Yes, that's right, this was the time when we Unbelievables suspected that Mexican Lady Wrestlers (or Luchadoras) were secretly fronting a Portmeirion Pottery smuggling ring. Sounds bizarre, doesn't it? But the truth is far stranger than fiction. Serious collectors would pay top peso for a single teacup made by that famed pottery (that used to be in a Welsh village where they filmed The Prisoner but then moved to Stoke-On-Trent).
Oh, the price they could get for a single mini-ramekin or flan dish would make your head spin.
|Loads more pesos.|
So Michael and I decided to don our wrestling duds and head South of the Border for a little tag-team time. And of course, disguise is dead easy when all you have to do is don a mask and a cape. Presto! We were luchadores.
|I was EL COBRA LOCO!|
|And Michael... Amigo Tóxico!|
One fateful Martes afternoon, we were doing a spot of shopping in between wrestling shows in the little village of Poco Inferior, when we ran into some luck. All of it bad.
We were approached by these, ahem, ladies...
who began taunting us and suggesting that our wrestling prowess was perhaps not all it could be. Well, ladies and gents, we were not going to back down from this kind of threatening behaviour, ladies or no ladies. We gave them a good sound thrashing. Unfortunately, the local federales came and broke the fight up and we found ourselves tossed in the local hoosegow with these nefarious characters who all looked like Danny Trejo, or relatives of Danny Trejo. One of them even had a Danny Trejo tattoo on his arm - or was it his leg?
Well, we immediately befriended them by eagerly participating in the knife game and eventually told them about our quest to locate La Madonna con los pechos grandes.
This group of ne'er-do-wells had all met her before. Twice. One was even married to her for 18 hours in Las Vegas. And yes, he knew where she was.
So after a mysterious benefactor (Clark, who had received our emergency homing signal back at the Unbelievabase) paid our extortionate bail money, we were back on the trail of La Madonna con los pechos grandes!
Once we found her hideout and flushed her out, it was time for a little tag-team magic. We hadn't reckoned on the three lady luchadoras who had so cruelly taunted us to reappear, but we were ready. If traditional wrestling moves failed, then it was time for some butt-kickin' Unbelieva-Fu. Half-nelsons, full nelsons, pin falls, triple suplexes, we used them all. But Unbelieva-Fu got the job done. Cuffs on, cops called, warehouse of stolen crockery discovered, crime ring destroyed, bish-bash-bosh.
But if it had been different, say if it had been Clark and Michael, or me and Clark, it might well have been a failure. Because Clark may be many things, but he is no wrestler. He hates the sport. He has no time for it. It fails to light his fire.
That's not to say he can't fight, oh no no no. He can whoop a punk's candy ass like you would not believe, he's skilled with weaponry like we all are, but if it came to wrestling his heart would not be in it. His head would not be in the game. He'd much rather be down at the local cantina hoisting a few with the locals and getting the lie of the land, so to speak. He's our intel guy, and that's the point of this story. Sometimes you need two to kick ass, and one to make the long-range plans.
I'm sure Michael has another 'two heads are better than three' story to tell...
*Unbelieviana - noun. Stories associated with the Unbelievables.
"Several important box-files of Unbelieviana..."