Boys Will be Boys

 For the most part growing up I was a pretty good kid. I'd be ornery every now and again and there were a few times where I out right misbehaved. For the most part though, I stayed out of trouble and played by the rules.  One of my best friends growing up, was a bit more on the wild side. 

One of the best people I've ever known in my life, deep down inside he wasn't only a good kid, he was a great kid. He was a man of justice, even at the tender age of 5, 6 years old. One that always stood up for the other guy.  One who never tolerated the mistreatment of others. If you were ever in a bind, or you found yourself outnumbered, all you had to do was glance over your shoulder, He always had your back.  I guess I've called a lot of people "friend" during my near 37 years on this planet, but only a select few, less than a dozen that truly fit that moniker.  He was one of them. 

Yet he was also mischievous. Had a heck of an imagination and wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. Every once in a while he'd fear the consequence of his action, but it was always after he had already done it, never before.   

One day were were playing outside and he got an idea.  His Dad had an old car that sat out in the yard.  It had sat there in the same place for years.  He figured since they hadn't moved it in years, it must not be that important.  Earlier that day we had watched a movie where these guys had trashed a car.  My friend thought it looked like fun. I wasn't so sure. 

We went into the garage, as he handed me a hammer and grabbed himself a baseball bat. 

"Here," He said. "We can use these." 

"Are you sure we won't get in trouble for doing this?" 

"We'll be fine."  

With the assurance of a good insurance salesman who insist you need flood insurance while living in Death Valley, California, I followed him to the car. 

"Have at it!" He said as he crawled on top of the car's hood. 

I sat down next to the back tire and lightly tapped my hammer against the wheel. 

"No, no, no!" He yelled at me. "Like this!" 

He reared back like Hank Aaron about to hit a home run as he hit the windshield with such force that it knocked him back on his rear end.  A huge hole that spiderwebbed nearly the entire windshield remained.  

"What the HELL are you boys doing!" 

I dropped my hammer and froze in panic.  It was his Dad.  We heard him through the kitchen window as we heard the door slam.  I was best friends with this kid, going over to his house for 14 years of my life and it was the only time I was ever afraid of his Dad.  

I'll never forget what my friend said to me as his Dad approached us. 

"Say it was your idea."

"What!?!?!?" 

"He won't hit you. He'll blister my ass!" 

When his Dad got to us, I was so afraid that I couldn't speak. I couldn't even move.  

"It was Stephen's idea."   

His Dad took one look at me and then looked back at him. 

"Like Hell it was!"  He grabbed him under the arm, hoisted him up and carried him, screaming and fighting back inside. 

Thinking that he might come back for me, I went and hid.  As I hid, I heard two very loud noises one followed right after the other. 

WHAP!
"AH!!" 

It was the sound of my friend getting spanked and his reaction to it. 

A few minutes later, my friend came hobbling outside.  

"Stephen!" He yelled for me.  

I slowly crept around to where he was. 

"Is it safe?" I asked him. 

He rubbed his behind with his hand as he slowly sat down, fidgeting about from the soreness that remained. 

"Yeah," He said. "It's safe." 

"Did you get spanked?"

"What the hell do think?" He frowned at me. "This is really your fault you know."

"My fault?" 

"Yeah." 

"How is it my fault. It was your idea."

"Well yeah," He admitted. "But your supposed to talk me out of these things.  That's your job." 

Unable to warrant a response all I could do was stare at him. 

"My mom says your a good influence on me, or at least your supposed to be." 

Yeah, supposed to be.  

Complete the Story: 20 of 198

 The desert is an unforgiving place.  This one is called Death Valley for a reason.  Every living thing there has to fight for survival. And we would have to fight, too, or else we would be consumed by a sidewinder, bobcat, or one of the other predators who made their home the heat. Oddly enough as we had never experienced a hot of greater degree and we ached from pain of thirst, it was the night that concerned me. We had been held at gun point, hands tied behind our backs, blindfolded, gagged and forced to get into a limousine. Positioned up against the window, I heard the instructions given to our executor.  

