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Sharing this post from my retro wrestling review blog. :) Enjoy if you've not read it, lol.

Smoky Mountain Wrestling - February 1, 1992 - The First Show!

Ahhh, yes. The very first official episode of Smoky Mountain Wrestling -- the brainchild of our favorite tennis racket wielding king of chaos himself, Jim Cornette. Born out of a burning desire to bring old-school wrestling back to the forefront, SMW was gritty, Southern, unapologetically loud, and packed to the brim with big personalities, violent feuds, and enough wild promos to fill a Waffle House after midnight.

This wasn't Vince's cartoon circus, or Turner's corporate cash splash -- this was territory wrestling, reborn in the Appalachian hills with Corny steering the wheel and screaming into the void.

And now, I'm diving in headfirst, beginning right here with Episode 1, aired February 1, 1992. I was only 2 years old at the time. 😯 But, pay attention, because the copyright date at the end? 1991. It seems these early shows may have been taped in 1991... which means we're actually staring at the true genesis of SMW. A time capsule of Cornette's dream.

So grab a Moon Pie, pour a Cheerwine, and get ready to fangirl, thirst, and possibly yell at your screen. Because today... we're goin' back to Greenville, South Carolina and the Memorial Auditorium. It's time to revisit the chaos, the unintentional comedy, and the carnage that is Smoky Mountain Wrestling.

Let's hit play on history.

Fun Fact: The Memorial Auditorium no longer exists. :( It was located at 401 E North Street, Greenville, South Carolina. This is what it looked like, if you're curious.

It closed August 30, 1996, and was demolished September 20, 1997. This is the site today (well, March 2025), courtesy of Google Earth:

Anyway, enough trivia -- let's get to the wrestling before I start telling you what everyone smelled like in the building (spoiler: most likely gym socks and Slim Jims).

We kick things off with Bob Caudle welcoming us to the premiere episode of Smoky Mountain Wrestling with the legendary tagline: "Professional wrestling the way it used to be, and the way you like it." Hell yeah, brother. No flippy indie nonsense here -- just classic rasslin', sweet Southern drama, and yes, my pookiebear Jim Cornette swinging a tennis racket like a medieval warlord.

Bob runs down the card, saying we'll get appearances from "White Lightning" Tim Horner (yay...), the Fantastics (more mullets than you can shake a steel chair at), "Prime Time" Brian Lee (Dutch's face says "ehhh"), and the mysterious Black Scorpion (who?). He also says we're getting to hear from two managers: Ron Ward, and my sweet pookiebear, Jim Cornette. Also Commissioner Bob Armstrong will make an appearance -- so we're legally obligated to pretend we trust authority for a minute. 😉 The main even t is going to be Bobby Fulton of the Fantastics taking on "The Russian Bear" Ivan Koloff -- or as I call him, "Certified Soviet Daddy". Hell yeah, brother.

Dutch Mantell chimes in and he's mostly just here to see Koloff wreck people. Same, Dutch. Same. He's also curious to see what Brian Lee's about to bring to the table. (Spoiler alert: it's tallness and not much else.)

We're heading to the ring for the first match of the night, Killer Kyle vs. Robert Gibson. The crowd is... sedated. Did someone hotbox the auditorium with melatonin? They perk up a bit when Gibson comes out, but it's giving "high school pep rally during flu season" vibes.

The match begins and we can't really hear the commentary, which sucks, but audio issues happen. 😅 Killer Kyle yells at some fans, and tells them to shut up, lmao. They're cheering for Robert Gibson, obvs. Bob and Dutch are discussing what's in Killer Kyle's violin case, and I'm just here like "A violin, I hope." 🤣

There's a series of headlocks and shoulder tackles between the two that screams "we practiced this six times in the parking lot." Gibson finally hits a nice hip toss, and Kyle immediately tattles to the ref, claiming his tights were pulled. Or that he got a wedgie. Honestly, same energy.

