Three Count: Fighting for the Pro Wrestling Dream- Part III: Sticking It Out

The next morning, sporting fresh bruises, Santiago’s pride was more sore than his body. But he woke up with the thrill of being in the ring, even after getting tossed around by a guy named Starlight. It didn’t matter that he was in pain. He was so close. After all the time at Taco Bell and on the wrestling team, he couldn’t give up. He had to stick it out.

“If I stopped right then, I would have always thought ‘What if?’” he said. “I don’t want to be an average Joe or a normal civilian. I can’t be. This is what I always wanted to do and here it was. The first step was right in front of me. How could I walk away?”

Wrestlers will tell you the first set of bruises are the most painful. The first cut the sport gives you is always the deepest.

“You have to stick it out. You have to want it,” said former WWE superstar James “Little Guido” Maritano, who now serves as a WWE referee. “If you don’t want it, it’s not going to come to you. If you’re waiting for someone to do it for you, it’s certainly not going to happen.”

The ones who stay the course find themselves constantly challenged. They quickly get in the best shape of their lives. They have to grow up quickly, too, as they learn to navigate the politics of the sport. Santiago shut his mouth and listened to Rodz and the other wrestlers when they spoke, whether the subject was a sleazy promoter or locker-room boasts about bedding groupies – “Ring Rats” in wrestler-speak. Santiago put his future in Rodz’s calloused hands.

Rodz acknowledges his methods are unorthodox compared to many other trainers, who, according to him, “just want to make money and will send people into the ring who aren’t ready.” Interviewing his students and even their family beforehand, he lays the questions on. His routine is “Kool-Aid” free.

Rodz knows the bitter drink that is professional wrestling all too well. Shining shoes in Chinatown as a teenager, he paid for his own gear just like Santiago. Over 50 years later, Rodz is a proud self-made man. His word, in a world fueled by connections and street credibility, means everything.

While many of the older faces in the sport still hold on to its carnival roots, purposely hiding secrets of the industry, Rodz will share them. He just has to deem prospective recipients of his knowledge worthy. That is the difficult part.

“I ask them all sorts of stuff. I need to see they have heart. One of my favorite questions is how they’d get to the gym if they didn’t have a car or money for a MetroCard,” Rodz said. “I want people who are dedicated and don’t make excuses.”

But Rodz doesn’t sell professional wrestling to anyone who comes in his messy office, plastered with pictures of him with legends of the sport, like Lou Thesz, “Superstar” Billy Graham and “Super Fly” Jimmy Snuka. He sells reality.

“If you do this, you will suffer,” he said. “It’s like anything else in life. I got married doing this and I got divorced doing this. I had to shine shoes to do it.

“I ask them what they want to do with their life after wrestling. What will they do if they get seriously hurt and have to rely on their mind? When they tell me they don’t go to school or can’t hold a job? Stuff like that makes me not want to work with them. You have to be smart to succeed in this business and the harder you make it for people to use you and take advantage of you, the longer you’ll last.”

Learning the reality of the professional wrestling industry from Rodz is like being instructed in philosophy by Plato. During his 30 years in the WWE, Rodz was what the business calls a “jobber,” or “enhancement talent.” He rarely won a match. It was his job to make his opponents like Hulk Hogan and Curt Hennig look fierce and formidable in the ring.

“If you wanted to look good, you worked with me,” Rodz said.

As a trainer, he’s able to make his students look as strong as he did his opponents. Over the last 25 years, Rodz has played pivotal roles in the development of some of the top talent of the late 1990s and new century such as Tommy Dreamer, Tazz, the Dudley Boys, Chris Candido and Bill DeMott.

Rodz looks much younger than his 70 years, with his shaved bald-head, neatly trimmed jet-black moustache and a thin gold chain around his neck. He walks around the gym, his students desperate for his occasional nods of approval. Despite a heart condition, he still climbs in the ring sometimes.

“Johnny can still wrestle,” said Santiago. “He’s stronger and faster than you’d expect for a person his age. He works an old-fashioned style – a lot of punches and kicks. Sure, they hurt, but you can go to work the next day. He makes you work smart, though. He calls it ‘hot potato.’ If you’re too stiff, it won’t look good and you’ll accidently hit the guy. The first time is okay. The second time, they’ll let you know. The third time, you’ll get slapped across your chest. That’s how you learn.”

Rodz, who went from basement rings to Madison Square Garden, also knows one of the best ways to learn is hearing the response of the crowd. The ability to gauge what’s working and what isn’t – and make improvements on the fly – are the hallmarks of a ring general. Every month or so, Rodz cleans up his ring area, sets up a few hundred gray metal folding chairs, throws a curtain over his door and turns Gleason’s into Wrestlemania for a night. The show attracts hardcore local fans, but it’s mostly family and friends of the talent. About 200 spectators usually show, holding signs for their heel relatives to come and rip in half to get an easy boo from the crowd. Wrestlers’ girlfriends or children often get winks or quick, barely-noticeable nods before the match begins.

By the end of the shows, which can stretch to three hours, the crowd thins to 15 to 20, as each group of family members leave after their loved one performs. Santiago’s mother, Carrie, always stays till the end.

“She loves it,” Santiago said. “She screams the loudest.”

For some of Rodz charges, it’s the largest venue they’ll ever play. The monthly shows, presented as World of Unpredictable Wrestling, has champions, fan favorites and heels just like every big company. The exposure isn’t the same, though the matches often are recorded and posted on YouTube. The now six feet tall and shorter haired Santiago, who weighs around 185 pounds, was even WUW champion for a short while.

“It was cool that Johnny had that kind of faith in me,” he said.

Photos by Patrick Hickey Jr.

Click here to read Part I and here to read Part II