"Drive them out into the desert. Pop them out there. Make it quick. I'm hungry. Louie's closes at 11." 

I don't think the others heard it. I barely did and I was right up against the door. In fact, I know they didn't hear it. They couldn't have. Even though I couldn't see, I could still hear. I could still sense. While I felt a state of confusion and uncertainty from them, I didn't feel a state of panic. If they had heard what I had, I would have. 

I thought of two things as we drove out to the desert. I thought of time. If he had to be back before 11, this essentially gave him an hour to get to where he was going, off us and then get back. In high pressure situations its easy to fooled by time.  Minutes can turn into hours and hours can turn into minutes. Yet it was about 10 to 8 when they all showed up on the property. I suppose it was around 8:30 or so when we were forced hands behind our back, gagged and blindfolded into the limo. If he got his work done by 9:30, he'd be back by 10:30. Perhaps I was giving him too much credit.  Punctual as I am, I refuse to go into a restaurant with anything less than a half hour left before they close. Not sure why I thought this man who had been told to kill us was suddenly going to have the decency.  Why it struck me as peculiar that he'd shoot four people in the back of the head, two of them minors and yet feel it was inappropriate to show up at a restaurant expecting food and service shortly before they closed. 

The other thought was of anger, but it wasn't at him. It wasn't even at the other man who had told him to kill us. It wasn't because I had no idea who these people were, or why they were doing this to us. It wasn't because I'm 25 and I thought of all the life I'd miss. It was because of Louie's.  If the other man had not mentioned Louie's, I'm not even sure if I would have felt anger.   

Louie's is the most expensive restaurant in our area. No one I know has ever ate there. I've never ate there. It's a somebody restaurant. You could save up for a while and afford one of their dishes, but that wasn't good enough for him. You had to prove that you could afford to eat their any time you wanted.  They looked at your car, your clothes and if you weren't up to their standards, you weren't getting in.  You had to be important. You had to be worthy.  Apparently this guy who within a short amount of time was going to off us and the sociopath who nonchalantly ordered our execution, they were good enough.  We weren't.  I wasn't. But, they were.  Of all the things that now faced me, my death, my cousin and her two kids deaths, not knowing why this was happening, of all things, thinking of Louie's is what pissed me off most. 

The limousine came to stop as he put it into park. He left the engine running.  I had been so preoccupied by my own thoughts that I hadn't noticed it until then, but he had the radio on.  Brian's Song by Anne Murray was on the radio.  

"Even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you honey."  It was almost comical hearing him sing along. Even more comical that he waited for the song to end before opened up the door and got out. 

Few words were spoken as he opened up the back door and ordered us out of the car.  We walked for abut a minute or so, maybe two when he told us to get down on our knees.  I began to regret not putting up a fight at my Uncle's house.  The four of us had been so cooperative doing exactly what these people had asked us to do.  I figured that was our best course of action. I was wrong. Now all I could do was hope that I'd be the first to be shot.  

BANG! 

The gun shot was so loud and deafening that I did not hear the body hit the ground. All I knew was that I had not been first.  I knew I wouldn't be the second either. I wasn't going to be the third. I was going to be the last. 

Five seconds at most is all the time their could have been between gun shots.  Each felt like a decade but all in all the entire experience took a quarter of a minute.  Three bangs.  It was now my turn. 

BANG! 

I was still conscious. I could feel my body shake. I could feel myself breathing.  Was this what it was like to be dead? Was I now a spirit? I felt no pain.  I didn't feel my body against the desert sand.  I could still feel my knees hard against the ground. 

"Listen," The man said to me. "After I cut you lose I'm going to put the knife behind you.  If you go to turn around or remove your blindfold before I drive away, I'll shoot you twice in each foot." 

I nodded. 

"Good," He said. "Listen for the car to drive away.  Count to 100 and then you can remove your blindfold and gag." 

I did as the man instructed.  

The light from the hot sun burned my eyes as I removed my blind fold. It took a minute for the blur to clear as I looked over to my left and saw my cousin and her two kids.  They were alive. Unharmed and alive.  I cut them loose.   

"Why didn't he kill us?" My cousin asked. 