There's an awkward and funny moment where they bump into each other like two Sims who can't pathfind, and just stare at each other:

Gibson manages to land a proper shoulder block, but shortly after, he tries a shoulder strike in the corner and goes splat right into the turnbuckle like Wile E. Coyote.

Kyle zones in on that shoulder like it owes him money. Rope work, punches, torque -- you name it. Gibson is trying to fight out of it, but Killer Kyle's a big dude.

Kyle goes for a pin, but only gets a count of one.

On commentary, Dutch says the Rock 'n' Roll Express released an album once and it went plywood within the first three weeks, and sold an excess of 75 copies, and it was on the verge of becoming sheet rock. 🤣🤣🤣 I'm howling.

Killer Kyle whips Robert Gibson into the corner, goes to run shoulder-first at him, but Gibson moves, Kyle misses, and Gibson gets him in a roll-up pin... 1, 2, 3!

Winner: Robert Gibson via pinfall.

Not a bad match. I give it 3/5 stars. Killer Kyle isn't bad in ring, Gibson is pretty good too. Dutch's snark alone carried the segment. Bonus points for me spotting the exact moment Killer Kyle realized he wasn't winning. 🤣

Now it's time for a word from The Fantastics aboout their main event match, which confuses the hell out of me, because I thought the main event was Bobby Fulton vs. Ivan Koloff -- not both Fantastics. Did Bob Caudle misspeak? Yes. Yes, he did. (Classic Bob. We love you anyway.)

Jackie Fulton pipes up first in this segment, with all the charisma of a wet paper towel. He says, "It's a pleasure to be here in Smoky Mountain Wrestling, and today, my brother's going to be in the main event."

Wow, Jackie. Try not to overexert yourself there. That line had all the emotional range of someone reading a weather report. (Bobby, blink twice if you're being held hostage by your brother.)

Thankfully, Bobby Fulton has slightly more enthusiasm. He's cutting a promo on Ivan Koloff, and says Koloff better be ready for the "fight of his life". Bold words, Bobby. But respectfully, Ivan could probably crush you with one Soviet hug. Just saying.

The on-screen graphic tells us we're about to see "Prime Time" Brian Lee next...

....but instead we cut back to Bob and Dutch at the commentary desk, and Dutch is gnawing on an ink pen like he's one bad booking decision away from snapping. Bob informs us that earlier today, he interviewed Commissioner Bob Armstrong to hear about all his brilliant ideas for what's going to make SMW great.

Dutch's face is SCREAMING "I call bullshit," but he's polite enough to keep it to himself and not start heckling yet.

Caudle hits us with "We know you'll be interested in hearing that." and Dutch makes this face like, "Who? Me? I'd rather chew glass."

Now we head to Bob Caudle interviewing Commissioner Bob Armstrong -- aka "The Bullet", aka Road Dogg's dad, aka the man who's ready to bring law, order, and Southern grandpa energy to SMW.

Caudle sets him up by saying Armstrong has over 30 years of experience in the business (which is true -- Bob's been around the block and the ring), and asks him what we can expect from him as commissioner.

Bob Armstrong is all business. He says he's had every trick in the book tried on him, that wrestling's been good to him and his family, but the way things have been going lately? He ain't thrilled. He saw SMW as the perfect opportunity to return wrestling to the people -- the way it used to be, and affordable.

He promises wrestling will be treated like a sport again while he's in charge, and baby, he is not playing around. Fines for breaking the rules will be heavy. So if you think you're going to toss someone over the top rope (?), sneak in a foreign object (...I fear what this means for tennis rackets), or put your hands on the ref, you better think again.

(Something tells me Corny and his teams will rack up more fines than a speeding ticket in Georgia.)

Armstrong then encourages the fans to send letters telling SMW what they want to see. Fan participation! We love to see it!

He closes by saying SMW is going to be the best.

