Pinnacle of Insane Wrestling
Sky Dome
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
June 12, 1998

“It’s time for the MAIN EVENT of the evening!”

My brother loved wrestling. When he was five-years-old he saw an event on television, was captivated by a wrestler named High Flyer and never stopped watching since.

“Introducing first…”

The announcer’s voice trails. I’m indifferent.

Looking up to my mother, I ask her if this is the last match we have to sit for. She informs me “main event” would signify I’m correct.

“Unless there’s a dark match,” my brother pipes up from over mom’s shoulder and then goes back to anxiously watching the first wrestler’s entrance, feet dangling freely from his chair.

“And his opponent, from Oshawa, Ontario, Canada… weighing two-hundred-fifty-five pounds… he is THE FEAR… CHRISSSSSSSSS FEAR!”

The lights dim to a shade of crimson red. The music, ominous. Fire and brimstone flood the entrance way and even though this is a local wrestler…

I am hearing nothing but boos.

The fans are on their feet. In fact the entire stadium is, so I can’t see a thing. My brother nudges mom, as she hoists him up for a better view and immediately I see the reaction on his face.

Terror. Pure terror.

“Mom, no,” he mumbles, visibly shaken as she asks him what’s wrong and my brother starts crying. Mom lowers him back to his seat while I try to peer through the bodies. We’re in the bleachers, not floor level, so I’m hopeful to make out something.

“Do you need help,” mom asks me although I don’t answer her. I would never ask for her help. I can do this myself.

The music blares LOUDLY. There are many chants but I can’t seem to make them out. No one is on the same page, it’s like a madhouse in here.

Not that I’d know what a madhouse is. I’m simply assuming.

Finally, the music stops but the fans still stand.

DING DING

I hear a bell ring followed by the most audible cry that has haunted me forever.

It doesn’t come from the wrestlers. Instead, the cry is heard by everyone throughout the building. Some fans around me turn away in disgust, others look just like my brother did two minutes ago.

I continue to weave my vision through the crowd. Finally, I catch a glimpse but it’s only the aftermath.

The one man, the first who came out, is laying face down in a pool of his own blood, twitching profusely.

The other man, the one I assume to be named Chris Fear stands above him, holding some kind of weapon in hand. It’s chain linked with a spiked ball attached to it.

The referee is frantically waving his arms. He’s shouting towards the entrance way as the bell rings again.

The two guys in front of me block my vision once more. That’s when I realized I should be standing on my chair. Balancing myself, I see there are now a handful of referees attending to the fallen wrestler. Fans litter the ring with garbage.

But Chris Fear hasn’t moved.

A referee asks him to leave but the ominous man doesn’t. He’s merely idle. Soon after, all individuals in the ring ignore the wrestler with the ball and chain.

Not me. I don’t care about the other guy.

Why is Chris Fear standing there? What did he do with that weapon? Why doesn’t he move? Attack someone else?

My mind wanders.

I look around again. I see the horror. I feel the tension.

I remember the initial, haunting cry from the audience.

And I smile, ever-so-slightly.

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