinking our cute little rib has gone all to shit and what I could do to save it. Then…an evil inspiration hit me. I think I even smirked to myself and laughed aloud, and headed back inside with a blank expression on my face and white as a ghost (the cold helped with that part). Sonny saw me first and asked “how was it, Mav”?

“Son, man…something’s wrong…what the fuck did you do to her”?!”

“Whaddaya mean” was what I got back from Sonny, who caught on quick the rib was changing but didn’t know in what direction.

“I get in there, man…and she’s passed out on the floor, and there’s puke EVERYWHERE! I don’t think she’s breathing…I think the she's dead”!

Game is fucking on now! Me, Rip and Jeff try to calm down a “ballistic” Dickenson. Tony is staring at us in disbelief as I suggest the solution to our little problem is to “…roll her up in a carpet and dump the her off on the side of Rt. 3”(I saw it in a movie once). We’re free styling at this point…we don’t know precisely where we’re going, but things is getting’ good.

Fortuitously, Jeff Costa walks out back and wants to know what the hell is going on. Somehow, someone got word to Jeff up front the general gist of the rib. He yells out he’s got some girl up front, covered in puke and buck ass naked rapped up in a blanket claiming the boys abused her. Then, Rip stands up and puts the topper on a glorious bit of ad libbed ribbing gone awry. He tells Jeff, “Jeff, I can’t lie to you. I’ve known you too long. GANGSTA DID IT”.

With that, Tony erupts into incoherent babble. “NOOOOO! I-I-I-NOOO! I didn’t do nothing’! What the---You assholes! I-I-NOOO”. Costa screams, “Gansta-IN THE FUCKIN’ OFFICE-NOW” (which was a supply closet)! He was in there with Jeff for a couple of minutes-Jeff screaming at him, some wrestlers somehow not pissing themselves laughing, some not knowing what’s going on…a whole gamut of fuck-up-atude. Finally, it gets quite and Tony and Jeff emerge. Jeff couldn’t hold back…”I told him about the rib”, and the entire locker room exploded in laughter…

…well, except for one guy. Still…it was the best pop anything I was ever involved in got.

Mav

I remember that one! Tony was also the guy we used to torture on basically a show-to-show basis and tell him that Kevin "Butcher" Hughes was after him.

Mav, if you remember it, because I don't very well, do you remember the Pembroke story where Kevin went after Gangsta? It was literally 2 seconds after we told him to "go after Tony" and he played it up to the hilt!

Either that or he was really crazy. It's about 50/50.

I'll add a horror story later this week.

Bob @ Slamtech

Hahaha, this thread is fantastic!

MAV wrote:

Oh boy…I could go on for WEEKS with this one.

PLEASE DO! hahah

TBH is MAV

Damn!

Quote:

He didn’t catch on until the boys came out to take the ring down.

HAhahahah

Seriously Mav please, more stories please sir haha

This thread delivers.

MAV wrote:

-One time on a show in Hudson, NH at the old Lion’s club, Jeff Costa had him manage the heel in the main event (I believe it was Sonny Goodspeed as the heel working w/ Rip Morrison). Jeff set up a scenario backstage where after the match, “the Gansta”(as we referred to him as) got dropped by the baby face after the heel had bailed. Jeff told him specifically about 20 times, “…don’t get back up until the heel comes to get you…you’ll kill the angle”. Match goes as planned, heel bails, Tony gets dropped and waits…and waits…and waits for the heel to come back out. This went on for like 15 minutes…kids were throwing popcorn on his “unconscious” body and telling him “get up, stupid”. He didn’t catch on until the boys came out to take the ring down. Mav

That was just mean and you almost lost a fan. Until I read this part:

MAV wrote:

So there I am, 30 seconds into my “turn” with Sheila, standing outside in 35 degree weather with nothing but my god damn robe on, thinking our cute little rib has gone all to shit and what I could do to save it. Then…an evil inspiration hit me. I think I even smirked to myself and laughed aloud, and headed back inside with a blank expression on my face and white as a ghost (the cold helped with that part). Sonny saw me first and asked “how was it, Mav”? “Son, man…something’s wrong…what the fuck did you do to her”?!” “Whaddaya mean” was what I got back from Sonny, who caught on quick the rib was changing but didn’t know in what direction. “I get in there, man…and she’s passed out on the floor, and there’s puke EVERYWHERE! I don’t think she’s breathing…I think the she's dead”! Game is fucking on now! Me, Rip and Jeff try to calm down a “ballistic” Dickenson. Tony is staring at us in disbelief as I suggest the solution to our little problem is to “…roll her up in a carpet and dump the her off on the side of Rt. 3”(I saw it in a movie once). We’re free styling at this point…we don’t know precisely where we’re going, but things is getting’ good. Fortuitously, Jeff Costa walks out back and wants to know what the hell is going on. Somehow, someone got word to Jeff up front the general gist of the rib. He yells out he’s got some girl up front, covered in puke and buck ass naked rapped up in a blanket claiming the boys abused her. Then, Rip stands up and puts the topper on a glorious bit of ad libbed ribbing gone awry. He tells Jeff, “Jeff, I can’t lie to you. I’ve known you too long. GANGSTA DID IT”. Mav

You won me back. Go Mav!

