I’ve had many hot-tempered aggressors attack me before.
One time, when competing during WWE’s Survivor Series—where I was revealed to be a last-minute surprise addition to Team SMACKDOWN—I made a rookie mistake. I didn’t pull my punch after receiving a hot tag, and accidently broke Pietro “Punch Buggy” Patrick’s nose with my fist.
Punch Buggy, a wily and seasoned ring general, did not take kindly to a white-hot mid-card babyface (and quickly rising to the main event scene), who was super over with the audience, messing up his mangled mug. The guy was already so battered it was hard to tell that his facial features had been affected at all, except for the gushing blood of course.
It was instantly clear to the other eight pro wrestlers in the traditional, five-on-five match, not to mention the seventeen-thousand fans in attendance, that Punch Buggy had been caught off guard by the legit injury and immediately gave in to rage. He charged at me with a fury the likes of which I had never
seen, and had it not been for my agility and decision to dive aside he might have clotheslined me hard enough to cause decapitation.
I knew in an instant that our planned spots were out the window, so to maintain the order of elimination that had been pre-determined, I slid between Punch Buggy’s legs and rolled him up in a small package, by holding his tights—usually a heel’s move—in order to secure a legit three count.
If Punch Buggy was mad beforehand, it was nothing compared to the post-pin fury that spewed out of him after being eliminated. He was so incensed that security had no choice but to pounce on him and forcibly remove him from the ring, while he cussed up a storm so virulent the event should have been upgraded from a PG rating to R.
I thought I’d never again see such a blazing rage in the eyes of an opponent. Of course, that was before I decided to go off half-cocked, dressed up as a rodeo clown trying to lure a frenzied bull away from a cowboy who had just been bucked off the brute.
Although not quite as spry as I used to be, I was still able to lead the animal toward its chute before leaping aside at the last moment. The bull tried to stop its charge a split-second too late, and in a flash the metal gate slammed shut and the fierce creature was safely secured.
The rodeo crowd cheered my efforts, and the other clown in the dust bowl of the arena gave me an approving nod before hustling over to me.
“Nice moves. You must be the new guy, eh? Hell of a way to make an intro.”
“Thanks,” I said, as the crowd simmered down after the action. “Jed Ounstead,” I said, before offering a hand. The other clown stuck out a slim hand and shook mine. “Kelly Lewis.”
BINGO, I thought.
“You wanna grab a cold one after this or something?” I asked. “I’m still new to this whole scene and I’d love the chance to pick the brain of a pro like—”
My efforts to cozy up to Jasper Adams’s former lover were cut short when a deafening horn blasted and the gates to another chute opened. The rider hooted and hollered, causing me to wince and pray that I wasn’t in fact hearing what I was hearing.
The crowd roared to life and it felt like I was moving in slow motion when I turned to face a bucking beast so large it could have doubled as the “Charging Bull” of Wall Street sculpture had it been bronzed.
“Éire go, Deo, ya rat-arsed bastards!” screamed Declan at the frenzied spectators, which translated to “Ireland is forever!”
The rest of his war cry was pretty self-explanatory.
Everyone in attendance went wild with applause. If the shock at seeing my drunken cousin, complete with a cowboy hat (an item of which I had no idea how or where he had procured) riding a bull caught me off guard, I processed it pretty quickly, because before I knew it both Kelly and I were flanking my buzzed blood brother as he rode the big bull surprisingly well. Buck as it might, the horned monster couldn’t shake Declan, whose lean and muscular body remained loosey-goosey with each jerky movement. He clutched the bull rope on the saddle like a lifeline, and once he hit eight seconds on the beast’s back the audience erupted with more raucous cheering.
But Declan got greedy and tried to celebrate his accomplishment with a sip of the tallboy of Harp Lager he hoisted in his free hand, the beer splashing out of the can with each buck of the bull. That was all the angry animal needed to toss him from the saddle like a pilot launched from the cockpit of a crashing fighter jet.
“Bollocks!” he yelped, as he flew backwards. Intoxicated as he may have been, I knew Declan would be all right, especially when he tossed his can of beer and tucked himself into a ball before tumbling safely to one knee.
Lewis and I exchanged a quick and knowing look. The livid bovine turned to face us, and snorted dime-sized balls of snot from its snout. Perhaps it was my red-foam clown’s nose, but the creature seemed only to have eyes for me. It charged with the collective fury of a dozen of its brethren running through the streets of Pamplona. Try as I might to dodge, there was no escape. In a split-second I went from trying to avoid the beast to accepting the fact it was going to get me—the only question was how badly would I be gored?
Rather than wait for him to reach me, I charged right back, and leapt on his head, trying to thread the needle between the massive horns. Surprised, the brute jutted up its giant noggin just as both my feet landed on it. I flew so high off the ground I felt like Michael Jordan taking flight from the free throw line.
I almost smiled as I floated through the air, although it was impossible to tell with the goofy red lipstick that caked my face in a perpetual grin. I found myself getting caught up in the moment, threw out my limbs at all angles, and did a starfish pose which thrilled the crowd. My red foam nose flew off as wind whooshed past my face. I landed on my feet, then performed a few forward rolls on the soft sawdust and dirt.
“Yee-haw!” yelled Kelly Lewis, while waving around a neon-coloured handkerchief. The bull caught sight of the colourful distraction and started toward my new in-arena ally. And I’ll be damned if Lewis didn’t manage to time it perfectly, dodging the brute as it unwittingly made a beeline toward the waiting pen. I don’t think I had ever heard a more lovely sound than the metal gate clanging shut, and immediately exhaled a forceful breath that I didn’t even realize I had been holding in for what felt like minutes.
Declan scrambled to his feet and hopped over the gate of an empty chute, only to be greeted by the prickly voice of a stableman who hollered “Who are you? Where the hell is Lenny? And why the fuck are you wearing his hat?”
I figured Lenny may have been sent off to dreamland the same way Declan dispatched our clown friend whose clothes I now wore. I also assumed that my cousin had accosted, then replaced, a bull rider because he couldn’t resist the opportunity to cross another thing off of what he called his “eclectic”—and I called “insane”—ever expanding bucket list. I left Declan to sort out whatever mischief he had caused by playing rodeo cowboy and turned my attention to Lewis.
A buzzer blared and an announcer bellowed over the P.A. system that the bull riding had concluded and it was time for intermission. Jasper Adams’s ex and I shared a smirk.
“What was that you said about a beer?” he asked, wiping perspiration off his forehead with the back of a gloved hand.
“That the first round is on me. Although considering you just saved my ass, let’s make that plural.”
He nodded approvingly. Of course had I known what was going to happen next, I would not have been so generous.