And spoiler alert: it was. 💔

We cut to the ring for our second match of the night, and it's the King of Self-Appreciation, Barry Horowitz vs. tall, tan-ish, and television-ready "Prime Time" Brian Lee. This is Lee's debut match in SMW -- at least televised -- so someone back there clearly said, "Let's throw him in with Barry. That guy could carry a shopping cart to a decent match." Spoiler alert: Barry does not disappoint.

We start with a classic collar-and-elbow tie-up and some good old-fashioned arm-wrenching -- a rite of passage in wrestling. Horowitz tries to return the favor, but Lee's like "nah," and shows him what a proper arm wringer feels like. Barry escapes with an elbow to the face, because why not go straight for the jaw?

We get a few crisscross rope runs that look like a confused game of Leapfrog Tag, but Lee eventually grounds Barry with a hip toss and settles into an armbar. Work that limb, big guy. Barry tries to kick free, and finally gets to his feet to deliver some gut shots and a clothesline that rattles Lee. Barry takes a moment to give himself a pat on the back, as is tradition.

Back in control, Horowitz hits a swinging neckbreaker and a leg drop into a pin -- only gets a one count, but he's putting in the effort! He's feeling it. He's also choking Brian Lee in the corner with his boot, but hey, we don't judge here. Kinky.

Anyway, Horowitz goes for a pin and gets a two-count. He gets up and stomps on Lee's hand and dropkicks him 🤣 Lee goes into the corner, and Horowitz hits him with a snapmare, before hitting him with a running snapmare. That looks like it hurts.

Lee battles back again with a few punches, but Horowitz gives him a couple of punches in return, and hits him with yet another snapmare. He rolls him up for a pin, but Lee kicks out at two.

Dutch states he's already decided he doesn't like Brian Lee. Doesn't know what it is about him, but he doesn't like him 🤣 Dutch, my dude, same energy as when your bestie starts dating someone new and you just know something's off.

Horowitz continues to dominate for longer than anyone probably expected. He goes for another dropkick, but Lee grabs the ropes and lets Barry dropkick air. He crashes and burns like a Looney Tune. Lee's had enough and goes full rage on him now.

Lee lays in some stiff-looking shots, whips Barry to the corner, and gives him a back toss so high the FAA had to approve it. Then he whips him off the ropes and hits a big clothesline.

The finish comes when Lee picks Horowitz up for what looks like is gonna be the Razor's Edge -- but no! It's a nasty backbreaker, and that's all she wrote! 1, 2, 3!

Winner: "Prime Time" Brian Lee via pinfall

Decent match, I'll give it another 3/5 stars. I liked how Horowitz wasn't treated like a joke to be squashed in a squash match, which happened a lot in his WWF run.

Next, the on-screen graphic says "White Lightining" strikes, and that can only mean one thing... Tim Horner is inbound. (Yay?) But hold up, before we get to the bleach-blonde buzzkill, Bob Caudle informs us that we're going to hear from the legendary wrestling great, Ron Wright.

We cut to ol' Ron, sitting in his wheelchair, and right away I want to give him a hug and a glass of sweet tea. This man sounds exactly like one of those Southern uncles you only see at holidays who starts every sentence with "Now, listen here, young'un..."

Ron opens with a kind "It certainly is nice to be in Smoky Mountain Wrestling," and I swear I heard banjo music and the smell of biscuits filled the air. He then states that the reason he's in the wheelchair is because his rasslin' career took a toll on him. Bless him. Rasslin'. Not wrestling. Rasslin'.

He goes on to explain that he needs knee and hip surgery, and he wants to make some money. He's looking to manage someone and make that money, so he can get that surgery. Honestly? King behavior. Hustle, grind, conquer.

Ron ends his segment by declaring that he's going to take a wrestler to the top of the SMW empire, and I believe him. He's giving "sweet old grandpa with a steel pipe hidden in the back of his wheelchair" energy, and I am so here for whatever mess he brings.

