It seems very strange now looking back on the relatively
brief time I was co-promoter of an extreme professional wrestling outfit. My
life now is so different, that although I can see me back there and feel the
energy I had then it just seems like another life altogether. What seems even
stranger still was the path that led me there. Tell anyone now who either knows
me through my work as a self-protection/martial arts coach or even through my
current connections to showbusiness, that I was once a Gothic sword wielding
wrestling manager that had a penchant for wearing red contact lenses, getting
cut up with razor blades and barbed wire, and spewing Kensington Gore all over
the place they are likely to ask “Is this the same Jamie Clubb we are talking
about”. It’s no secret. I appeared in Combat martial arts magazine on the front
cover with an eight page feature, covered in corpse paint and did the best I
could to court media attention. And yet, years later I find myself training in
an MMA gym in Birmingham and one of the receptionist starts teasing me as if
this part of my history was comparable to being closet transvestite. A friend
of mine pretty much summed up the incredulity of those that have known me since
my days running a pro wrestling promotion are over: “Why Jamie? Why?”
