Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the continuing adventures of a British Indie Wrestler named Electric Kev. Surprised? Confused? Visit part one for an introduction to our hero. 

It’s still the Attitude Era. A time where obscene TV was at its pinnacle in contrast to today’s over-censored broadcasting style for the new ‘cotton-wool-wrapped’ generation. This was a time where during the daytime slots, shows such as Jerry Springer would feature little people and filth. I remember being in my young teens on a Sunday afternoon watching re-runs of a WWF broadcast to see Sable with nothing but body painted handprints on her bare, silicon stuffed breasts, attired in a thong so tight you could see what she had for breakfast. And this was on a Sunday afternoon!

Much like being a kid during the height of Hulkamania, being an awesome coincidence, the same applied for being a young teen growing up during the mostly unfiltered Attitude Era. Swearing and flipping the bird, very near naked women (who remembers Mae Young’s appearance at the Royal Rumble 2000!?), violent and obscene storylines, but most prominently, the oversaturated use of violent weapons.

This was not only prior the PG era, but also prior to the censorship of chair/other weapon strikes during daytime broadcasts. Luckily, in my teens I could still enjoy an uncensored daytime twatting by a foreign object to an unfortunate athlete on my screen as opposed to this mollycoddled generation’s version of daytime airing, which would consist of a crowd zoom shot of an acne-ridden teen tucking into his hotdog, looking moderately shocked at the chair shot you were only allowed to hear.

School at this time was a melting pot of boisterous, teenage wrestling fanatics charged-up on (what seemed like) unlimited testosterone. It could not be a shock that there were a LOT of us who ignored the ‘Don’t Try This At Home’ adverts at the time….you know the ones – wrestlers past and present (at the time), stating their injuries whilst stood in a derelict building and shot in black and white. Like the naïve dickheads we all were, we tried it at school instead.

There were some notable victims during this wave of adolescent DIY wrestling madness. On this occasion, I will grant you just TWO victim stories. One lad fell victim to a botched 3D finisher which would make the Dudley Boyz nauseous to watch. The two perpetrators in question weren’t bad kids at all. They, like the rest of us, simply loved wrestling and sometimes got a little too excited, to say the least.

Nonetheless, the first victim was subject to an unintended stiff 3D and ended up with a nose that resembled ‘Big Poppa Pump’ Scott Steiner’s freakish bicep. That poor lad was one of the smallest kids in our school year at the time, but it’s not all ‘poor wee victim’ because that chappy ended up sculpting himself one of the most chiselled physiques in our hometown. Good for him.

The second, and final, victim was one of my own personal gains. I never knew this kid who looked like a clown without the makeup. You know, big mouth, curly hair and funny eyes? However, he fell victim to one of my fabulously executed figure four leg locks. Hell, I even got the chance to wave my finger in the air as I boomed out an almighty, “WOOO!” He didn’t need to cry about it though. “Never mind,” I thought as I ran away, laughing with mad glee. I felt glorious!

Let’s be fair, this boy giggled at the bright blue Dame Edna spectacles that the optician gave me to wear whilst my decent pair were getting mended, so I was already in a dodgy mood. Later that year, I watched a joyful 1979 film production which was set in a British borstal. This movie was called Scum. You might have seen it? After being introduced to the infamous greenhouse scene, it’s safe to say that any guilt I felt for what I did to matey boy, vanished. He got off lightly in comparison.

I wouldn’t do anything like that nowadays. Not now I’m in my thirties.

Next time we jump to my mid-twenties and my first foray into the independent circuit.