Jihad vs. The Prince of Siam.
This one was a true fight, one he might be allowed to win. Jihad’s persona
was that of a Muslim faithful using his gift of wrestling prowess to impress
and convert the infidels. He was not a well liked albeit popular character,
for the audience loved to hate him, and as far as pro wrestling popularity
went love and hate were equal.
The Prince of Siam persona would probably not last as long as Jihad. The
audience didn’t love or hate him enough. He was always mid ranked on the
billing charts. He wasn’t the American Hero or the Evil Foe stereotype that
always got top billing.
That was the story in America and it was the American populace that would
dictate his success or failure as a pro wrestler. In Thailand he was hands
down the most popular pro wrestler to run the gambit. The Thai cable TV
companies always had his picture in their monthly magazines attracting Thai
viewers to the replays of his American exploits.
His mixed race good looks gained him a following both Thai and American.
He was born Andaman Sea Amualkan; Thai and American citizen, a child of
a non practicing Thai Islamic Father and a non religious American mother.
His mother’s white skin and wavy blond hair tempered his father’s deep
mahogany and Andy, as his parents called him, ended up with a radiant
golden hue, curly honey colored hair and big brown eyes like a camel. He
gained the size of his western ancestors and the strength of muscle from the
Thai. To top his genetic good luck he had his father’s winning smile.
He was shaved bald for the Prince of Siam role. Yule Brenner in the movie
the King and I sealed his fate there. America had an idealized picture of the
nobility of Siam and this was his slant. He went bare chested, wore white
and gold silk pants that came tapered down to his knees, slipper shoes that
were turned up at the toe and of course… the shaved head. As a child his
older sisters loved watching the classic movie and they delighted in giggles
when their little brother started to mimic the body language of the King. He
learned at a young age to walk around with his chest puffed out with his
arms crossed, head raised as if surveying the land, or fists on his hips
akimbo and legs bent at the knees in a stance of powerful alert composition.
He learned to gesticulate with his hands in a commanding fashion and flair his eyes for dramatic grandiosity. He also learned the trick that really won
the favor of his sisters and later the pro wrestling audiences, dancing the
waltz. After dazing one of his opponents with a head butt he could sidle up
to them and start waltzing, one, two, three; one, two, three defiling their
dignity with the feminine gesture before pushing them over in disgust.
This theatrical production of a life played havoc with his true character.
Andy was an intelligent man. He spoke three languages, Thai, Arabic and
English. Thai and English from his parents and Arabic from a childhood
spent equally in Kuwait and Thailand. But his life always held a duality if
not a triptych. He was raised with all the traditions of Islam, lax western
Christianity and Buddhism. His family held Christmas, fasted at Ramadan
and visited Buddhist temples. He could fit into any culture but he didn’t feel
he belonged anywhere.
The noise was violent. The bright lights bothered his eyes. The show was on.
His turbaned opponent was already waiting for him in the ring kneeling on
his prayer rug facing Mecca. The crowd was vociferous in their hate of
Jihad. The Prince of Siam character was announced and he strode out head
held high to raucous cheers. He made a show of prostrating himself before
the golden and emerald Buddha effigy that was set up on a podium under the
spotlights for dramatic effect, but no prayers escaped his lips. His heart
didn’t connect there. He looked at his opponent and a flash came to him of
the violence in southern Thailand, the thousands of deaths that have occurred due to hate between the Islamic separatists and the Buddhist majority in the area. He had to put the twinge of bother, his intelligent and caring thoughts about the trouble in the south of Thailand, out of his head and play the persona he did so well but was not.
The irony of the situation was that while Andy could speak Arabic,
understood Islam and had family and history in oppressed Muslim areas, Joe
Pizzoni otherwise known as Jihad was the average IQ, English speaking son
of third generation Catholic Italian Americans, raised in suburban America.
He had learned his wrestling safe on the matted floors of high school
gymnasiums. He had no ties to the persona he was playing. He just followed
his agent’s advice and it led him here.
This match was special in the fact that it had not been fixed. On occasion
when the press popularity of two opponents were truly matched and the
financial outcome could be seen as equal for either opponent’s camp the
wrestling federation agents would allow a legitimate match. It also
permitted them to bet, a little side fun at the wrestlers expense.
Andy was strong and agile from practicing Muay Thai kickboxing with his
father and Thai friends as well as his love for the sport sepak takraw. He had
very little experience in wrestling but this version of showmanship and
athletic ability didn’t necessarily require formal wrestling practice. His
opponent was matched in height and weight and athletic ability. He was
going to have an even match tonight.
Focus, focus. This one’s for real. I am a prince of Siam. Andaman’s back
straightened ramrod straight as he stepped into his persona and entered the
ring.
Joe whispered under his breath as he folded up his prayer rug “I’m gonna get
ya. Ya Chink mutha fucker.”
“Insha’Allah.” Andaman answered in Arabic, as Allah wills. He smirked at
Joe. He knew the Italian-American wouldn’t know any Arabic. He lifted his
leg up in the Thai boxing style to hit his opponent with his shin and deftly
redirected the kickboxing tactic to a wrestling hold.
He wrestled with Jihad and with himself as the schism took place. He
thought about Jihad’s character and the ignorance it spread. He thought
about his own poor Muslim cousins in southern Thailand. It was a
tumultuous fight, internal and external. Where did his true identity belong in
all this? His distraction had led him to be the victim of a tight hold when,
SNAP, he realized the man folding the prayer rug had been facing the wrong
way. He had been facing south! The crowd saw The Prince of Siam
wrestling with Jihad the defender of Islam but the rift presented Andaman a
son of Islamic heritage wrestling Joe the ignorant. The sever was complete.
Sounds, lights, smells, pain, the longing for true pride, this was the fight his
soul wanted. He opened up to it, embraced it and became fulfilled with it.
Joe got in a good illegal and unreprimanded foul, a head butt that put a
bleeding gash through Andaman’s left eyebrow. The gulf between the Prince
of Siam and Andaman intensified. How could this scornfully ignorant
impostor degrade the fine religion of Islam? Andaman’s passion for his
Islamic heritage, history and background prompted a conviction in faith
within him as the fight continued. Blood entered his eyes but he felt he could
see more clearly than ever before in his life.
His clarity of thought made him relax to the hold Joe had on him. He knew
the countdown was coming and realized that Joe had pinned him facing the
true direction of Mecca. “One” Andaman called out to Allah as a believer,
told him what an unworthy servant he had been and asked for his guidance.
“Two” he didn’t get a three count. Power was restored in him and he
flipped Joe over into a reversal of positions.
One, Two, Three… Andaman, with the countdown that won him the match,
embraced fully the faith of Islam and became Jihad.
Shahadah
There is no God but Allah and Muhammad (peace be upon him) is his
prophet.