We cut back to the ring, and "Golden Boy" Joe Cazana is already there and waiting for his opponent. Oh lord, it's time... it's Tim Horner time. That's right -- the man, the myth, the babyface who's always ten seconds from losing me to a nap: "White Lightnin'" Tim Horner.

Now, his entrance music? "Thunder Rolls" by Garth Brooks. You know what? Respect. I may be a nu-metal loving chaos gremlin, but I have Appalachian roots and an undying fondness for '90s country. That song slaps.

Bob Caudle is trying his best, but bless his heart, he calls him "White Lightning Tim Lightining". I spit out my drink. Even Bob knows that was a mess, and says "I had lightning in there twice, didn't I, Dutch?" Dutch says absolutely nothing, and I feel like he's silently judging. 🤣

Anyway, we've got Joe Cazana -- as I said previously, billed as the "Golden Boy", though with that name I expected a guy who would pull gold chains out of his boots and cheat like hell. Instead, he ties up with Horner and immediately ends up on the mat like he just slipped on a banana peel.

Dutch gives us a quick lore drop -- apparently Joe Cazana's grandpa was a wrestling promoter, which is cool, but all I'm thinking is "your grandpa's rolling in his grave watching you get flung around like a sack of potatoes." That is, assuming Cazana's grandpa is not on the mortal plane. If he is still at that time, then he's just watching with disappointment.

Horner tries a quick pin combo out of a headlock but only gets two. he continues the headlock and Cazana graps Horner's hair in desperation like a kid hanging on to the last donut. The ref comes over like "You tappin', bro?" and Cazana shouts "NO!" with the energy of someone refusing to admit they just stubbed their toe.

Cazana gets to his feet and backs Horner in a corner (heh, it rhymes) and forces him to break the headlock. He gets Horner with a blow to the midsection and one to the face. Cazana whips him to the opposite corner, but Horner hops up on the top rope and jumps over Cazana when he runs over there, and then hip tosses Cazana. He dropkicks him and hits him with another hip toss when he gets to his feet. Horner then puts Cazana in an armbar submission. Cazana manages somehow to get to his feet and puts Horner in a headlock.

They bounce off the ropes and Horner uses a leg takedown on Cazana, and then puts him in another submission hold. Cazana manages to break free and gets Horner in the corner again and elbows him in the face. He then slams Horner's face off the turnbuckle, before pushing him into another corner and thwacking him in the back.

After using the ropes to choke Horner, Horner battles back with a few punches, but then gets slammed to the mat. Cazana has the upper hand, punching and slamming Horner to the mat a couple more times. He climbs to the top rope, but Horner is up and yeets Cazana off that top rope like yesterday's laundry. Cazana hits the mat with a thud so loud I'm surprised it didn't knock the dust off the unused seats.

Dutch: "That looked like it hurt, Bob."

🤣🤣🤣

Horner elbows Cazana in the head like he's knocking on the door of "please stop trying," then sends him face-first into the turnbuckle -- twice, because apparently Cazana needed a little reminder. He whips Cazana across the ring, and when he tries to do the ol' "lay low and hope nobody notices me" move, Horner bounces off the ropes like a pinball and traps him in a tight little bridge pin before Cazana even has a chance to think about his life choices.

Winner: "White Lightining" Tim Horner via pinfall

I have to rate this match a 2 out of 5 stars. Look, I love me some Southern territory rasslin', but this was more like Southern territory nappin'. The most exciting thing was Bob Caudle accidently calling Tim Horner "White Lightning Tim Lightning". Even Dutch seemed a little bored.

After a replay of the (painfully mid) Tim Horner match, we cut to something far more important: Bob Caudle interviewing none other than my pookiebear, Jim Cornette.

Behold! An angel!! ❤️

Bob introduces him as "The Louisville Slugger" and I giggle like a schoolgirl at a Beatles concert in 1964. The crowd? They boo. They boo. These poor, lost souls clearly don't know greatness when it's wearing a suit and carrying a tennis racket.

