The Reminder is making its archives back to 2003 available on our website. Please note that, due to technical limitations, archive articles are presented without the usual formatting.
As I shake Monty Sopp's enormous hand to open our interview, he instantly reminds me of Randy "The Ram" Robinson, the riches-to-rags protagonist so brilliantly portrayed by Mickey Rourke in "The Wrestler." Like Robinson, Sopp Ð better known by his ring name "Badd Ass" Billy Gunn Ð bodyslammed his way to the top of the wrestling world only to discover that fame is a fleeting thing when the WWE released him. And like Robinson, Sopp now finds himself middle-aged and donning tights for crowds that number in the dozens rather than the tens of thousands. Instead of Madison Square Garden, tonight he finds himself in the humble abodes of Flin Flon's R.H. Channing Auditorium. I consider asking Sopp whether he sees the same parallels, but I don't dare. At 6'5", weighing 260-some pounds, he is a behemoth of a man. He'd be intimidating wearing a tooth fairy costume. Instead, I toss him a softball question: How do you enjoy these smaller venues? His face brightens and I can tell that at 46, Sopp still relishes the spectacle that is fake wrestling. "When you're wrestling in front of smaller crowds of people, you're into them more, the people are into it more because you get to communicate with them more," he says in a baritone voice tailor-made for his sport of choice. "You get to acknowledge them more (whereas) when people are 50 flights up, you can't say anything to them. But when there's people right there on the floor you can acknowledge them, and (see) if they're having fun, if they hate or if they don't like you or whatever. They get into it more, so it's still fun." Sopp even likes the relatively family-friendly atmosphere afforded by Canadian Wrestling's Elite (CWE), the organization that brought him to Flin Flon and four other smaller Canadian communities. "You can bring everybody," he says. "There's not all of that ridiculous...cussing and being ridiculous and stuff. It's a family-oriented show. You can bring the kids and they can have fun and you don't have to worry about covering the kids' ears when the guys are out there yelling and stuff like that." I didn't ask him, but Sopp must have been disappointed by the size of the crowd surrounding the ring in the middle of the auditorium Monday night. Only about 65 people were on hand for this Victoria Day rumble. Enthusiasm Still, what the predominantly young, male audience lacked in numbers they made up for in enthusiasm. The over-the-top entrances of Sopp and his roster mates were greeted with gung ho cheers (or boos, depending on who was that match's designated villain). Sopp wasn't the only big-name wrestler there. Bushwhacker Luke, of late-80s/early-90s WWF fame, competed in a tag-team match. For 63, he looked pretty darn good, and his trademark lopsided smile hasn't changed one bit. Also getting oiled up was former TNA X Division champ Shawn Daivari. An assortment of small-time pros rounded out the evening. I particularly liked JJ Sanchez, the country music singer with a violent disposition. The brainchild of Winnipeg entrepreneur and wrestler Danny Warren, the CWE is dedicated to bringing this calibre of wrestling to centres that might not otherwise see it. "There's a lot of untapped markets here in central Canada, and western Canada as well, that don't get the kind of entertainment we bring to their towns," says Warren as he prepares to enter the ring as "Hot Shot" Danny Duggan. See 'Wrest...' on pg. Continued from pg. It's not easy interviewing a half-naked man, but I can tell Warren is used to it. I ask him how he manages to get guys like Billy Gunn and Bushwhacker Luke to ply their sweaty craft in faraway places such as Flin Flon. "The wrestling world's a very big world, but it's also a very small community where everyone knows everyone," he notes. "So it's just a matter of a phone call away, and everyone's got a price." Warren is long past the tired "is it real or is it fake?" debate that once surrounded wrestling, and he makes no bones about it. "It's a show. It's entertainment," he says. "You're going to come to a show and you're going to be entertained and pleased with what you see." Wrestling was never my thing. The closest I ever got to becoming a fan was owning a rubber Hulk Hogan action figure when I was a kid. While I can appreciate their athletic ability, I've been perfectly happy to skip the exploits of these spandexed warriors. So I ask Sopp for his thoughts. What compels people to pay money to come to shows like this? "It's the basic good guy, bad guy," he says matter-of-factly. "And for two and half hours, you get to let go of all the stress that you have at home. You don't have to think about nothin' except having fun Ð yelling at the bad guys or cheering for the good guys." Sopp is much less intimidating now than when I met him moments earlier. But I still can't bring myself to ask him if he feels like a real-life Randy "The Ram" Robinson. Not only is he a behemoth of a man, he's about to kick some butt. His fans await.
