EPISODE 10 GET THE TABLES

After just one month of working with ECCW, Starr approached me to let me know that things had been going so well that they were going to put on an all-female show—branded as SuperGirls. Of course, it couldn’t be a two-hour iron-man match with me and Miss Chevius, and there weren’t many other women on the scene, bar a couple of new trainees. So they would have to fly women in from all over Canada and America.

Feeling like I was the nucleus of essentially a new promotion would have blown my mind—if I hadn’t somehow generated a strong belief in myself in the last few years.

What’s more, Starr informed me, I was about to become their first champion and I was about to win my first championship—defeating Miss Chevius for the honor.

Elated by the fact that I had finally made it, I was presented with the most horrendous-looking title belt ever made, with all due respect to WWE’s 24/7 title. It had your standard silver hard plate, but it was mounted on a furry, albeit partially matted, zebra-print strap, looking like something you’d find in between couch cushions after years of neglect, congregating with popcorn kernels and lost pennies. But I was going to wear that sucker proudly like the main eventer I was about to become.

Several days before the big event, as if things weren’t already on the most exhilarating trajectory, I got an email from a wrestler called Sumi Sakai. We had worked on the same show once and she had graciously taken my contact information. I stared bug-eyed at the screen, mouth agape in sheer disbelief. A friend of hers was looking for foreign female talent for his new all-Japanese women’s promotion.

This can’t be real, could it? No way can a real-life Japanese promotion be looking to book me? After only a mere few months of betting on myself?! What in all of the universe’s great power is this sorcery?!

I snapped back to the present, reading the contents of the email:

Wrestling promotion called “International Women’s Grand Prix” showcasing female champions from all over the world.

Though Japan was an entirely different entity, all-female promotions had begun to blow up the world over. Likely due to the lack of actual women’s wrestling on mainstream television, leaving a gaping hole in the market for female athletes who could actually go.

Truth be told, I didn’t care much about whether the promotions were all-female or not. I just wanted to be seen as a great wrestler in my own right, gender be damned. And I didn’t care whether there was one women’s match or ten. I just wanted to be great.

Back in ECCW, it was time for the debut of SuperGirls. Starr even got me a new luminous pink leather strap for my belt. Talent was brought in from all over. Many of the girls had much bigger names and followings than I did, and way more experience. One such name was that of Natalya Neidhart, the daughter of Jim Neidhart, whom I had nearly kneecapped two years earlier. Nattie, who came from the most legendary family in all of pro wrestling—the Hart family—was just about the friendliest person you could ever meet. What’s more is she was also going to be part of the International Women’s Grand Prix in Japan in November.

Despite the experiential edge that most of the SuperGirls roster had over me, shockingly I did not feel out of place. And not just because most of the women were as lovely as Nattie, but contrary to how I started my journey in this business, I had all the confidence in the world. I thought I was the best and only getting better, and was out to prove it. No one could match me in technical finesse, sheer charisma, or swag.

Years later, I would wish I could return to this confidence and, well, arrogance, but for now, I was owning every second of my brilliance on this all-lady show. Well, mostly all-lady show. Scotty Mac was my valet to the ring that night.

In a world where hot women are usually the accompaniment to the top male superstars, it felt quite poetic for this female champ to have a smoldering side piece walk her into battle. My formidable opponent for the night was named LuFisto. She was a tiny French Canadian hard-core wrestler who had made her name by going toe-to-toe with some of the toughest men on the continent.

We decorated our match with hard-hitting strikes and suplexes on the concrete floor, going all out to try to make this match feel worthy of a main event, regardless of gender.

I had hit her with everything I had, but it wasn’t enough to keep the good woman down. Reaching my wits’ end, I ordered Scotty Mac to hoist a table into the ring.

While I distracted the ref, Scotty superkicked LuFisto through the table, allowing me to pick up the win and escape with my title still intact.

I had won my first main event. I felt at home there. The show was a considerable success. I say “considerable” considering it was only considered a success by the considerably small crowd in attendance. I hadn’t changed the business—not yet anyway—but every journey to change starts with small steps in the right direction.

I was also about to move in a new direction geographically. After successfully defending my title, I was leaving the floors of the MacMansion and shipping off to a new home in the wilderness on Vancouver Island.

Because I was making so little and struggling to stay aboveboard, my cousin Kev invited me to live with him, his wife, Loretta, and their eight-year-old daughter, Courtney, rent-free, while I pursued my dream.

The house was big and beautiful, overlooking the ocean, giving views you’d see on a postcard, and from time to time you might see an orca pop its head up from the water. It was a little slice of heaven and far from sleeping on floors or in the dark little basement apartment that I had become accustomed to.

Kev and Loretta took me in with open arms, asking nothing in return, except maybe for me to pick Courtney up from school from time to time if either of them was working.

I liked the exercise and I loved Courtney and there wasn’t much else to occupy my time on the island. With all this free time I began to train like a complete and utter maniac twice a day in a small spit-and-sawdust gym about a twenty-minute walk from their house.

Loretta, who just so happened to be a former bodybuilder, helped dial in my nutrition by writing up a diet for me and spent the evening cooking us all healthy culinary masterpieces.

I really had landed on my feet.

And everything was gearing me up to being a full-time professional wrestler.