Jim, naturally, looks offended -- and honestly, same. I feel personally attacked. Who gave these people a license to be WRONG?

He begins to speak and you can just tell he's about to verbally slap everyone in that room, and I'm seated. Popcorn in hand. Hearts in eyes. Tennis racket emoji in spirit.

Look at that face. Do not boo the pookie.

Can I just start out by saying it's not fair how cute he is. Like… I'm trying to listen to him cut a promo and he's out here looking like the Southern boy of my dreams. Anyway!

He just called Greenville, SC a "nothin' happenin' stinkin' place", and that's how I already know we're off to the races. He then proceeds to roast the crowd like a Sunday ham, calling them backwoods and hillbillies, LMAO.

But then he gets real. Corny says the big corporations have turned professional wrestling into a circus sideshow -- SHOTS FIRED. He also says it's not about guts, but how juiced up on steroids you are (SHOTS FIRED IN THE DIRECTION OF VINCE MCMAHON). 🔥💀

"They've turned professional wrestling into a joke, so I turned my back on them."

Honestly, I feel that in my soul. Deeply.

He starts talking about managing the Midnight Express and I immediately melt into a pile of glitter and feelings. I mean, the Midnights are my fave tag team. He says no one ever gave them anything, and I agree. The Midnights fought their way to the top, dammit. Corny says because him and the Midnights wouldn't do any favors, they were pushed to the side. He says in the weeks to come, he's gonna be bringing a dynamic tag team to SMW. And y'all, I am vibrating. I know what's coming, but I'm still excited like it's Christmas morning.

Also, I paused the video to take a sip of my drink and caught Jim with this expression like he just remembered he left the oven on. 10/10. Iconic.:

We head to a break, and I can't help but giggle like a gremlin because Corny is out here cutting anti-corporate promos, and not breathing a single word about the fact that he owns the damn company. King behavior, honestly. Respect the hustle.

After the break, we come back ready for another match.

Already in the ring is a poor soul named Paul Miller, looking like he just got called up from someone's backyard fed ten minutes ago. The crowd gives him the most polite "we don't know you" applause, and bless them for trying.

Then some video game boss music hits and the Black Scorpion comes out to the ring, and is accompanied by an actual police officer because apparently people in 1992 were still out here trying to fight wrestlers in public. Peak territory energy. Honestly, I love that for us, lmao.

So yes, dear readers, it's Paul Miller vs. The Black Scorpion, and I don't know what's about to happen, but I'm emotionally prepared for nonsense.

Bob Caudle points out that Black Scorpion has a size advantage over Paul Miller, and yeah -- one of these men is built like a fridge and the other looks like he got lost on his way to P.E., but we love an underdog story!

We start with a lock-up, and Scorpion immediately grabs a fistful of tights and knees Miller so hard in the gut I swear his soul briefly left his body. Then he clubs him in the back like he's tenderizing steak. Real nice.

Miller's trying his best though! He leapfrogs over Scorpion, hits a dropkick that does absolutely nothing, tries a clothesline with the same effect, and finally lands a flying forearm that manages to stagger the big man. Pin attempt! But not even a one count. Ouch.

Back on their feet, Miller throws a few punches, whips Scorpion into the ropes, and tries for a dropkick -- but Scorpion's like "Nah." He just holds the ropes and lets Miller crash like a toddler falling off a jungle gym.

Scorpion kicks him in the head, scoop slams him like he weighs nothing, and then lands a sidewalk slam with intent. Dutch chimes in with, "I wish he'd slam Brian Lee like that," and I cackle. Dutch wants blood, and honestly, same. A nasty clothesline from Scorpion flattens Miller again, and he picks him up for another slam, followed by a leg drop that probably rearranged his skeleton a bit. He lifts Miller once more, and the two begin trading blows. Scorpion gets Miller in the corner and hits him with some right hands.