"I don't know." 

All four of us had the same questions and all four of us had the same answers.  All we knew now is that we were out in the hot desert and we had to make it back to civilization.   Night was going to be falling soon and this time a year the temperature could get down into the 40's.  A temp the human body might not survive.  

We were far enough away I knew however far we had to go, we weren't making it before the sun went down.  We'd have to spend the night.  Maybe that's what the man who drove us out here to kill us was planning on.  Figured why waste four perfectly good bullets if mother nature could do the job herself? 

We walked in the direction of the trail the limousine had made.  Walked until we were out of energy. Then we gathered in a small circle. Back to back, resting up against one another.  I feel asleep with my eyes open. 

McIntyre Says, "WRONG!" to Doctor's Claims

 Dr. Sam Ich of CHI Memorial Hospital in Chattanooga, Tennessee came under attack late Thursday afternoon when he told a group of college students to stay out of the sun on excessively hot days. 

Dr. Ich was explaining to the students at UT-Chattanooga that on days when heat reaches excessive temperatures it can pose a variety of dangers to the human body.  Heat exhaustion and severe burns being among some of those dangers. 

"You want to stay out of the sun on a day like today," Dr. Ich said. 

That's when George McIntyre, a 70 year old former wrestling official, town know it all and local idiot verbally attacked Dr. Ich. 

"WRONG!!" McIntyre shouted from a seat in the third row of the auditorium. 

Confused as to McIntyre's claims as well as his insistence, Dr. Ich entertained his claims asking why he felt he was wrong. 

"You can't go into the sun!" McIntyre shouted. "It's 94 million miles away!" 

Dr. Ich tried to explain to McIntyre that he didn't literally mean that students shouldn't go into the sun. He simply meant that they shouldn't go outside into the sunlight without proper precautions and protection. 

"If you meant that, then you should have said it!" McIntyre continued to shout. "You said into the sun.  Not into the sunlight or sun's rays.  These kids can't go into the sun.  Anyone knows that.  The sun is 94 million miles away.  It'd take 19 years to reach the sun." 

Dr. Ich tried to once again explain what he meant and the usage of the common expression, "stay out of the sun" but McIntyre continued to protest. 

"They'd burn up long before they ever reached the sun anyway." McIntyre laughed. "Call yourself a Dr? You don't even know that you can't actually go into the sun." 

Dr. Ich tried to continue his presentation but McIntyre continued to interrupt demanding that Dr. Ich admit that he was wrong and apologize for making an inaccurate statement.  

"The man is deranged," Dr. Ich said when asked for comment. 

At the present time we are still gathering comment from George McIntyre.  He's spent the last four hours telling us how wonderful, intelligent, great and magnificent he is.  

Realizing Good Fortune

 When the small odd looking little anomaly arrived at 5:33 a.m. May 22nd, 1985 that would eventually be named Stephen Franklin Stonebraker, he was graced with the good fortune of having all six of his grandmas still alive.  

Unfortunately I never got to know my Grandma Norma Stonebraker that well.  She passed two and a half months shy of my fourth birthday. I do remember bits and pieces of her. It's funny because what I do remember is so insignificant.  I remember she kept candy bars in the refrigerator.  Butterfingers and Kit-Kats.  I remember her taking me to work with her once and sitting me on a big warm dryer.  That's about the extent of it though.  

Then a short time later Grandma Edna Barrett passed away. She was already in poor health from the time my memory kicked in.  I think I was a year older than what I was when Grandma Norma passed.  While I do remember visiting her in the hospital, the memory I have of her that sticks out most was at my Uncle John and Aunt Dawn's wedding.  I wanted to sit next to her, so I kinda just went and wedged my way between her and another guest.  

Now my Grandma Danels I knew very well.  Spent a lot of time with her.  She was my main babysitter when I was a kid.  Even though she's been gone now for 28 years, it's never felt that long.  I skipped school some days, pretending not to feel well just to be able to spend the day at her house.  

