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Jeers and boos reverberated inside Stevens Fire Hall, and Piper fed off the venom.
SLIDESHOW: Atomic Championship Wrestling at Stevens Fire Hall
He leaped and the wrestling ring rattled — boom! — as he landed like a cement block, dropping a leg across the throat of High Voltage, his brawnier foe.
Piper, 39, started the match crowing about his sex appeal and sneering at fat people.
Penny Santangelo, a middle-aged nurse manager from Norristown, repeatedly jumped to her feet, shook her fist and let the wrestler have it.
"Shut up!" Piper barked. For a mild-mannered family man from Akron who trims trees for a living, he showed a knack for making fans see red.
It was the 11th and final match of the night. About 90 people had paid $20 each for a three-hour spectacle of sweaty men punching and posturing, flipping and falling, grappling and kicking.
Feigned though it was, the fury and mayhem still hurt.
One four-wrestler match ended with a table-splitting crash that left 27-year-old John Roark of Ephrata rubbing a knot on his scalp. (A doctor two days later would diagnose a mild concussion.)
The show that August night built to the main event, in which Piper cheated his way to victory, as scripted. He distracted the referee while his manager used a crutch to choke Piper's opponent, a massively muscled hulk from Hazleton.
On the rangy side at 5 feet 9 inches and 155 pounds, Piper completed the upset, and when he triumphantly left the ring, Atomic Championship Wrestling had a new heavyweight champion.
Piper donned the oversized championship belt and, with hands clasped behind his head, gyrated his hips in front of fuming women.
Playing a role he calls Simply Sexy Scotty Jeffreys, Piper knew the more he was booed, the better he was doing.
"He really played the crowd," said ACW promoter Tatum Hammer before setting to the task of dismantling the ring and picking up litter.
•••
Atomic Championship Wrestling is one of hundreds of independent wrestling enterprises around the country that cater to the public's appetite for mock aggression and exaggerated boorishness.
Hammer, 29, burly and goateed, has operated ACW on a shoestring since he started putting on intermittent wrestling shows in the Denver area at the age of 20.
Like a lot of boys who worship the buff, steroid-pumped pro wrestlers they see on TV, Hammer vowed he'd live that craziness, too.
But unlike most boys, Hammer stayed focused on his dream. He saved $2,000 from cutting grass and washing dishes at Ephrata's Rawhide Saloon and enrolled in wrestling schools in Harrisburg and Reading.
He debuted at Reading's Riverside Beneficial Association as a spiky-haired punk called Twisted Tate in July 1999, and 10 years later he still devotes himself full time to the business, although he never reached the heights of childhood heroes like Hulk Hogan.
A soon-to-be-wed bachelor who lives in a house on his grandparents' property outside Denver, Hammer puts on ACW shows about once a month and wrestles on other weekends at independent venues around Pennsylvania.
"It can sometimes be hectic," he said, "but to me it beats having a normal job."
Hammer books journeymen wrestlers from as far as New York and Virginia. Occasionally, he lands a former TV wrestler. But Hammer's mainstays are local guys he trained or helped to develop. They set up the ring, run errands and lean on family and friends to buy tickets.
•••
Unlike Hammer, the local cast members support themselves with day jobs. Steve "Kitt" Kitowski, 21, of Ephrata, is a roofer. Eric "Hayne" Wingenroth, 32, of Mountville is a night stocker at Lowe's. Wingenroth's sister, Kayla "Rabid Rizzo," 19, works at a Turkey Hill Minit Market.
For their ring escapades, they get paid nothing or next to nothing. But money's not the point.
"You walk out from the curtain," said Eric Wingenroth, an average-sized man who wears a zombie mask, "it's like a switch goes on. I feel I'm 7 feet tall."
Easy-going in the locker room, Piper parts the curtain and becomes obnoxiously vain Simply Sexy Scotty Jeffreys, aping the suggestive antics of Simply Ravishing Rick Rude, who 20 years ago played one of wrestling's most detested heels.
•••
Piper's wife, Nicole, doesn't mind her husband's act. "As long as he doesn't say anything mean to me, I'm good," she said.