Scorpion whips him out of the corner, but Miller reverses, sending Scorpion into the corner. Miller jumps on him, but Scorpion just grabs him like its nothing and carries him off, before nailing him with an atomic drop that looks brutal. Then WHAM -- another clothesline that nearly decapitates poor Paul. (Rest in peace, neck.)

Scorpion powerslams Miller and then picks him up for one more. He goes for another, but oh snap, Miller suddenly rolls him up in a small package and gets the three count!?

Winner: Paul "How Am I Still Alive" Miller via surprise pinfall

I'm gonna rate this one a 3.5/5. Solid little "big bully vs. scrappy underdog" match. Black Scorpion dominated like a final boss, but Miller snuck in the W like a raccoon in a Waffle House dumpster. We love to see it.

The on-screen graphic hits us with "After this… Prime Time Speaks" and I'm already bracing for Brian Lee to say something that makes Dutch roll his eyes so hard he sees his past lives.

Sure enough, after the break, Bob Caudle is standing by with "Prime Time" Brian Lee -- who, let's be real, looks like someone ordered the Undertaker from Wish but forgot to uncheck blonde hair, and check the facial hair option.

Bob welcomes him to SMW, and Lee launches into a promo about a heavyweight title tournament going down next week. He says he's entering it, winning it, and wearing that gold. Alright, confidence! Let's see if your work rate keeps up.

But oh no, Dutch Mantell is NOT letting this man bask in his post-win glow. Dutch interrupts like a messy uncle at Thanksgiving, telling Brian he made all kinds of mistakes during his match. He said he never would have let Horowitz clothesline him if it were him in the ring, and that he would have done the armbar differently, and the whole match too. I'm losing it over here. 🤣

Brian takes the mic and claps back without missing a beat, telling Dutch that if it were him in that match, he totally would have done things differently… he would have lost. 💀 He tells Dutch that he might be a good wrestler, but he's not ready for Prime Time. He then walks off like he just dropped his own mixtape.

Dutch stands there stunned, like someone just stole his squirrel gun, before finally grumbling: "Some people can't take constructive criticism…" 🤣🤣

The on-screen graphic lets us know it's time for our TV main event: Bobby Fulton vs. "The Russian Bear" Ivan Koloff!

Fun Fact Time! Technically, "Koloff" is an anglicized twist on the Russian surname Колов, which you'd usually see transliterated as "Kolov". (22 years of studying the Russian language!)

When we return from break, Ivan Koloff is already in the ring, radiating pure Cold War menace… and yet, the crowd? Crickets. I'm telling you, this audience was either tranquilized or gently lulled into a coma by the soft hum of fluorescent lights. And now here comes Bobby Fulton to mild applause -- like someone just pulled a sheet cake out of the fridge and offered them a slice. "Woo, I guess."

The match kicks off with Bobby trying to get a "USA! USA!" chant going… but even that chant sounded like it needed a nap. They lock up, and while the match is underway, a picture-in-picture promo from Ivan Koloff cuts in like a Cold War ghost. Koloff, in his thick Russian accent, calmly says he is very happy to be here -- unlike Bobby Fulton. He says it's over for him, and that he made a big mistake challenging him. (Spoiler alert: I think he's right.)

Koloff warns he's going to make Bobby suffer, and all I can think is -- Bobby's got the vibes of a chihuahua trying to square up with a pitbull. Like I admire the confidence… but sir, you are 50 pounds of mullet and optimism. Be careful.

So I'll be honest with you -- I was so busy listening to Ivan Koloff's Cold War villain monologue that I zoned out on the first minute of the match. Like, I know punches were thrown and stuff, but I was too busy mentally casting Koloff as the next Bond villain. Once the promo ended and my brain rebooted, Bobby and Ivan are locking up again. Koloff boots him in the gut like he's trying to knock out last week's Taco Bell, then tries to go for a DDT or something. Bobby says "not today, comrade" and reverses it into an arm twist. Before you know it, Bobby rolls him up and gets a two count. That was fast.