Grandma Alta Stonebraker I'd visit either with my Dad or my Grandpa Harry about 12 times a year.  We'd go down to her and my Grandpa Clarence's house (he passed in 1997) about once a month.  I loved listening to her tell stories of long ago and I think we sat and looked through picture albums every time I visited.  She lived to be 103 & was mentally with it up until about the last two years.  

Grandma Reta Fox was a lot like Grandma Alta.  She loved history and she loved to talk about it.  Which was great for me, because I loved hearing about it.  We had a lot in common.  She lived to be 96 I believe or somewhere around that age. 

Then when I was 11, I was even more lucky because when my Mom married Barry, I inherited another Grandma.  Evelyn Lee.  Even though I could be a little pain in the ass at times, she always welcomed me into her family.  

I'll also say even though members of my family don't like it, I have always and I still consider Dorothy Bos a grandmother of mine.  She was married to my Grandpa for a couple of years and even though their marriage didn't work out, she was extremely good to me during that time.  She told me that she still thought of me as a grandson the last time I saw her.  She passed a few years back too.  I suppose it's probably longer ago than that, but it doesn't feel like it. 

And now Grandma Kathleen Harding is gone.  Another very special woman in my life that helped to shape me into what I at least hope is a decent person.  I may not be rich. I may not have a new house or a new car.  What I do have though is decency.  Respect.  Kindness. Empathy. Love and care.  In those areas, I do feel rich and all of that is because of the fortune of being surrounded by such incredible people. 


It donned on me a couple of days ago that all of my Grandmothers are gone now.  It was a depressing feeling, but the depression didn't last long.  Instead there's a feeling of happiness. A feeling of gratitude.  During my lifetime I was fortunate enough to have eight women to give me grandmotherly love and guidance. 

For that, I am incredibly thankful. 

My Tattoo idea

 I have been contemplating getting a tattoo ever since I turned 18 years old. 36 now and I still haven't done it. I think it's about time that I did, and I think one year from now is when I'll do it. 

I imagine what I want will be fairly expensive. It's rather extensive and rather detailed. 

What I'm still debating about is whether I want it on my back or on my front. Either way I want it in a circle around my heart. I either want it on my left pectoral or on my back in the same spot. 

I want it to be a mural of sorts of the four passions of my life. 

So here they are, the four passions of my life. My love for dogs and cats, wrestling, theater and creative writing. 

When it got REAL in the Ring

Devon "Hannibal" Nicholson recently tagged me in a video where former Syracuse standout Mike Rotundo once had to use his amateur wrestling skills to defend himself in a match.  I received a instant message from someone asking me if that had ever happened to me.  Was there a time in my six years of pro wrestling where I had to use my amateur background to defend myself.  

Technically, I would say this only happened once in my career, although I have a handful of stories where I used my amateur wrestling skills. 

The first time I ever used my amateur wrestling on someone was during training.  One of the guys we were training with was huge.  About 6'2 and close to 300 lbs.  One day I was wrestling around with another wrestler, when he started giving me crap about high school wrestling. Both in a playful mood, I told him that if I got on top of him and secured a half nelson I could turn him over to his back. He pfffed a big laugh at me and said no way.  I went over to where I had put my keys and my wallet, took out $10 and said, "This $10 says that I can."  He got $10 of his own and said back to me, "I'll take that bet." 

He got down on all fours and I got on top of him.  When someone else yelled go, I immediately threw in the legs and double underhooks as he rolled about trying to escape. I can remember him yelling, "Jesus, you're a F'n leach!"  As he began to tire, I began to stretch him out cranking on his neck, slipping in the half nelson and snaking the head for leverage.  It wasn't easy and it did take some time but he went over to his back.  Wasn't the first time and it won't be the last time someone says to me, "you're deceptively strong."   I became $10 richer that day. 


The second time wasn't as friendly and it got broken up before it even started.  There was a regular at MCW in the quad cities that was always bragging about how standout he had been as an amateur.  I had never heard anything about him. I went home and researched him on the internet.  I couldn't find anything connecting him to any high school anywhere in Iowa.  I went back to a show wondering if maybe the gimmick name he went under wasn't his real name. When I asked what his real name was, I was told that they were one in the same.  It made me wonder if maybe he had wrestled in Illinois instead of Iowa.  When I went home and looked him up under Illinois wrestling, again I came up empty handed.  Yet he continued to brag about how great of a amateur he had been. 

