Kid Karisma vs Rocco, Gear Wars 1 (BG East)
The gay underground-wrestling biz offers pretty faces, smooth muscles, sexual innuendo, and lots of skin. Too often the actual wrestling gets shortchanged, sometimes left out of the equation. Kid K is the total package. He has the moves, the power, and the pugnacity to make things interesting in the ring and on the mat. It's hard to single out his best match because he never gives less than his best. Working or getting worked, he never lets the fans down. Never. Also, Karisma is sexy as greased dick. The match I keep returning to is his rip-and-strip battle with Rocco, another wrestler who dependably puts out, though altogether different from K. So much the better. The sharp, disciplined athleticism of Karisma and the louche, Mad Max decadence of Rocco make a combustible mix, so full of homoerotic energy you can be excused for sniffing poppers while viewing it. If the phrase "make him his bitch" had not been coined before 2010, it would have been invented specially for this video. I keep the DVD on speed-dial in case of emergencies.
Chris Stone vs Kid Glory (Leicester Pro Wrestling)
Two lily-white UK kids with no muscle tone expend heaps of energy and sweat in the ring in a small regional show from 2008. What can I say? It works for me. Kid Glory is a straight-edge, clean-cut lad, and Chris is a no-good long-hair punk who needs his ass kicked. Though unevenly paced, the match has a lot of heart and two good-looking young wrestlers willing to be dangerously reckless in and out of the ring. Chris (5'10", 161#) is a nasty piece of work, every inch of him. When he petulantly storms away from the ring, I can't wait for Glory to come after him and toss him back in by the seat of his baggy pants. The fight also features one of the great wonders of old-school grunt-n-groan wrestling: that is, the 10-punch corner mount. Kid Glory left only this Internet footprint of his wrestling career. Chris Stone disappears from online wrestling history in 2013, after eight years as a regional pro. Whatever happened to them, they still have this one shining catastrophe for me to remember them by.
Mike Davis, at the peak of his heel/jobber period, does everything in his power to be deserving of the smackdown Steve Simpson ultimately delivers upon him. Mike yanks Steve's billowy hair, he bites the forehead, he gouges eye sockets, he tugs at trunks, he chokes handsome Steve across the top rope, all while keeping his radiant zinc-white belly fully distended, almost as if inviting a hard set of knuckles to land there. Let's just say that Mean Mike knows how to fill a seven-minute match. Steve looks like a thousand bucks when he's getting beat up, like ten thousand when he mans up for some serious payback. I always perked up when I heard either of these wrestlers' names announced, and watching the two of them together (over and over and over) is exactly my taste in hero-vs-villain aggression. I would happily trade the ringside commentary--which flows inanely from U.S. foreign policy to the ladies' magnetic attraction to Simpson--for a corner mount and five more minutes of Steve paralyzing Mike in a side headlock.