My pal Jim in Nashville says of six-foot Hungarian wrestle-stud Justin Wylde, "A man that fucking hot had to be a heel. To the core. Only a preposterously beautiful and cold-blooded Russian could take him down. And I'd stand on line in a Moscow December to witness that." If I had the money, Jim, I'd be booking the flight for the two of us, instead of writing this post.
Earlier this month Wylde faced off against former partner Péter Tihanyi in Budapest. It's a good fight, but the real star is Justin's face and body as filtered through a theatrical heel vitality. He's so handsome it hurts, but it's the attitude that elevates him above the typical hotshot young heel. Take, for instance, that bow he performs around the 08:20 mark - worthy of a Baryshnikov ... or a Gorgeous George.
Like all great heels, too, Wylde oversteps at the end of this match, antagonizing six-foot-two Renegade, seated at the ringside commentators' table. Trouble erupts, trouble that only a topnotch provocateur could generate. Justin is recklessly cavalier in taunting the bigger and more experienced wrestler and pays a price for it.
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