Maintaining The Illusion
After over 30 years of self-mutilation, Sabu remains hellbent on giving fans their money’s worth.
Sabu is like Billy Joel – he hasn’t written a new song in decades.
That’s a knock on either legendary performer, it’s quite the contrary. Sabu is the most innovative wrestler of the ‘90s. His daredevil antics were the cornerstone of ECW, ushering hardcore wrestling into the American consciousness. For many fans, especially in the Northeast, Sabu was their introduction to flying chairs, broken tables and barbed wire. It wasn’t just his penchant for self-mutilation that inspired a generation; it was his fearlessness, creativity, jaw-dropping athleticism and commitment to his craft.
Trained by his real-life uncle The Sheik, Sabu had respect for kayfabe instilled in him at an early age. Billed as hailing from Bombay, India, the human kamikaze wore genie pants and a headdress, mesmerizing fans with his exotic appearance and mysterious aura. He didn’t speak; his violence told the story. During his early days in ECW, he wore a Hannibal Lecter mask, strapped in chains while being wheeled out in a gurney. After a steady diet of corporate, sanitized and cartoony pro wrestling, fans were salivating for something raw and original.
Sabu simultaneously satisfied their appetite while leaving them craving more. More bloodshed, more chaos, more stunts, more danger. You didn’t know what was going to happen when Sabu came out, and that unpredictability was nectar in what had become such a micromanaged environment.
Like all the greats, Sabu made you believe in him.
It has been over a quarter century since the suicidal, homicidal and genocidal madman was unleashed on us. After numerous injuries and enough scars that his body looks like a road map, he isn’t expected to create any more new moves. At this point in his career, he just wants to give fans his greatest hits. But Billy Joel needs his piano, and Sabu needs his instruments, too.
He couldn’t find them a week ago at Modern Vintage Wrestling. After entering through the curtain to a thunderous roar from the 65-some odd attendees at the Colossal Sports Academy in Vorhees, NJ, Sabu immediately went to find chairs under the ring. After coming up empty on three sides of the ring, a group of fans pointed him to where the chairs were. While the grizzled veteran doesn’t want the audience in on the act, it was a gesture of good faith – Sabu had built such equity over the years that fans not only knew what he needed, but were willing to help him out to make the magic happen.
He sent his valet Super Genie (former professional bodybuilder Melissa Coates) to retrieve the chairs, but his opponent Jason Kincaid beat her to it. While Sabu’s game plan was unraveling, Kincaid remained cool, calm and collected. This was a “dream match,” according to MVW promoter Charlie Armstrong. Instead of marveling at the presence of such a legend, Kincaid regarded Sabu as merely another mortal destined to fall at his feet.
Throughout the brawl, Sabu was constantly communicating with Genie and the referee, requesting his weapons prepared and accessible. Despite being well over 50 years old, Sabu can still chuck a chair like he’s Drew Brees. In another magic trick, he slid a chair in the ring and it opened right in front of Kincaid, allowing Sabu to leap off a la Jeff Hardy’s poetry in motion. (Of course, Sabu invented that, too.) Ultimately, Sabu lost after receiving a spinning double stomp from the top rope, and then a second one with a chair draped across his abdomen.
In the midst of the carnage, a few fans yelled “We Want Tables,” to which Sabu dejectedly replied, “There aren’t any tables.” It visibly pained him to have to let down his fans, even if it wasn’t his fault. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw me stand to take a photo, and he did a quick pose to the heavens, just to make one fan happy. After spilling so much blood over the years, that’s the special sauce running through his veins – his dedication to giving people their money’s worth.
It’s the reason he had the longest line for photos at intermission, and the reason fans still chant his name. He doesn’t need to write any more lyrics, let the young lions worry about that. His legacy has been cemented; his art will stand the test of time.
After all, Sabu did start the fire.
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