Life in the infantry at Fort Benning, Georgia for lower enlisted soldiers consisted of some pretty mundane duties and tasks. In my case, life consisted of painting rocks, raking dirt, driving for the Central Confinement Facility (CCF), guard duty, and barracks fire guard duty. Previously my biker friends got arrested in Marietta, Georgia. Those of you paying attention may realize I was adopted by this particular gang of bikers due to the efforts of one of its members, Chains. Chains was a rather large and very strong woman, and she was very persuasive as well. I’ll admit that Chains and I had a thing for each other. Besides, it was kinda hard to say no to someone who could pick you up off of the ground and throw you around like a bowling ball. It’s kind of unnerving to say the least. And as I always say, ‘A man has to know his limitations.’ If you can’t beat them, join them, especially if they ask. And they had definitely asked in no uncertain terms. Plus, I don’t think they would have taken no for an answer. But I digress. Chains and her fellow gang members were released from jail after serving 30 days for disturbing the peace, inciting riot, and assaulting peace officers. The charges were all bullshit. The main witnesses against them were some professional wrestlers trying to get some publicity. I guess it worked. The judge in the case refused to set bail and he refused to hear any witnesses that the bikers called in their defense. It seemed pretty obvious that the judge was in on the publicity stunt that the wrestlers were trying to pull ahead of their regional wrestling tour. I had been to a few professional wrestling matches in the Columbus Civic Auditorium in the past. One of my friends from Fort Benning was a big fan of professional wrestling. He believed that all of that bullshit was real. I had known pretty much ever since I was in high school that professional wrestling was all fake and designed for fan entertainment. If you understood that, and you understood that all of their moves and matches were rehearsed and orchestrated and scripted, then you understood that it was designed for your entertainment. If you didn’t get that, well, there just wasn’t much hope for you. You were one of those poor fools who thought the shit was real. That shit was about as real as a three-dollar bill. It was pure entertainment. Well, my friend from Fort Benning was one of those poor fools who thought the shit was real. Nobody else in our barracks would go to those wrestling matches with him because they thought the shit was phony. I felt bad for the kid, so I always went with him. Why am I telling you all of this? I am glad you asked. Since the wrestlers were coming to Columbus as part of their little tour, I came up with a little plan that I thought might work to get even with them for the bullshit they pulled up in Marietta. I laid everything out for my biker friends. I told them that we all needed to buy ringside seats. If you’ve ever been to a professional wrestling match, you know that they set up these metal folding chairs right behind the ring. In fact, they set up several rows of those metal folding chairs at ringside. There’s about a 10 or 15-foot demilitarized zone between the ring and this belted area that they have roped off to keep fans separated from the ring. I’m pretty sure that’s because the wrestlers always have one or two matches where they script in an event where a wrestler gets thrown out of the ring into that demilitarized zone and then gets his head smashed into the turnbuckle for good measure when the ref isn’t looking. And there’s always one bad guy wrestler who manages to get one of those folding steel chairs and uses it to bash against the back, or head of his opponent, while the ref isn’t looking. Occasionally, some well-meaning fan tries to get in on the act and wants to bash the bad guy wrestler because he believes the shit is real. So, this well-meaning fan will pick up a steel chair and try to bash the bad guy wrestler, but he usually gets beat up for his efforts. Now here is where I thought the bikers could pull some shit and get even with the wrestlers. I figured that the first time a wrestler or two got thrown out into the demilitarized zone, the bikers could take steel chairs and go over there and bash a couple of them. You know, all accidental like and shit. Cuz the crowd would think that the bikers were in on it at first. And the wrestlers would not know what the hell was happening so they would start fighting the bikers. But the wrestlers would get carried away and escalate the shit. They would grab chairs and go all “Battle Royale” and shit on the bikers, which is exactly what we wanted. Cuz then, the security guards would get alerted. Once the security guards get alerted, they would have to come in and separate the professional wrestlers from the poor hapless fans (the bikers) to protect the fans. That’s when the fit would hit the shan so to speak (translated: the shit would hit the fan). Cuz by then the police would be alerted and those poor bastard wrestlers would take the fall. Sneaky, huh? Yeah. I thought so too. It worked like a charm. I told all the big strapping bruisers in the biker gang to put two sets of leathers on even though they’d be a little bit hot sitting in that auditorium. Underneath the first layer of leather, we put one-inch foam carton padding on their backs and chests to absorb the blows from the chairs. The leathers helped as well. The wrestlers didn’t understand how brilliantly they had been set up. But when you get dropped on your head so damn much in the ring. Well, do I need to say more? Yeah. They were kinda brain-dead. We put on one helluva show. When we got back to Someplace Else, my biker friends paid for all the beer. That worked for me. Unfortunately for the wrestlers, though, they suffered another exercise in futility when they realized that the bikers had won the chair match.
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