The Best Of The Very Best wrote:

Damn! Working any show for Jeff Costa and Joe Euginio is a horror story in itself.

I've said it before and I'll say it again...I LOVED WORKING FOR JEFF COSTA. I have no problem with Euginio either. After Bryan Walsh trained me, Joe let me come into his place and get my first matches and tolerated my often off beat behavior for several years. Joe gave me the chance to fulfill a dream, and I can't thank him enough for that.

All things considered, I prefered Jeff Costa however. If you kept your ears and mind open, you could learn more from him than anyone around. He had more practical experience than anyone in the area. He spent several years working primarily for Al Tomko's territory in British Columbia and during the summers (when Tomko would slow down and stick to mostly TV tapings) get work in Calgary and in Portland. That...and he was completely nuts. So were half the guys he used. In the previous paragraph, I said that my off beat behavior was tolerated by Euginio. For Jeff, it was average behavior and I fit right in, making it a more comfortable environment/assylum for myself.

Mav

I'll add 2 of my favorite stories. One involves KOKO B. WARE and the other a worker whose name I shall leave out.
It was a cold winter night. I was working for Eugenio on a road show. Jim Duggan and Koko were on the show. Koko was traveling with us in "the party van". If you never traveled in the party van you have not lived. Anyway, after the show we start heading back home. Koko being highly intoxicated, yells to the driver. "Hey! Stop! I gotta piss!" So the driver stops at the next rest stop. Koko sees one of those snow mounds they make after plowing. Decides he's gonna climb it and piss up there. He pulls down his Zubaz to his ankles and starts doing (which was way before its time) some sort of booty shake dance. We were laughing so hard. Just then someone, dammit I forget who yells, "KOKO A STATIE! A STATIE!" meaning a state tropper. Koko freaked out and fell down the snow mound with his pants around his ankles. One of the funniest moments of my life.
Story 2. I'm young, i'm green. Had about 16 months in the business. I'm going to wrestle the first guy out of my circle. he just started working for Eugenio. At that time my trainer was Gino Caruso. He warned me that this guy was stiff and I might need to defend myself. He also told me he was a shooter and asked if I remembered some of the things about shooting he taught me. I told him I would be fine. Well I went out and worked the match. He was stiff. He did shoot. He got it back. Match was over and he walks throught the curtain. Two cops are standing there. They put him up against the wall and put the cuffs on him. he goes right into the back of a crusier. Mind you not one of us had any idea what was going on. Later on we found out why he was arrested but thats neither here nor there. That will forever go down as my first and only "JAIL HOUSE" match.

Timmy Kilgore and I were working 2 superstars in Clinton MA. One of them was a very nice guy and the other one was 30% retarded.

Tim and I had some really cool name like "Kibbles & Bits" or something, so Kibbles and Bits vs Nice Guy and 30% Corky for the Tag Team Champion ship of some guy's fantasy that he was running a wrestling fed.

The snake brody's in there with Timmy, who looks to me and says, "Keith, this guy's fucking insane." And tags me in, I snag him in a headlock and begin to get punched... hard... in the ribs.

I forget if Matt, Mav or Bob taught me this trick... using my smallish frame I twist my body in such a way that the snake brody is pulled up and over and lands on his back with no help from him. He continues punching so I do a shoot move, a sleeperhold to the side of the head that crushes his traps (I think it's called a side-naked-choke... but I don't know).

Anyway I heard a crack from his neck and whisper as quietly as you can imagine right next to his ear... "relax...."

Later on in the same match we had a situation much like how Mav described above. We were ready to go home with included the retarded getting thrown to the outside and me hitting my finish on the nice guy. The snake brody after getting dumped ran back in the ring...

I foley-lined him outside and tried to run in to hit my finish, but was pulled back outside. I then punched this moron as hard as I could in the ribs and wish each punch said,

"You're!" ::punch::
"Ruining!" ::punch::
"the!" ::punch::
"Match!" ::punch::

I slid back in but now the guy was coming back in all sex-nuts and snake brody-strength. I said to Tim, who was also in the ring "Hey Timmy that guy just called your fiancee' a C*** at ringside."