When I finally found out the truth behind his story, I had to laugh.  He HAD indeed achieved some highlights in amateur wrestling as a SUPER-PEEWEE.  Back in first grade he had won a couple of big tournaments. Here was a grown man in his mid twenties bragging about something he had done when he was seven years old.   I came up to him one day and told him that I'd like to have a real wrestling match with him.  He said why not go right now?  I can't say it was heated, because it wasn't.  It was still a friendly exposition, but I don't know if anyone else in the locker room knew that. We felt one another out and I faked to the left, dropping down on his right leg.  As I brought his leg into the air, Big Bob Pence grabbed both of us, ripped us apart and yelled for us to stop.  I think he thought we were going at it in a fight.  Pence was about 400 lbs, a three time Iowa high school state qualifier and he had wrestled collegiately at Augustana.  Neither of us were going to do anything other than what he told us to do. 


The third time was at a match in Illinois.  I was wrestling a guy that would later become one of my best friends in the business. We were performing when suddenly he came after me for real.  I took about three potatoes to the head when I realized that something was off. To this day I'm not 100% sure what happened. I don't know whether he was testing me, if he had some sort of PTSD moment or what.  All I know is that he was swinging hailmakers and connecting hard enough to give me a headache.  Without thinking I just reacted. I snapped him down in a front headlock and synched my right wrist right across his throat. As he gasped for air he went limp, reaching up and tapping for me to let go.  I didn't let go but I eased up my pressure. 

"You ready to work now?" I asked him, "We're gonna work now?"  

"Yeah, Yeah," He answered. 

The rest of the match went great.  We came back to the locker room and he said to me, "Holy shit dude, for a short little shit, you sure are strong." 


The final time was at a show in West Liberty.  My opponent that night was a chopper. He loved to chop.  I told him it was fine to chop me but chop me in my meaty areas. I workout my chest hard with bench press and all sorts of pectoral exercises.  Chop me there.  Chop me in my upper back.  Do NOT chop me in the belly or the lower back.  He agreed to follow these guidelines. 

Yet once the match got going, he gave me a big open hand slap straight to the gut. I figured I'd let him get away with the one. Give him a warning and not have to worry about it again.  I was wrong.  As I lay on my stomach on the mat, he came up and delivered a huge chop right to the lower part of my back. It stung like Hell.  Enough warnings. It was time for revenge. 

When the opportunity came to get my heat, I sunk in a bo and arrow nice and easy.  Then little by little I began to tighten up the move.  I heard him say to the referee, "tell him to ease up a little, it's getting tight."  When he said that I wrenched really hard stretching him. 

"Ah!!!" He screamed, "Ah!!!"   

He wasn't selling, the screams were real.    

We finished the match and when we went back into the locker room he said to me, "What the Hell did you put me in? That freaking hurt dude!"  I told him it was a move I learned in high school wrestling.  We agreed that he'd never chop my lower back or belly again if I agreed to never put him in that move again.  We wrestled twice more after that.  His chops weren't near as hard and they were to the UPPER back and chest. 

Stephen Stonebraker tentative baseball schedule

 Kirkwood Community College host DMACC tomorrow for a game at 1:00 p.m. and 4:00 p.m. If fans are allowed, I will attend at least the first game. Maybe the second.

April 10th (Sat) Iowa Vs Minnesota at 2:05 p.m.

April 17th Kirkwood host IHCC at both 1:00 p.m. and 4:00 p.m.

Sat April 24th think I'll make the drive over to Augustana to see them play Carthage at 1:00 p.m or 4:00 p.m.

Sat May 1st Grinnell host Cornell at noon, if Grinnell is not allowing fans into the game, then I may switch this to Cedar Rapids Kernels Vs Peoria at 6:35 p.m.

Sat May 8th Iowa host Penn State at 2:05 p.m.

Sat May 15th Iowa host Illinois at 2:05 p.m.