Ivan's had enough of that nonsese. He kicks Bobby's legs out from under him, then pounces on him and straight up chokes him. Sir. We're on local TV. At least light a candle first if you're gonna make it kinky. Bobby recovers, gets back up, and tries to rally the crowd with another "USA! USA!" chant. Buddy, I admire the effort, but this crowd is emotionally unavailable. They lock up again and trade arm wrenches until Koloff slams Bobby down like a sack of potatoes.

Meanwhile, on commentary, Dutch Mantell casually announces he'll be making his SMW in-ring debut next week and honestly? I'm kinda hyped. Let that mustache cook!

So Koloff's got Bobby by the wrist again, and he's wrenching it like he's trying to get the last drop of toothpaste out of the tube. He drags him to his feet with all the grace of a bear hauling a salmon, and slams him down again. That poor wrist is in danger of needing its own health insurance policy by now. Bobby, bless him, keeps bouncing back. They tie up again and stagger into the corner, where Bobby throws a couple of punches.

Ron Wright, our favorite hustling grandpa in a wheelchair, is at ringside, just scouting away like he's about to draft the next quarterback for the Smoky Mountain Super Bowl. You know he's thinking, "If one of these boys throws one more decent punch, I might just sponsor 'em… right after my hip surgery."

Koloff finds himself on the mat in a submission hold, and for a second you can tell he's wondering why the hell he agreed to wrestle a man who fights like an angry Jack Russell terrier. Fulton eventually lets go, and when they both get to their feet, Bobby's got that arm in a twist again like he's opening a jar of pickles. But Koloff ain't having it -- he boots him in the gut and sends him down hard, just to remind him of who the actual bear is. Then Koloff makes the mistake of taunting the crowd. Sir. These people are barely awake. Don't give them a reason to boo in full volume. Bobby sees his chance, and BAM! Dropkick right to Koloff's chest -- down he goes! And then comes the weirdest part: Bobby grabs Koloff by the ears like he's scooping up a bratty kid in a shopping cart, and yeets him across the ring with the force of a tornado.

Ron Wright was NOT impressed by that. 💀

Bobby's got Koloff in a headlock now, hanging on for dear life like he's riding a mechanical bull. But Koloff's like, "I've had enough of this nonsense," and yeets him backward with a big ol' back suplex. Oof. Bobby hits the mat like a sack of flour, and Koloff follows up by stomping him with the energy of a man who definitely once broke a table over someone's spine in a Soviet warehouse. He yanks Bobby to his feet -- probably just to make hitting him more satisfying -- and headbutts him like a man who considers concussions an appetizer. Bobby's seeing stars, cartoon birds, and possibly Jesus. But then -- plot twist! Koloff whips Fulton off the ropes, and BAM, Bobby flies back with a surprise flying press like a caffeinated squirrel! Goes for the pin! 1… 2… but Koloff kicks out! Not today, babyface!

We're heading out to ringside now, where all good Southern brawls go to really get unhinged. Bobby and Ivan are just swinging at each other like two raccoons fighting over the last Moon Pie behind a Waffle House. Ron Wright goes to shake Fulton's hand, but Koloff takes advantage and attacks, grabs Bobby, and TINK! -- his head meets the turnbuckle post like a cowbell solo. That sound was alarming (and hilarious), and I'm not sure if it came from the post or Bobby's skull. Then Koloff, being the courteous host he is, introduces Bobby to the chairs at ringside. Bobby meets them face first. Next stop? The barricade. Or as Bob Caudle adorably puts it: "the fence around the ring to separate the ring". Dutch is so done, immediately correcting him with "It's called a barricade, Bob," and I'm crying. Dutch's deadpan sass is undefeated. 🤣

Back in the ring, Koloff's stomping Bobby like he owes him rent money. And then -- BAM -- swinging neckbreaker! Bobby's kinda seeing stars a bit, and not the Hollywood kind. Koloff goes for the pin, but Bobby kicks out at two. Bobby rallies with a barrage of right hands, channeling that pure Fantastics energy (and maybe some lingering rage from being launched into a barricade). He knocks Koloff down, and gets him draped over the second rope like yesterday's laundry.

