Journeyman Journals: Was that a concussion?

EDITOR’S NOTE: We are pleased to welcome Jeremiah Plunkett to SlamWrestling.net, where he will be offering up a column we are calling “Journeyman Journals with Jeremiah.”

Welcome, Wrestling Fans,

Thank you for taking the time to check out the debut of my new column, Journeyman Journals with Jeremiah. I imagine an introduction is in order. My name is Jeremiah Plunkett, known in some circles as “Wrestling’s Last Journeyman” and “The King of the Territory.” Most recently, I became the reigning and defending NWA Mid-America Heavyweight Champion.

My life is a bit of a dichotomy. On one hand, I’ve spent the last two decades as a traveling independent wrestler, amassing over 2,000 matches. On the other hand, I live a simple life in rural Middle Tennessee with my wife and our nine cats. I call our 10-acre slice of heaven “The Tater Peeler Ranch.” It’s my escape from the hectic world of wrestling, although the two tend to bleed into one another from time to time.

With this column, I aim to document and share my journey, as I now I’m in the back nine of my in-ring career. One of my biggest regrets is not tracking my matches early on because I was convinced it was considered “mark-ish” to do so. Years later, I came to realize this was nonsense, proven by the likes of Chris Jericho and Jim Cornette. But by then, I’d already lost five years of documentation and never picked it back up. As of July 2024, I’m entering my 20th year in the business. I want this column to tell at least some of my story—and I’d love for you all to come along for the ride.

I hope you’ll join me.

Yours in Rasslin’,

Jeremiah Plunkett

PS: A huge thank you to Tommy “Milagro” Martinez for the inspiration, Greg Oliver for the opportunity, and everyone at SlamWrestling.net for the platform. I hope this column does you justice.

 

Journal Entry: 10/4/24

Tonight, I made my first NWA Mid-America Heavyweight Title defense, approved by the NWA, for Generation Next Pro Wrestling against Gaston LaRue in Augusta, KY. From my home in Lascassas, TN, it’s just over 300 miles—a 5.5-hour drive. Gaston’s a hardworking young man with a great attitude and plenty of potential. He works regularly for NWA Exodus Pro and, beyond wrestling, the kid can sing. He’s got an interesting gimmick and, like my wife, an affinity for Disney. I was stoked to have him as my first title defense.

Though Gaston isn’t blessed with height or size, his passion and creativity speak volumes. As a regular villain for GNPW, the challenge was: How would the crowd react to him? Could I turn them against me in a place where I’m the outsider? The answer was a resounding yes. It took some work, but the GNPW faithful got behind Gaston as we opened the night for their fundraiser event, UPROAR.

For a 22-year-old, Gaston was super easy to work with. His size and youth made him the perfect foil. The match started with him out-quickening and even out-wrestling me at times. But that all changed when I tossed him out of the ring to a resounding SPLAT! From there, I methodically pounded him into powder, much to the disdain of the Augusta locals. But the kid’s got fight—more than once, he mounted a comeback that both shocked and impressed me. He even blacked my right eye. Bravo, kid!

The tide turned when he countered my avalanche back suplex with a crossbody block from the top rope. From there, he threw everything at me, trying to score an underdog victory. But experience beat youthful exuberance. I countered Gaston’s sunset flip attempt with a double knee pin. Some might say I gained a little extra leverage from the ropes—I wouldn’t associate with such people.

Back to that suplex/crossbody sequence: Somewhere between Gaston’s body and the mat, my brain went rat-a-tat-tat inside my skull. In the old days, they’d say I “got my bell rung.” In 2024, I’m pretty sure I was concussed. I plead to the masses: If it seemed like I was leaning on the ropes at the end, it was only to gather my bearings, not for any athletic advantage. The drive home was, let’s say, interesting—but at 3 a.m., I pulled into the Tater Peeler Ranch, where Fluffy, our black outdoor cat, led me to the door. I couldn’t wait to melt into bed.

Journal Entry: 10/5/24

After a few hours of sleep and a hefty dose of caffeine, it’s on to the next title defense. I was originally set to face TéVon Jordyn for Southern All-Star Wrestling/United States Wrestling Organization in Murfreesboro, TN, but storm damage to the armory’s roof from Hurricane Helene forced the event’s cancellation. Fortunately, Tennessee All-Pro Wrestling stepped in to fill the date. TAPW runs weekly events in Morrison, TN, and they’re working their tails off to make their new venue and promotion something special.

Tonight, I face Shawn Hurley—a talented young man beloved by the TAPW crowd. As for me, well, let’s just say some locals nearly came over the railing before thinking better of it. Shawn impressed me early, matching me hold-for-hold. He even held his own when it came to throwing strikes, leaving my chest several shades of red. But when he got overzealous and hit the concrete floor, I went to work, pounding on him like he owed me money.

Hurley’s a tough kid. I threw everything at him, but he wouldn’t stay down. He even locked me in a sleeper hold that nearly knocked me out. Right before I went under, the ref somehow collided with Hurley and hit the mat. The universe must’ve been looking out for ol’ Plunkie.

As the match neared its end, Hurley threw everything but the kitchen sink at me, but I caught him slipping. He got distracted, arguing with the ref about some object in the ring, and I capitalized. Never take your eyes off a dangerous man. With a quickness, I locked him in the Asiatic Spike, hooked the body scissor, and dragged him to the mat. Hurley fought until he couldn’t, refusing to tap, and eventually went limp. The bell rang, my arm was raised, and I left with Teeny in hand.

After the match, I tried to give Hurley his flowers. He fought hard, just not hard enough. I extended my hand in sportsmanship—and got a knee to the face for my trouble.

If that’s the kind of guy TAPW fans cheer for, I’ll relish being hated with a clear conscience.

Now it’s back to the ranch for a week of recuperation and training—because next week, I’m off to Texas.

JEREMIAH PLUNKETT LINKS

• Jeremiah Plunkett story and column archive
• Jeremiah Plunkett socials via LinkTree