Apparently, they didn’t show up.
That’s the word from several people: Organizers at the Lincoln Alexander Centre, where the Gilbert Gottfried-hosted roast of WWE Hall-of-Famer The Iron Sheik was scheduled to be held, didn’t show up. The doors were locked, so they had to switch venues.
Which brings us to the lineup at Club Absinthe, where I’m waiting to see two fantastic London bands, Texas King and Marcellus Wallace, featuring my friends Ajay Massey and Jimi James. Or so I think.
“Iron Sheik!” One of the minor-league hockey players in front of me says. Just moments before, his fellow suit-wearing teammate was complaining about his reduced ice time. The Hamilton Bulldogs lost 6-1 on this night to the Grand Rapids Griffins, so it was probably a good night not to see much ice.
“What?” I cleverly respond to the Sheik comment, and I hear the locked-door story for the first time. I make a lame joke about how I’d line up for Jimmy (Superfly) Snuka, but I don’t know about The Iron Sheik.
The hockey players are not impressed, and it’s clear we won’t be swapping stories at the bar. I thank the guy for the heads up and go try to find another door. It’s my first time at Absinthe, and I don’t know if it’s one of these multi-venue places. It’s not.
Ajay had said Marcellus Wallace didn’t go on till 11 or so, and I’ve got time to kill, so it’s up to Chester’s Beers of the World. I’m drinking something from Belgium when Ajay calls and soon joins me. As he’s explaining how two bands on the bill got bumped (but still got paid) to accommodate The Sheik, another guy at the bar pipes up that he’s heard all about it: The doors were locked at the Lincoln Alexander Centre. Regardless, Texas King and Marcellus Wallace will be taking the stage later than expected.
After killing more time, it’s back to Absinthe, where Ajay tells the doorman I’m with the band, not there for the roast. So instead of paying $10, we’re talking $5 and a drink ticket.
And there’s still plenty of roast left.
As I arrive, the Sheik roaster at the mike is getting a heavy booing from the hard-core wrestling fans, and mutual vulgarities ensue. Later, there’s a Hulk Hogan impersonator who’s pretty much bang on, but he’s met with silence from the crowd, who warm up considerably when The Sheik takes the mike at the end.
But my personal highlight from the wrestling portion of the evening is seeing Brutus (The Barber) Beefcake — my favourite grappler when I was a dashing, young, mullet-wearing college student.
I stand next to another WWE legend, Paul Heyman, at the bar after the roast. I should say something to him, but other than “Hey Paul,” or “Tough night for the Bulldogs,” I can’t think of anything to say.
I know what to say to one guy. In a typical crowded-bar scenario, I lightly collide with a man. I turn toward him and start to say sorry, when I see in an instant he’s been waiting for this. Drinks in each hand, his chest puffed up, his glare-y eyes wide — he looks like he’s about to say something confrontational. But I finish saying sorry, and he quickly deflates and walks away.
I take solace in a conversation I had with Nicole at work earlier in the day, when I was trying to gauge whether Absinthe was a place a geezer like me could go enjoy a couple of bands.
“Will I get beaten up for being old?” I asked her.
“Probably not,” she said.
SYNOPSIS: The Iron Sheik got roasted, I got toasted, Texas King and Marcellus Wallace went on late and played great.
Reynoworld 