The Cashbox (Pt. 2): Face To Face w/ Sycho Sid

Wrestlezone

If you haven't, please read the first part of this two-part feature, "Cashbox: Remembering When Sycho Sid Wanted To Kill Me", before reading the following.

(Continued from exactly where I left off last week…)

"Um, Sid…you know that guy Chris Chisum? He wanted me to tell you he was sorry."

Yes, probably a bad attempt at playfully easing my way into a confrontation with a 7' giant that hated my guts. But I did it anyway.

"And who are you?" Sid responded while simultaneously changing his demeanor from calm to antcy in a second.

"Yeah, well, I'm him."

I couldn't hardly spit that sentence out before my body tensed up and a cold chill ran down my spine. I'm sure my body was just preparing for the worst. I appreciate that fact now.

Sid was smart about it though. He didn't jump me in the middle of hundreds of witnesses — we were all about to head into a banquet hall for some sort of awards ceremony — rather, I received silence. Nothing but silence.

Awkward silence.

There was an old piano sitting against a wall near where we stood and it quickly became a prop for the movie we were about to star in momentarily.

Sid turned toward the piano and began lightly tapping one key over and over again. Just ONE key.  I stood there, patiently waiting for something else to happen. ANYTHING else.

This next part, I remember vividly. It's another one of those priceless moments that simply stand out more than the rest.

Quick aside so you understand this next piece of dialogue: some of the wrestlers were going to a nearby juvenile detention center the following day to minister, and wrestle for the inmates.

An independent wrestler (no clue who he was/is) comes rushing up and asks, "Hey Sid, you going to the jail tomorrow?"

Sid stops the monotonous melody, slowly turns, looks directly at me, and responds in his best Dirty Harry impression, "No, but I might go tonight [punk]."

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried, people.

On the outside, I chuckled sarcastically to save face. On the inside, I was shaking like a leaf. Sid was intimidating, and BIG. I walked away quickly into the banquet hall to find my seat.

Mother nature's karma must have been in full effect on this particular night because an added pinch of irony placed me and Sid sitting just two tables down from one another in the back of the room.

Mind you, this was in a huge banquet hall with at least 75 other tables and hundreds of people in attendance. Yet, Sid and I were a mere ten-feet from one another. Consequently, Sid had a direct line of sight to my forehead. And that is exactly where his eyes rested for the next two hours.

You could cut the tension with a knife in that room. Even my table neighbor, a former NFL wide receiver, noticed Sid noticing me. Getting a bit freaked out himself, he asked if he was imagining something or if "that giant" was really staring at me.

"Oh yeah, he hates me," I responded before briefly explaining the story.

I made it through the ceremony in one piece. I also made it through the rest of the night safely. The next day, however, got weird.

Have a news tip? Attended an event and want to send a live report? Submit it now!
monitoring_string = "851cc24eadecaa7a82287c82808f23d0"