Ryse at Ringside 6

This week marks 13 years that I've been involved in the professional wrestling industry, starting as a photographer in 2008 before I landed on the mic the following year. To attempt to even sum up the past dozen years as a commentator would be too lengthy for one article, but for this edition of "Ryse at Ringside," I'd like to explain a few of the many reasons that this crazy business is so special to me.

I tweet about it occasionally because I enjoy self-deprecating humor, but I don't mention it publicly too often, simply because it's rarely ever relevant to the events that I'm at the commentary desk for, but I have Spastic Cerebral palsy, a neurological muscle disorder that primarily affects my legs. It resulted from a birth injury and is classified as an unchanging condition. Ironically, I don't have a moment where I discovered the sports of professional wrestling the way that others have because I've watched the sports entertainment spectacle as long as I can remember. The only way I can confirm the time frame is that I still have magazines from 1992 when I was too young to read, but flipped through the pages to see the pictures of the larger-than-life stars. Quite simply, I've never had a time in my life without Cerebral Palsy the same way I've never had a time in my life without professional wrestling.

As I mentioned, to try to even summarizes the totality of the impact of the sport in my life would be too lengthy, but I will try to pick a few examples that illustrate it here, and if there's enough feedback, perhaps I could provide more stories about it for this Patreon page in the future.

I shared an image on my Twitter page a few months ago of a drawing from Kindergarten of the typical "what I want to be when I grow up" picture. Of course, I wanted to be a wrestler and despite using a nifty walker to get into the building in 1994, I had no doubt that I was going to be WWF champion. Maybe that's an example of the naivety of being so young, the fact that as we get older we let some of the struggles of life deter us, or a combination of both. Young Jim, still doing occupational therapy to go along with the physical therapy every Monday before I would get home to watch early editions of Raw, sloppily drew the classic blue Hasbro ring in this Kindergarten picture, complete with three turnbuckles and two stick figures ready to battle for championship glory. As can imagine, even at that early age, when I wore leg braces to try to assist with my walking pattern as much as possible, I was asked, "well, what else do you want to be?" For five-year-old Jim, there wasn't another answer because there didn't need to be, I just assumed I would show up on WWF TV "when I grow up" and the walker or leg braces were irrelevant.

Growing up with Cerebral Palsy isn't easy and I wish I had some type of inspirational message that it didn't get in my way, but the reality is that dealing with the physical pain and mental frustration remains an obstacle that I try to do the best I can with every day. Some days I win, some days I lose, but if I've learned anything, specifically through the past few years, it's that pushing forward at least give a chance for success. That said, people far tougher than me that deal with circumstances much more difficult are a true inspiration.

Still, professional wrestling was always there to provide a measure of solace at even the most difficult times. In 1993, just weeks after one of my first leg surgeries, with a cast of my left foot, I met Big Bossman, who had a cast on his wrist so me and my new friend Bossman had something in common. Fast forward to 1996, after one of the major leg surgeries that put me in two full-leg casts for nearly two months, I specifically remember my parents bought me a wrestling magazine at the gift shop at the hospital. "Rest in Pieces" was the headline on the cover as the publication was based on Paul Bearer's shocking turn on The Undertaker a few months earlier at Summer Slam that year.

Fully recovering from that 1996 procedure took nearly a year, particularly to build up strength again, including more physical therapy, this time on Tuesdays. I can't recall his last name, but a very nice guy named Steve worked at the PT group, where I did therapy at the time. I probably owe the guy a beer or an apology because every Tuesday through the duration of the Attitude era, he would hear the weekly wrestling report I would give as he stretched my legs and had me complete step exercises. What Mankind did the prior night was big news. My dad was nice enough to tape (remember VCRs?) the replay of Nitro so I watched it when I got home from Elementary school on Tuesday before I went to the weekly appointment. Obviously, I also had to tell Steve who the NWO spray painted on Nitro as well. I'm almost 100% sure his interest in any of this was minimal, but it kept these therapy sessions fun.

When I was almost 15, I realized pro wrestling might be possible, (Hey, if Jay Leno had a match, don't doubt me too much) but it wasn't practical. I was considered to have the "gift of gab" for years before this, which I'm guessing is because I spent so much time with various doctors or physical therapists that eventually, generating conversation becomes more fun than looking at the wall while your legs are stretched. I was always a fan of Jim Ross since I heard so many of his iconic calls throughout my time following the sport, and I thought to myself that being an announcer would be a way for me to be involved in wrestling without Cerebral Palsy being a factor. Keep in mind, I had no idea any of this would ever happen, it was just a thought of a way I could be involved in the industry.

To think of the many things I've been able to experience through my involvement in professional wrestling is almost overwhelming because as I've dealt with diagnosed anxiety and depression for the majority of my life, there were several times that I was frustrated with my disability or the limitations from it, but getting to the venue surrounded by so many people that I'm honored to consider friends did more to lift my spirits than I can truly put into words. I can list several examples, but I don't want to leave anyone out either, and the fact that so many people have been so kind to me is one of the gifts of the involvement of pro wrestling. The villainous BC Steele might be a con artist at ringside, but he's one of my best friends outside of it. He's helped me more than I can explain and I wouldn't trade his friendship for anything. Jeff Gorman set the standard for quality commentary in Pittsburgh over two decades ago, and when he complimented my work earlier this year, it truly meant a lot to me. Learning from Joe Dombrowski for a few years in a dilapidated building before I made my Ryse debut is something I will always appreciate. Working with Paul Atlas has been my favorite time in wrestling and I'm very happy to call him a friend. For someone that barely spoke to me when I started in wrestling, we've become a good team. His compliments of my work on a podcast a few years ago meant a lot to him and his contributions are a major reason why I enjoy doing commentary at Ryse.

For much of my tenure as a commentator, I honestly thought that I kept a spot more because the bar was set so low on the majority of the independent scene that the fact that I made the talent in the ring the priority, it put my ahead of the standard by default. Too often, especially throughout the early period of my time as a commentator, you would hear indy shows from different places, and despite well-known talent in the ring, the promoter's cousin's mailman was talking about something completely unrelated to the action in the ring. I assumed, I still had a spot in wrestling because I wasn't the worst option possible, but then again, as we've established, self confidence isn't my strong suit.

It actually wasn't until I was at the desk at Ryse that I felt a sense of confidence in my skills because I knew that the basis of the promotion didn't fall into the indy trap of nepotism, and quality was the primary focus. Specifically after a few months, I knew I wouldn't still be at the desk if I didn't get the job done so the fact that I was still there reassured me that I was doing a quality job. Plus, Brandon K is a quality human being and one of the people in wrestling that I respect the most so his stamp of a approval remains one of the most rewarding aspects of my time in wrestling. As a whole, Ryse has been such a positive environment where there is an atmosphere of a team effort, and it's something that I always look forward to. It's very humbling to even be included with such a talented crew.

In truth, I'm reminded of Cerebral Palsy on an almost constant basis because literally every step I take is a way that the disability affects my life. There are very few things that allow me a break from that or the stress that goes along with it. However, when the red light is on and I have a chance to call the action, my disability or any aspect that it affects is irrelevant. It's a level of peace because no matter how I walk, it can't take away what I can do on the mic. Speaking of which, outside of professional wrestling, I'm very self conscious about the way I walk and it can sometimes be embarrassing in public. That said, walking through the curtain and getting to the table to call the action as the music blares are steps that I look forward to taking in front of the crowd every event.

I'm always going to have Spastic Cerebral Palsy and there are going to be difficult times, but it's okay because in some form or fashion, I will always have professional wrestling, too.