Cuban Assassin, you're my hero!

Wednesday night I took a trip back in time to the good old days of more than two decades ago when I spent Saturday afternoons on the floor in front of the wood-paneled floor-model TV at my grandfather's house watching Atlantic Grand Prix Wrestling.
Long before I'd ever heard of WWF wrestling, Grand Prix Wrestling was the thing around here, where lads like Leo Burke and Big Stephen Patipass were the good guys and on the other side of the ring were the bad lads like Killer Karl Krupp and No-Class Bobby Bass. The world of Grand Prix Wrestling was a simple place where good always triumphed over evil and giants walked the face of the Earth. Like most 10-year-olds, I ate it up and asked for more.
Most of these giants were from New Brunswick, just down the road a piece and that brought a kind of pride to my 10-year-old heart. Then there were others who weren't from around here at all.
I can still remember the fear I felt as I watched the man in green army fatigues, crazy hair and beard and wild eyes make his way into the squared-circle as I listened to the booming voice of the announcer.
"In this corner, weighing in at 250 pounds, from Havana, Cuba ...
"The Cuban Assassin."
Even the name evoked a kind of fear. Though he wasn't the largest of the bad guys, but he'd certainly carved himself a niche as the baddest of the bad.
Now, all of those lads, good and bad, are gone. All but one.
I met the Cuban Assassin Thursday night in Sunny Corner just before his big match up with Spiderman.
I knocked on the door to dressing room 4. A man in green army fatigues, well-groomed long hair and beard and kind eyes stood there.
"Yeah?"
"Mr. Assassin?"
"Yeah."
"I'm here from the Miramichi Leader."
"Come on in."
I'll admit I was a bit star struck at first, but it didn't take me very long to notice a couple of things weren't hunky-dory. For a man who should have been in his 60s, the Cuban Assassin didn't look much older than me and he spoke with a cowboy drawl. Turns out this fella was the son of the original Cuban Assassin who retired out in Calgary. He might not be the original, but he's not new to the sport either.
"I've been the Cuban Assassin for 17 years," he said with a twang.
He's a second generation wrestler keeping a proud name alive, he said.
"My father was the Cuban Assassin for over 36 years."
I asked him how to spell his name.
"C-U-B-A-N A-..."
I stopped him.
"No. Your real name."
"C-U-B-A-N A-S-S-A-S-S-I-N. Everywhere I go, I go by Cuban Assassin."
I smiled.
Cubies's been in this neck of the woods before.
"This is my third time in Sunny Corner actually. I love the Maritimes. It's one of my favourite places to tour and wrestle in," he said with a smile.
We shook hands as I left. What a nice fella, I thought to myself.
Outside half-an-hour later, a voice from across the decades booms through the stadium sound system.
"... weighing in at 250 pounds, from Havana, Cuba ...
"The Cuban Assassin."
And there he is tearing through the crowd, with the wild eyes, crazy hair and beard I remembered as a kid.
A group of young men cheer as my hero leaps into the ring.
"Welcome back! Welcome back! Welcome back!"
He even looks like the original, I thought as the lights above the squared-circle glittered in the eyes of the cheering crowd. Then he let out a roar.
"RRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!"
The Cuban Assassin might be one of the bad guys in the ring, but in a way he's become a folk hero to people around these parts. And in this day and age, we need all the heroes we can get.