Photos by Jim Chapman The Times Ray Gordy, "Second Generation Superstar," come off the ropes to slam Todd Sexton. Jeremy V stands atop Rainman. Wrestling fans Courtney Sisum (left), Jacob Lisy and Amber Lisy catch the action. Jason Trotter, from left, Jack Craven, Alan Shoen and Wanda Trotter wait for Anarchy's doors to open before the matches. Rainman shows off for fans before his match. Team members of Alabama Attitude and Urban Assault take it to the rails. Jeff Lewis enters the ring. Michael Byrant works with the sound system. Jacob Franklin, right, and Carless Eller show off a wrestling belt. If you go ... Next event: "Hostile Environment," featuring a steel cage match When: 8 p.m. Saturday Where: Corner of Level Grove and Duncan Bridge Roads off Ga. 365 Cost: Tickets $10; children under age 6 get in free Online: NWA-Wildside.com Phone:(706) 768-9071 E-mail: nwa_anarchy@ hotmail.com

When we pulled into the gravel lot at the old gymnasium near Cornelia, we had no clue what to expect.

The sign promised "wrestling at 8 p.m." and the gathering crowd leaned against their vehicles to smoke a final cigarette or visit before the doors opened.

Ignoring warnings from friends that I'd be busted over the head with a folding chair, I had convinced my wife, Marta, to go see NWA "Anarchy" Wrestling in this building that suggests 1950s pep rallies more than barbed-wire whippings.

What would we see tonight? I asked folks in the crowd.

"Every once in a while you see more hardcore here than on TV," said Jack Craven, who was wearing a shirt labeled "Big Daddy."

Craven, who lives in Demorest, recommended that I speak to "O.D.," short for "Overdose."

Once a wrestler, O.D. now is a huge fan and expert. "He messed up his ankle when he tried to pull a back flip off the turnbuckle," Craven said.

We didn't locate O.D. but did talk with Alan Shoen, also from Demorest, who said he comes to Anarchy for the "community feel in the place. Here the wrestlers come out and shake your hand."

Jerry Palmer, a Hall County fireman of 15 years, has owned Anarchy since July 1, although he's been around the crew for years.

Palmer met some of them while working out at a gym, and he admired their dedication to the wrestling venue that has been around for seven years.

"They're like college football players that do it for the love of it with hopes of being picked up at a bigger level," he said. "They're loyal to what they do and loyal to the area."

Marta, a sixth-grade teacher at East Hall Middle School, recognized some students at the ticket booth and they invited us to sit with them in their reserved seats.

Amber and Jacob Lisy and Courtney Sisum ushered us ringside, where masking tape on folding chairs marked their names.

"I like it because they beat the fire out of people here," Jacob Lisy said.

Both Amber Lisy and Sisum have wrestlers' autograph books, which they show off.

"I come every chance I can," said Amber Lisy, who says she has pictures of "Zero," a wrestler "up all over my room."

"I had a wrestler sign a pickle once," she said.

A pickle? Well, yes, it seemed pickles wrapped in white paper were everywhere. The vendor couldn't get them out of the jar fast enough. Sisum, sitting beside me, chomped down on hers.

Inside the gym, which isn't air-conditioned, moths flicker around the big overheard lights and folks swat at them with hats. The doors are propped open to let in a little air. A sign behind the ring offers "Chapter 13 Debt Relief, Cash Settlements." About 100 folks file in and take a seat in bleachers and folding chairs.

The action begins

Wrestlers "Iceberg" and "Tank," both strapping giants, climb into the ring and toss down a metal trash can full of baseball bats and other implements of destruction. They rage about an upcoming fight, promising bloodshed and retribution.

The announcer then introduces the wrestlers for a match.

Anarchy wrestlers, we learn, come in all shapes and sizes and clever names. There's the "The Pearl of the Enterprise," "Strychnine" "One-Man Mafia," "Skeeter," "Rainman" and a colorful host of others.

Some are mountains, some are studs with steel-belted arms, and others look like the guy next door who flips burgers during the day.

"The majority of them have some other form of income, from computer engineers to laborers," said Allan Barrie, Anarchy's operations manager.

The venue offers a wrestling school, where many of the wrestlers get started. It's a true homegrown organization, he said.

"That's what sets us apart," Barrie said.