Enter Ron Wright again. He reaches up, real casual-like, and shakes Koloff's hand like they're closing a shady car deal.

Koloff gets to his feet, full of righteous Soviet rage, and clobbers Bobby with a right hand that might've been dipped in lead. He drops down for the pin -- 1, 2, 3 -- and that's all she wrote, folks.

Poor Bobby Fulton. He tried. He really did. But let's be honest: he had the odds of a paper towel in a monsoon. God bless that little chihuahua heart of his, but Ivan Koloff is built like a Cold War tank and just steamrolled him.

Winner: Ivan Koloff via pinfall.

This match was a 4.5/5. That .5? Entirely for the "TINK!" sound when Bobby's skull got introduced to the turnbuckle post like a dinner bell. I felt that in my soul.

Suddenly, like a bat outta Ohio, Jackie Fulton storms the ring, convinced Ron Wright slipped Koloff a little something-something during that sus handshake. Ron's sitting there in his wheelchair like, "Who, me?"

Meanwhile, Koloff decides to shut Jackie up with a punch -- but he swings and misses like a Little League dad. Jackie wastes zero time and starts throwing hands like it's Black Friday at a Walmart electronics section.

He shoves Koloff into the corner and starts delivering shoulder blocks like he's trying to ram the Soviet Union out of existence (which considering this is airing in 1992, it's already gone, but I digress). The crowd is finally waking up.

Well, well, well. The referee suddenly reverses the decision and declares the match back on, even though it already ended. Sir, this is an auditorium, not a time machine.

But listen -- my rating stands. 4.5/5. I don't care if they raise Bobby's hand while playing The Star-Spangled Banner on a kazoo. That TINK from the turnbuckle post was the true MVP here.

Jackie's still laying into Koloff like he's trying to avenge every generic Cold War movie ever made. But before he can channel the full power of American sibling rage, out comes Vladimir Koloff -- Ivan's nephew -- who hits the ring and drops Jackie like an overdue library book. Then, because presumably SMW said, "lets go full prison yard," Ivan busts out a chain. And now both Koloffs are choking Jackie out over the top rope, like this is some kind of Russian mob interrogation scene. Finally, Bobby Fulton returns, swinging like he just heard someone insult Garth Brooks. The Koloffs flee like cartoon villains, while the crowd screams in horror that someone needs to help Jackie, and Bobby Fulton has been declared the winner.

And let me be clear: I'm not recognizing the ref's decision.

This ain't the People's Court. This is Kickout Chaos, and in this house, that was a Koloff W in the chaos column.

Fun Fact: Despite their gruff accents and Soviet scowls, neither Ivan nor Vladimir Koloff are actually Russian. Ivan Koloff's real name was Oreal Parras, and he was from Canada. Vladimir Koloff's real name is Carl Brantley, and he's from North Carolina.

So really, it's not the Iron Curtain you need to fear -- it's the Canadian Carolina Curtain Rod they're swinging. 😉

Overall, a rock-solid first episode.

This debut served wrestling, chaos, shady heel tactics, and a surprise TINK that still echoes in my soul. Smoky Mountain Wrestling is greatness incarnate, and no matter what happens down the road, that legacy? Untouchable.

SMW didn't need pyro, billion-dollar budgets, or fancy LED screens -- it just needed a sexy racket-swinging loudmouth, a few classic babyfaces, and a crowd full of confused yet loyal locals.

Welcome to the Mountain, y'all. We're just getting started. 🖤

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