Tim launches across the ring and dropkicks this guy square in the nose, bloodying him up and sending him to the floor.

Telling this story almost wants me to put the coral back on.

-Costa every once in a while would use this guy he trained with when learning from Killer Kowalski named Frank. Frank was a short, skinny, rotten toothed little grease ball of a manager who wore the world's most wrinkled exercise suit ever seen when he headed out to the ring. He was one of the more disgusting individuals I ever met...but Jeff loved his kooks, and this guy was defiantly a fuckin' nut.

I used to do a lot of the paperwork for the ring announcer. Unbeknownst to me, this sleazy little sub-human wanted to be know as "Mr. Majestic" (He should have been known as "Mr. Needs to be Deloused"). So, the first time this guy shows up I'm told he's a manager. With pencil in hand, I made the mistake of asking Jeff who he was. I didn't ask "Mr. Majestic" over there because...well, the guy was pretty gross. Jeff told me, "Oh, that's fuckin' Mangy Frank".

...so that's what I wrote on the announcer's sheet...and that's exactly what they announced him as. "Mangy Frank". Well, ol' Mangy was none too pleased with this and came into the locker room after bitching "...they called me Mangy"! So Jeff asks me, "why did you call him Mangy Frank? Didn't you think that might just be our nickname for him...doesn't that sound even remotely fuckin' odd to you"?

I looked at Jeff incredulously and said, bluntly..."Jeff...since I've worked for you, you've had "Matches in 3-D", Roller Derby Death Matches, ran an angle where we kidnapped my wife and hid her in the bathroom, had a transvestite manager named Mama, had a fat white guy named Congo Boy do a Kamala rip off, wanted Sonny Goodspeed to wrestle in a wedding dress as “the Bride” and you're standing here bitching at me while dressed as a 350 lb lobster. Look at him! How strange does "Mangy Frank" sound when you take it in context"?

Jeff, in the childlike way that I loved him so for, started laughing and had no choice but to agree with me when presented with the facts.

Mav

KL Murphy wrote:

Timmy Kilgore and I were working 2 superstars in Clinton MA. One of them was a very nice guy and the other one was 30% retarded. Tim and I had some really cool name like "Kibbles & Bits" or something, so Kibbles and Bits vs Nice Guy and 30% Corky for the Tag Team Champion ship of some guy's fantasy that he was running a wrestling fed. The snake brody's in there with Timmy, who looks to me and says, "Keith, this guy's fucking insane." And tags me in, I snag him in a headlock and begin to get punched... hard... in the ribs. I forget if Matt, Mav or Bob taught me this trick... using my smallish frame I twist my body in such a way that the snake brody is pulled up and over and lands on his back with no help from him. He continues punching so I do a shoot move, a sleeperhold to the side of the head that crushes his traps (I think it's called a side-naked-choke... but I don't know). Anyway I heard a crack from his neck and whisper as quietly as you can imagine right next to his ear... "relax...." Later on in the same match we had a situation much like how Mav described above. We were ready to go home with included the retarded getting thrown to the outside and me hitting my finish on the nice guy. The snake brody after getting dumped ran back in the ring... I foley-lined him outside and tried to run in to hit my finish, but was pulled back outside. I then punched this moron as hard as I could in the ribs and wish each punch said, "You're!" ::punch:: "Ruining!" ::punch:: "the!" ::punch:: "Match!" ::punch:: I slid back in but now the guy was coming back in all sex-nuts and snake brody-strength. I said to Tim, who was also in the ring "Hey Timmy that guy just called your fiancee' a C*** at ringside." Tim launches across the ring and dropkicks this guy square in the nose, bloodying him up and sending him to the floor. Telling this story almost wants me to put the coral back on.

You did the "shoot" version of a side head lock take over; it's pretty basic Judo. Bob or I could have taught you that. The hold you're describing is something I would probably would have shown you.

I believe the hold you used is called a "crimson bar" (which is what the amateur wrestler who taught it to me called it) if it's what I think you did; you get the guy seated and hook your arms over the top of and around his shoulders, locking your hands together behind his back if you can. You keep your own head/face to one side of the guys head and you then creep yourself back onto your belly while bringing the guy to his back, or you can lean forward and bear all of your leg strength and weight into him (I prefer option #1 as it completely immobilizes the guy). It can completely cut off the guy's air supply if applied properly.

Look. There's a scummy story about me...teaching New England's young lions how to kill each other.

Mav

I rarely visit this board, but just noticed that saying r-e-t-a-r-d changes the word to Snake Brody.

And I find that funny.