The Iron Sheik, a professional wrestler also known as Col. Mustafa, has bragged on a radio interview how he beat me so bad in the ring that he made me puke.
It’s time I set the record straight.
He made the comments two years ago in an interview. Someone in the studio videotaped the interview and has posted the tape on YouTube. Now the world can see what the Iron Sheik looks like with headphones on, a bandana and a phony looking mustache.
Dial it up: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5H12ECVwf8
My meeting with him was one of those events that in the broader context of things seems ridiculously minor now. It was a weekend tryout at Verne Gagne’s wrestling gym in Minneapolis. Those familiar with professional wrestling will know who Gagne is and the legendary status he holds in the sport. A member of the 1948 U.S. Olympic wrestling squad, Gagne was one of those who set the stage for professional wrestling as we know it today.
In the 60s and 70s, Gagne was trying to develop wrestlers for regional shows for his American Wrestling Association, now defunct. If a wrestler was good enough, then he might get a crack at bigger things. In those days, wrestling still operated on a regional basis in which you had to develop your persona, take it on the road and see if fans liked the act. You would wrestle in small auditoriums, high school gyms, and other local venues where the folding chair move began. You had to have a certain fortitude to do it and a deep, deep desire to become a pro wrestling star because it wasn’t much of a life. It was like a farm system, but with a lot of bum steers.
Me, I was just trying to make a couple of bucks. I had become a professional thrower with the International Track Association. Why not a professional wrestler?
So my people called Gagne’s people and there I was, in Minneapolis in the dead of winter, minus 50 degrees outside, on a weekend that I barely remember. The Iron Sheik remembers it much better than I do, since it must have been a great moment for him.
Of course, I was hung over during the tryout. My first bout came Friday night. It was a party bout and I guess I was a little too enthusiastic. What else can you do in Minnesota when it’s 50 below?
On Saturday at Gagne’s gym, I was not pretty anymore. I think my eyes might have been bleeding and I had a throbbing headache and dry mouth. Even the Iron Sheik looked prettier than me and he’s no day at the beach.
In any case, there I was on a wrestling mat with the man formerly known as Ali Vasari, who had been a bodyguard for the Shah of Iran and an assistant coach for the 1968 U.S. Olympic wrestling team. I remember he said, “Brian, get down on the mat. I’ll show you something.” Or words to that effect.
I got down on the mat. The Iron Sheik got me in an arm bar. My shoulder popped out of joint loud enough for the Iron Sheik to hear. He said to me apologetically, “Brian, we don’t go that far in professional wrestling.” He thought I should have tapped out before my shoulder popped and shook his finger at me.
I felt it when it popped, but it didn’t hurt, probably because of the pain killers I had taken for the hangover. Even though I was still drunk, I knew something was wrong. Then it popped back in. It really didn’t bother me. I told the Sheik I had another shoulder and not to worry. My real problem was the hangover. I could feel my stomach churning. That was the real hurt. Suddenly, I jumped up and ran over to a wastebasket and heaved.
So now the Iron Sheik is taking credit for beating me to a pulp, beating me so bad that I puked. He almost makes it sound like he ripped my arm out its socket and beat me over the head with it. It wasn’t even a match! I voluntarily got down on the mat so he could show me some of his amazing wrestling wizardry. I should have puked on his shoes.
In spite of that, the Iron Sheik paid some great compliments to me in his radio blast, reminding everybody about my status as a shotputter, that I had been to the Olympics, set a world record, and was an all around good guy. I even think he said I was the greatest shotputter of all time.
I’m not going to argue with him on that. So thanks a lot, Iron Sheik.
By BRIAN OLDFIELD with GEORGE HOUDE