Sedalia, MO Part Two

As I left you last ... we had gone to Sedalia, Missouri and were to meet a rival of ours ... so I thought. We had watched the undercard put the audience into an unstable sorting of minds with their talents. The world was now ready for us ... well, at least Sedalia, Missouri was.

We entered the auditorium to a barrage of boos and catcalls. In front of and behind us were four of Sedalia's finest men in uniform to contain the sellout crowd. We entered the ring, where the Viking was signing autographs. It must have been hard for him to scribble an X on each piece of popcorn box wrapper they gave him, and I let it be known to him and the ungrateful fans.

Ron Etchison was the referee for the matches that night and called us to the middle of the ring for instructions. I was beset in telling the Viking what a beating that Angus was going to give him and that he had the opportunity to just back off and leave the ring with all his dignity and pride intact ... or face the music wrestling with Angus.

Viking was not interested in neither my one-sided commentary nor my opinion, and he seemed to be locked into listening to the rules of the ring that the referee was shouting to him and Angus. I was checking the manicure on my left hand, in between shouting insults, when the Viking suddenly grabbed my lapels and began to pummel me with rights and lefts. I was fast enough on my reflexes that he barely laid a fist on me.

Angus was not very happy to see his manager manhandled and joined into the battle. Etchison rang the bell, and the match got underway with the Viking throwing me over the top rope on to the arena floor. In the melee, my trusty briefcase had dropped, and Angus picked it up and, being the gentleman he was, smacked the Viking in the back right below the external oxciferoual protuberance … that’s the shoulder blades area, for those of you that didn't study the Gorilla Monsoon book of medical terms.

Angus then took the briefcase to our corner and placed it on the mat next to where I would be. He turned to get admonished by the referee for allowing me to inject myself into the match and wanted me to be returned to the dressing room so that I would not be a part of the match again. Angus told the referee, Ronnie Etchison, that it was the Viking that started all this riff raff and that, if anyone should be given the cold shoulder, then it should be him.

Viking and Angus then grabbed at each other and locked up in the referee position and it seemed like an eternity that they were testing each other out. It seemed like neither was giving up the death-like grip they had on each other. Finally, in a burst of energy, Angus shoved Viking out of the ring near my corner and about a foot from the ring post.

I jumped from the chair that I was sitting on and grabbed the Viking and smashed his head right into the ring post, busting his forehead open just above the left eye. It took just about everything that the four officers that were on duty could do to keep fans from jumping me from all angles. Angus had turned the referee so he didn't see what had happened, and, when he turned towards me, all he saw was me sitting back down and the Viking coming from the arena floor with his head busted open.

Etchison started a count, and the Viking tried to get into the ring with Angus again, but, every time he tried, Angus kept knocking him to the floor. Viking finally did get back into the ring with the help of the referee and proceeded to give the big Scotsman a battle like he had never been in before. The fans were standing in applause and admiration to the man from Norway as he beat Angus into a crumpled mess, much to my dismay.

I tried to assert myself into the mess but was met by the referee and told to sit back down or I would be thrown out of the building. Not wanting Angus to lose, I called him to the outside, where I handed him a roll of quarters and told him to get to that low life and teach him a lesson.

Angus, who was lefthanded by nature, had the roll of quarters in his right hand and was trying to hit the Viking with it, but to no avail. Viking finally grabbed Angus in a side headlock with some of his long hair entangled in his fist and drove that heavily taped thumb into the throat of my superstar and meal ticket. The impact drove Angus backwards, and the roll of quarters fell onto the canvas mat.

The Viking grabbed the roll and proceeded to beat the heck out of Angus. Referee Ron Etchison just stood back and laughed as if he was the one that was benefiting from the beating that Angus was getting. I jumped up on the ring apron, only to be hit by the Viking as well, and fell to the ring apron before hitting the arena floor.

Angus had regained his composure and grabbed the Viking by the fist as he tried to throw another haymaker to the side of his jaw. Angus called on all the strength he had in his body and squeezed so hard that the roll of quarters burst open and fell all over the mat.

Angus let go of his hand and grabbed him in a side suplex and dumped him to the mat for a three-count. Etchison had no other option but to raise the hand of Angus. Fans were grabbing at me, and I was as innocent as a newborn, but they wanted me beaten up ... just because. I never could understand fans anyway ... the only thing they were good for was buying tickets and hollering at me.

We battled fans all the way back to the dressing room, and the riot squad was called in to escort us to our car a short time later. We came back in a rematch two weeks later, and it was a lumberjack match with me barred from ringside by promoter Gust Karras.

I guess he just wanted to see the fans go away happy so they would come back again ... but we fooled him and the fans by handing the Viking another loss in his great career.

The Viking is gone from us, but is not forgotten … Rest in Peace, Bob

Percival A. Friend, Retired
The Epitome of Wrestling Managers
2004 CAC Honoree