But she did worry two years ago about her husband getting hurt after he came home from watching ACW with his sons and announced he had signed up for Hammer's wrestling school.
Even now, when she attends ACW shows, Nicole cringes at the eardrum-rattling falls her husband takes.
"I'm like, 'Oh, my God! Did they hurt him?' " she said. "But afterwards he's like, 'No, no, no. We're good.' "
She also had to make her peace with paying Hammer's fee — $100 down, $50 every two weeks.
"I was going every night after work," Piper said. "I came home bruised, but I never said 'I don't want to do this no more.' "
Nicole said, "I think you were proud of your bruises. You'd say, 'Look at this chop mark!' "
Nicole saw how happy her husband was. She also liked his lifestyle change. He started lifting weights at Planet Fitness, improved his diet and stopped going to bars.
"My stomach got flatter, and the abs are starting to come in," Piper said.
"Oh, yeah. The abs are coming in," Nicole agreed. "Now he's simply sexy."
At August's show, Hammer rewarded Piper's dedication by making him heavyweight champ.
•••
Three Saturdays later, Piper entered the makeshift locker room at the Stevens Fire Hall knowing Hammer had decided he would retain his title for at least another month. But how he was going to win his rematch that night against Chris "High Voltage" Layton still had to be worked out.
With the night's first match only minutes away, Hammer had other things on his mind, such as disappointing ticket sales.
"It looks like we're taking a bath tonight," he said in a pre-show meeting in the locker room with the more than two dozen wrestlers on hand. "There's 20-some people out there."
Hammer also was sour because several wrestlers were no-shows.
"We understand (expletive) happens. Cars break down. The whole nine yards," said Dennis Wright, 44, of Phoenixville, wielding a clipboard and running the locker room for Hammer. "But everybody knows when the dates are."
Over the sounds of a rock band entertaining the smattering of fans before the show, Wright made a plea to the wrestlers: "Clean your (expletive) up tonight when you leave, OK?"
Hammer added, "Please. I (expletive) cleaned up (expletive) last time. I was here for two hours afterwards."
With that, Wright had the wrestlers touch hands at a central point, and all chimed, "One-two-three ACW!"
A short time later, 24-year-old wrestler Louis Rich of Baltimore drew more than half of the wrestlers together, arms resting on shoulders, for a prayer in the locker room. Rich prayed for protection against injury, offered thanks for God-given talents and asked that "fans get what they paid for."
"Amen," the wrestlers intoned.
•••
And so the show began with muffled sounds of cheers and falls reaching the back of the locker room, where Piper was getting dressed.
He pulled on red tights, black elbow pads and boots. He rubbed baby oil into his chest, making it gleam. Then he met with Shannon Hunter, a 32-year-old blond dynamo from Manhattan who would play the role of Simply Sexy's manager.
As manager, Hunter would sing Sexy's praises in a "promo," which is lingo for a rehearsed interview, to whet the fans' appetite for the coming match. And during the match she would circle the ring and scream her head off.
Why does she do it? Her friends in New York ask the same question. After all, she has a master's degree from Columbia University and works for Avon, designing marketing materials. But for 11 years, she's spent many weekends doing shows on the indie wrestling circuit up and down the East Coast.
"It's about the love of my game. It's about the love of my promoter and the love of the boys. I'm an educated woman. I have a professional job. But you know what?" Hunter said. "Life is boring without wrestling."
Her mind racing, her enthusiasm bubbling over, Hunter chattered away at Piper with ideas about what to say in their promo and how to structure the match with High Voltage.
Wright, the locker room manager who also wrestles as Heavy D, interrupted the pair.
"We gotta talk," Heavy D said. He explained their promo, which includes him, must be short because a wrestler called Triple M is going to sneak out and clobber Heavy D with a chair, setting up their match the following month.
"We can do our business quickly," Hunter assured Heavy D. She asked whether Triple M needed a cue to know when to sneak up on him.
"Give me a key word," Heavy D said.
"Key word. Let's see," Shannon mulled. "Dominance."
"As soon as you say that, he comes out," Heavy D agreed. "You two have to be to the left of me. He's coming right through the curtain."