When the wrestlers "Three Guys That Totally Rule" came out for a tag-team match amid flashing lights and theme music, Amber Lisy and Sisum swoon. "They're hot! All three of them."

Salvatore Rinauro, one of the "Three Guys," doubles as head trainer for Anarchy's wrestling school. "He's really excellent," Palmer said. Rinauro pushes not only technical moves but wrestling philosophy and history.

Anarchy wrestling is not so much an observer event as it is interactive. Fans constantly move and shout while munching on pickles and popcorn. Many probably are hoarse the next morning.

A man in the audience heckles a wrestler until the brawler yells, "Shut up!"

"No, you shut up!" the man yells back.

Crowd chemistry

With as much Vaudeville and gymnastics as wrestling, the "Three Guys" take on Skeeter Frost, Cru Jones and Ken Westbrooks in a six-man match full of slapping, flips and remarkable shows of agility.

It's the kind of action you find yourself chortling over before you realize it. But it's their "schtick" and the fans' reaction that make it worthwhile.

Wrestlers enter to theme music, strut the fenced cage area that separates fans and wrestlers, shaking hands and sometimes hugging audience members. The chemistry is apparent.

But it's not always loving chemistry. Heckling is an honored part of the game at Anarchy.

During a "live debate" between two white Alabama wrestlers, "Alabama Attitude," and two black wrestlers from Georgia, "Urban Assault," several in the crowd chanted "Kill the crackers!"

Then at the crowds urging, Urban Assault picked up debate mediator Al Getz, who had declared Alabama Attitude the debate winner, and slammed him against a metal folding table, breaking it in half.

Which was a bit surprising, given the shaved heads and good ol' boys and gals in attendance.

It's easy (and obviously wrong) to assume that a crowd of white boys out in the country will plug for their own race. At Anarchy, that's not the case. They pull for the local guy. Skin color makes no difference here.

In fact, beyond the venue's tough veneer, the audience was far more light-hearted and jovial than many town hall meetings I've attended. And it was full of children, often with a grandparent, father or friend.

Jacob Franklin, who attended with Carless Eller, showed off the title belt replica he picked up in the merchandise area. The belt was as big as he was. "We come about every weekend," Eller said.

Of course, there's the obligatory metal folding chairs used in several matches. At one point, several fans held chairs, waiting for a wrestler to walk past.

And just like TV wrestling, there's the inevitable threats: "He's not going to just lose his belt, he's going to lose his mind!"

Many wrestlers, such as Slim J, are so good it's hard to believe they're not on prime time. Slim J winds around his opponents like a weasel shot up with adrenaline.

Mikal Adryan, the "One-Man Mafia," is such a powerhouse he fights two guys at once. Ray Gordy, a "Second Generation Superstar," has more flashy moves and style than a painted snake.

Jay Fury, a crowd favorite, is a body-slamming wonder. Jeff Lewis, the TV Title Champion, wears a glittery robe on stage and delights the crowd with his antics and lightning moves.

For the grand finale, many wrestlers swarmed the stage and spilled over into the barricade area, prompting fans to scramble from their seats.

After the finale, I caught up with wrestler Skeeter Frost of Commerce, who started in 2002 after seeing guys at Anarchy.

Frost said he wrestles "pretty much every weekend" and plans to "make it as far as I can." During the day, he works at a family portrait lab as a technician.

"Skeeter can really work up the crowd," Palmer said.

Many wrestlers are local, while others come from South Carolina, Alabama and Tennessee as part of the "indie" wrestling circuit. "Some drive four or five hours to get here," Palmer said.

In addition to the wrestling, many people labor behind the scenes.

Dwayne Burton, another Hall fireman, and his wife, Sandy, help keep the doors open. She serves as floor manager, he as cameraman. There also are referees, sound folks, commentators, ticket takers and vendors.

"It's an interesting sideline," Sandy Burtonsaid.

Palmer plans to feature female wrestlers in the future, as well introducing more classes for aspiring wrestlers. He also plans to donate part of the events' proceeds to benefit the Cornelia Fire Department Fire Explorers Post, a youth training program.

Meanwhile, he's just trying to get the word out that it's all good fun and visitors need not worry about getting their head busted with a folding chair.

"Once you get past the remote location and the rough condition of the building, it's a family place. At worst, it's PG, never R."

E-mail: jchapman@gainesvilletimes.com

Originally published Sunday, July 24, 2005