"And I'm going to put Sexy between you and me," Shannon said, "so if somebody gets knocked into, it's not me."
•••
The promo took place after the intermission, and the three pulled it off without a hitch.
Hunter struck a hands-on-hips pose, telling guys to take "a really good look" because "there isn't very many good-looking women around here." Sexy called Heavy D "the fattest piece of crap in this building tonight." And Triple M gave Heavy D a convincing whack with a folding chair.
"How 'bout that, Heavy D!" Sexy cackled.
Afterward, back in the locker room, it was time to plan the main event.
Chuck "Rockin' Rebel" Williams of the Philadelphia suburbs, an amusingly profane, compactly built veteran of the indie shows, huddled with Piper, Hunter and Layton (High Voltage) over their match's gimmick. It involved Sexy knocking out Voltage with a chain-wrapped fist.
Williams explained that as Simply Sexy and High Voltage tussle, he'll appear at the side of the ring gripping Voltage's wife, Maggie, by the hair.
"I'm going to say, 'Hey, Voltage! Look!' and she's going to scream — aaaaaaaa! — when I pull her hair," Williams said. "'Yeah, look at your (expletive) now!' 'Aaaaaaa!' Then Shannon is going to (expletive) slide the (expletive) chain in to Sexy."
"OK," Hunter said.
Williams explained he would distract Voltage from seeing Sexy wrap the chain around his fist. But when Williams walks away from the ring, Voltage will turn back to face Sexy.
"As soon as you spin around," Williams told Voltage, "he's going to (expletive) blast you."
Williams told Voltage to fall and stay down as Sexy finishes with the pin.
After hearing the plan, Voltage and Piper worked out the fight leading up to the finishing blow.
"Let's keep it simple," advised Voltage, who at 36 has 17 years in the business. "Last time we did a normal match. You ended up cheating me and pissed me off. I'm going to get in the cage, and you charge me as soon as I come in. You put your arms together. I'm going to kick you. I'm just going to start beating the snot out of you."
"OK," Piper said.
"I'm not going to pin you (right away) because I was mad about last time," Voltage continued. "Sometime in the match I'm going to do something and I'm going to screw myself up. You turn it around and shoot me into the cage. I'll come back. Turn around. Clothesline me. Beat on me. Beat on me. Beat on me. Give me heat. When I turn again, you go to charge me. I'll stick my boot up. I'll do a few things to you real quick. Shoot you for the power slam. The Rebel comes walking out with my wife. Simple. It's going to be the simplest match ever."
"OK," Piper said.
"There's nothing for you to forget this time," Voltage said. "No spots. No up and over. Nothing."
•••
Continuing with the plan, Voltage said that after he revives and finds Sexy again cheated him out of the championship, he'll take the mic and demand a rematch at the Oct. 24 show. He said he'll tell the crowd he's so certain he'll pin Simply Sexy next time that if he fails, Sexy can have his wife for 30 days as his maid.
"Have a lot of fun with this," Hunter advised Piper. "Just Shane Douglas it up," she said, referring to a wrestler from the '90s. Hunter illustrated by windmilling her arm as if getting ready to throw a punch. "Just wind it up," she said.
As the time for the main event approached, Voltage — bare-chested, wearing white vinyl shorts and fringed boots, a mask-like design painted around his eyes — dropped to the locker room floor and pumped dozens of pushups.
Near the curtain, Hunter jogged in place, trying to stay warm.
Shortly, the eerily majestic tones of Aerosmith's "Dream On" started to play. It's Simply Sexy's entrance song, but someone had goofed by playing it before introducing High Voltage.
"Stupid!" Williams roared. "The champion goes second!"
Amused, Hunter said, "These are the moments you remember 10 years later."
The mistake was rectified. High Voltage entered the ring, snarling.
And for a second time, Aerosmith played, signaling the arrival of Simply Sexy Scotty Jeffreys, the heavyweight champion of Atomic Championship Wrestling.
As the announcer finished Sexy's introduction, Hunter exclaimed, "Let's do it!"
Piper and Hunter slapped hands. They parted the curtain and strutted to the ring amid a chorus of boos.
